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Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
~for granddaughter Wendy on her first birthday~

mailman delivers a
a small bubble wrapped envelope,
an internet purchase made a long sometime ago  
accompanied by an enjoyable, self-served and self-serving,
"you're a good fella"
          pat on the back        

a spurting act of the what-the-heck,
trigger pulling, self-pleasuring,
donating a few bucks to saving poetry,
****** in by a suckers click bait

sent money to the
   keepers of poems;   
they even give something
in return.

sensible pencils.  

a non-rational purchase;
@ $6 dollars per leaded squib,
a wooden helping kiss rife with possibilities

all for a goodly cause
preservation band society poetic

this one-and-done impulse many weeks ago, 
followed by an immediacy forgeting,
then, an eye stabbing,
a widening wow weeks later
upon receipt
of an unexpected 5 pencil's all poems poetry reciting!

5 pencils. No. 2’s,
on each a phrase,
a poet's name and their singular words parsed
(see the notes).

paired passages from five poets,
deemed and distinguished to be
commemorated-worthy
and
what's more apropos than a dangerous  instrument of a
loaded leaded pencil,
that can be used to add to the  
Ever Expanding Universe of Verbal Liturgy
("and I helped")
.
once briefly dusted off the top of closeted dreamy days,
my notions of acclaim gone, silly gone,
my only marks now are erasures,
tiny rubber sheddings on paper
that's my marker,
a minus mark of deletion.

may yet come the day,
one will one gather up the
many survivors,
poem fauns, all my orphans,
give them to the
Wendy baby,

first,
she to metamorphose those
baby squeaks and  giggles,
weighty weightless poem noises,
clapping, waving, delighted and delighting, kiss-throwing videos and that milk covered face,
into her own living words

all these noises that makes even non-poets
smile ear to ear unabashedly,
nodding in delight agreement
to her own non verbal
original poems
:
perhaps
one day a little girl
will stumble on five pencils,
mixed in within fifteen hundred poems not particularly well hid,
between worthless insurance policies and other artifacts,
memoirs and pointless depositions,
hid between her older sister and brother's
crayoned keepsakes


  with pointed newly sharpened pencils
the very same,
this,
his Wendy,
might add
to the grandpere's poem collection with
pencils begging to be used,
for they are generationally and genetically,
pre-poetically enabled,
weighting the old memories
with new ballast and new balance,
from new verbal babies
all of her own.
What happens to a dream deferred?  Langston Hughes
Won't you celebrate with me? Lucille Clifton
Do I dare disturb the universe?  T.S. Eliot
I'm Nobody! Who are you? Emily Dickinson
Where can the crying heart graze? Naomi Shibab Nye

poets.org
There was no one at the funeral
No one there to say goodbye
It took them two whole weeks to find him
No one knew that he had died

Set out in the countryside
A farm with lots of land
He died there in his easy chair
It was just, but not as planned

We grew up there with no neighbors
Just a dad and his three girls
No one heard our screaming
In our pinies and our curls

THE MONSTER ISN'T IN THE ROOM
NOT IN THE CLOSET, NOR 'NEATH THE BED
HE'S IN THE BEDROOM DOWN THE HALL
DAD'S THE MONSTER IN HIS STEAD
HE COMES TO MY ROOM IN THE NIGHT
AND DOES THINGS THAT DAD'S DON'T DO
HE TOUCHES ME WHERE HE SHOULD NOT
DID HE TOUCH THE OTHERS TOO?

It's my task to clean out the house
To get rid of all that's here
There's memories in every room
And nightmares too, I fear

The scent of Borkhum Riff
Still hangs lightly in the air
I remember it as he lay down
It was in his clothes and hair

I can smell his after shave cologne
In the living room, it lingers
I remember lying silent
As he probed me with his fingers

THE MONSTER ISN'T IN THE ROOM
NOT IN THE CLOSET, NOR 'NEATH THE BED
HE'S IN THE BEDROOM DOWN THE HALL
DAD'S THE MONSTER IN HIS STEAD
HE COMES TO MY ROOM IN THE NIGHT
AND DOES THINGS THAT DAD'S DON'T DO
HE TOUCHES ME WHERE HE SHOULD NOT
DID HE TOUCH THE OTHERS TOO?

Boxes of old memories
To discard of and move out
I don't want to take them with me
Not with the memories about

My bedroom, like the others
Sits unchanged through out the years
There isn't many smiles there
Just dirt amongst the tears

I wonder as I go outside
To get a break from all the smells
I know he's not in heaven
My daddy's down in hell

THE MONSTER ISN'T IN THE ROOM
NOT IN THE CLOSET, NOR 'NEATH THE BED
HE'S IN THE BEDROOM DOWN THE HALL
DAD'S THE MONSTER IN HIS STEAD
HE COMES TO MY ROOM IN THE NIGHT
AND DOES THINGS THAT DAD'S DON'T DO
HE TOUCHES ME WHERE HE SHOULD NOT
DID HE TOUCH THE OTHERS TOO?

As time goes by know what I
Must do with this old place
I must obliterate it from my mind
And build a new house in it's place

Five miles from the closest farm
All alone with none around
I can free myself form the nightmare
If I burn it to the ground

I call up both my sisters
Knowing what he did to me
He wouldn't be selective
He did it to all three

THE MONSTER ISN'T IN THE ROOM
NOT IN THE CLOSET, NOR 'NEATH THE BED
HE'S IN THE BEDROOM DOWN THE HALL
DAD'S THE MONSTER IN HIS STEAD
HE COMES TO MY ROOM IN THE NIGHT
AND DOES THINGS THAT DAD'S DON'T DO
HE TOUCHES ME WHERE HE SHOULD NOT
DID HE TOUCH THE OTHERS TOO?

Through arguments and logic
I lay out to them my plan
They tell me they will come home
They'll be there when they can

The day arrives as do the girls
We start the plan out in the patch
We've each one can of gasoline
And we each have just one match

The house burns rather quickly
Oily smoke it fills the air
The only thing that's missing
Is that the monster isn't there.
I Believe

.



I believe a butterfly

Can stop a baseball game

I know, because I've seen it

And it really was a shame,

I believe a simple housefly

Can stop a moving train,

I believe single piece of dust

Can also make it rain

I believe in every mountain

There's a pebble on it's own

I believe that every grain of sand

Is a pearl that hasn't grown

I believe that Father Christmas

Is quite real and in your heart

I believe that you can finish

Every task, if you just start

I believe, like Charlie Bucket

There's a golden ticket to be found

I believe that a tree that's in the forest

When it falls, will make a sound

I believe in every mountain

There's a pebble on it's own

I believe that every grain of sand

Is a pearl that hasn't grown

I believe that love's forever

But the one thing about this

I believe forever's infinite

And it may just last a kiss

I believe to stay together

That one's trust, it must be earned

I believe you jump into the fire

Before you know if you'll get burned

I believe in every mountain

There's a pebble on it's own

I believe that every grain of sand

Is a pearl that hasn't grown

I believe that a strong handshake

Will seal a contract, so I've heard

I believe one's reputation

Should be based on a mans' word

I believe that there is wonder

In everything that we may find

I believe that life is better

When you can have an open mind

I believe we're just a heartbeat

In the timeline life has spanned

I believe that every person

Is an ungrown grain of sand

I believe in every mountain

There's a pebble on it's own

I believe that every grain of sand

Is a pearl that hasn't grown

I believe....
Derrick Jones Aug 2018
Part 1: Birth

There is only flow when I go to the unknown
I roam an abandoned home
It looks like ancient Rome, frescoes and domes
I call out, the echoes tell me I’m alone
No phone service, I am nervous
I wander through these haunted halls
The size of a million shopping malls
I begin to feel so small
A sudden flash and I am dashed to the realm of vision
A photon’s silent fission causes a collision in my eyes
Chemicals climb my nerves like vines
They activate my brain
I gain the gift of sight
I can finally see the light
Technicolor sprites ignite from the night
They surround me and confound me
Dizzy with the brightness
My body dissolves to lightness
I am one with a firework show
I am an ember, drifting to and fro
I am the spark, the flame, the afterglow

Part 2: Escape

This house that was haunting me
Is less daunting in reality
To my surprise, I realize my eyes describe a scene I can’t contextualize
I’ve lost my corporeal form
I’m tossed but never torn
I am the fabric of the universe
I fold, tesselate, invert
There is no ground, no up or down
As I fill this infinite space
My mind is racing
My self erasing
I am carved into a simple tracing
I am a thought confined inside a casing
Cut down to size I rise to the surface
Shot into the sky, I gain a purpose
I stream toward an enormity  
I reach escape velocity
I smash into reality

Part 3: Dissemination

I am a thought that was caught
Shot into the moment
Because I am where the mind went
Sent into the present
A representation of an inner mentation
A random rumination
A rogue communication
An intuition loaded like ammunition
Fired from a rifle
Too late to stifle
I ram through the fog of resistance
I slam into existence
It’s survival of the fittest
If I fail to catch attention
I will fall out of this dimension
I am rescued by a mention!
My salvation is conversation
I am converted into sound
I reverberate through air and ground
My vibrations travel through eustachian tubes and neural grooves
I move the chemicals in your head
Make you think of me instead
Now I am yours to spread
Exhaled like vapor
Written on paper
Cell phones are my savior
With digital capabilities
I avoid temporal instabilities
Evade deletion by replication
Copy and pasted
Then excreted
I’ve been tweeted!
I spread through the interwebs
Integrate into inner webs
And now I am a part of you
Weaved into the heart of you
There’s no reprieve, no undo
I will influence the future
A humble contributor
Whether I bring shame or glory
I am a part of this story
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at https://medium.com/words-ideas-thoughts
Thanks for reading!
Old Jim

"I'm grateful for the company

....sit down and I'll make tea"

"It's not often people visit

but, with the cat, us two make three"

He's hiding somewhere here

He's always there abouts

I just have to watch the doorway

I don't want him to get out

We listen to the radio

Can't afford to have TV

It's really not a loss though

Since I now can barely see

Time it takes it toll on you

A little more each day

I wish there was a little pill out there

That helped keep time at bay"

"There's the kettle, whistling"

I'll be back with our fresh brew

The cat won't drink it with me

So I'm only making two

I looked around the little room

All the drapes were closed up tight

It was sunny out and midday

But inside, it looked like night

There was one light in the corner

More for guests than Uncle Jim

HIs life was based on order

This room just wasn't him

"Here's the brew my boy" he said

"As he came back and sat with me

I watched him...two steps forward

One left,  then forward three"

He put the cups down gently

Didn't spill a single drop

He'd memorized his pathway

He knew exactly where to stop

"I've got biscuits, if you'd like"

"Some Hob Nobs from back home"

"I break them out for company

"They're too good for me alone"

I said that I would get them

and I exited my chair

He said they're up on top

But I'd never reach them there"

He came and got a grab stick

He poked and grabbed them from the shelf

He said "This things a lifesend"

"I'd never get them by myself"

We sat and talked for hours

Talked of sports and music too

He said that with his failing eyesight

There's really not much he could do

"It's saved me money someways"

"And cost  more in others though"

"But now that I'm not driving"

"I no longer shovel snow"

Jim, worked hard for forty years

He was a foreman in the mine

He'd been working round the coal for years

In fact since he was nine

He used to run small errands

From the office to the men

He lied about his age though

Jim told them he was ten

He'd retired back five years ago

When it got hard to breathe

"It was all I ever knew boy"

"I didn't want to leave"

Tons and Tons of coal dust

Must have filtered through his lungs

He was  dying slowly daily,

It started showing on his tongue

Small spots appeared which spread real quick

He started treatment right away

He knew the doctor would relieve him

Of his job, reduce his pay

"you know boy, there's a tale they tell"

"of birds down in the mine"

"when the birds fall off the perch stone dead

"Then we men have little time"

"We have to get out quickly

"For the bird has shown our fate

"But think a bit, the gas got him...

"So for us ...it was too late"

"We didn't really watch the bird

"We listened for his song

"For when his voice was laboured"

We knew it wasn't long"

"Dead birds...they meant dead miners"

At this my body jolted

"It;s like shutting up the old barn door"

"Even though the horse has bolted"

I finished up and said to Jim

I had to catch my bus

Jim said, "ok young man, be on your way"

" Now, it's just the two of us"

"You'll be back soon, I hope" he said

I said , "I sure will try"

"I like our little visits"

As he sat there and he sighed

"Just me and Tilly now" he said

As he saw me to the door

Stay safe my boy and oh....

He said "There's one thing more

"when you get on home...please phone me"

"It will make this old heart sing"

"Just phone me up and when you do...

"Let it go for just three rings"

I said I would, "but why three rings"

I asked, not four or five

"Three rings" he said's our signal

"In the mine....that you're alive"

I left and headed homeward

But first I'd stop of at the mall

Then I went home right directly

And I then gave Old  Jim his  call.
Zulu Samperfas Dec 2012
There's one e-mail I always delete and it's yours
and it's not the boring repetitive ones or the ones that have nothing at all
to do with me, I can let those stack up in my mail box
I have a collection, thousands of them
But you and yours, make me ill.  How you brag and have
taken over what was my job last year and is now so clearly yours
and have you ever, ever even said a word to me, even though I was
the one to do the ***** work to get it all started?  No, I am just
so last year to you.  I don't exist.  I see your bragging testimonials
to your greatness followed by pleading ones for money--teddy grams?
Really. And the one time I did see you, you were not nice.  
So I delete your e-mail and really I'd like to delete the whole experience from
my mind.  All those late hours in that cold theater with undisciplined kids
Always thinking, I am doing this to have a job for the future.
This is why.  And then you just waltz in and you were so excited
I sent you my acknowledgement you were given the job and you were
so breathless oh can I tell everyone?  Like you just won the lottery and
now I want to send you an e-mail to tell you, do not contact me about this again
Leave me completely alone if you can't be nice.  
I don't like your play and I don't like you and this was all a bad experience in total.
I want to delete you, not just your mail.  I want to delete you from my mind and my experience
and all the rest of the people involved in this whole sorry affair.
The young boy walked on through the park

His mother close behind

But then he took off swiftly, though

She knew that she would find

Him standing at the Cenotaph

Saluting, ramrod straight

He did it everytime they passed

No matter what the date

He knew that is was honorable

A place to honur those

Who died defending what was right

And every time he froze.

Each time they went to ride the swings

He ran ahead to stand

He did it, and she was proud he did

Though he didn't understand

A silent sentinel...piegeon perch

Memorialized the dead

There were pigeons all around it

And two piegeons on the head

But Billy didn't mind the birds

In fact he liked to say

The piegeons are the soldier men

Who can no longer play

He always walked around all sides

Always looking for the names

Of his father and his uncle

Bill and Randy James

They were taken by an IED

Though that meant nothing to Bill

But each time that  he found their names

He then saluted and stood still

He knew that they would not return

Although gone, their names were here

He saluted them each time he came

Of the pigeons, he'd no fear

This silent, solemn cenotaph

Was a place he loved so much

Although he couldn't see his father

His name plate he could touch

He knew that his saluting

Made his mother's heart strings sing

After his silent hello to his dad

He could go play on the swing...
GaryFairy Oct 2015
optimist - acrostic

Open up the book
Page one, neutralize your thoughts
Turn the page
Induct elation
Make your temperament positive
Idealism
See the prism of sanguinity
Turn the page

============================================

aqua - acrostic

Arid soul washed away
Quietly sinking down
Underneath the waves to stay
Awakening as i drown

========================================

flaw - acrostic

Forget about the way we see
Looking past the shallow grey
Awaken to a deeper degree
We are all beautiful in our own way

=========================================

harm - acrostic

Hurt me, the pain will go away
All anguish is fleeting
Remnants of your words might stay
My heart will go on beating

====================================

wolf pack - acrostic

Wild and free, nature's breed
Out of bounds of any containment
Living off of only what they need
Flourishing in sustainment

Prowling the forests and grass
Attacking only what they eat
Canids from our distant past
Killing only to replete

(i know i didn't use the word sustainment correctly here, but it rhymes)
==================================

jugs - acrostic poem

Jiggle and bounce for me
Underneath a cotton top
Gives me such satisfaction
Seeing them flip and flop

=================================

sympathy and attention - pity party poetry page

with an affinity for sympathy and attention
pity without empathy ends up as an affliction
sitting all alone having fits not fit to mention
depicting his own addiction to his self infliction

distemper words, written with intention
listless visions are a picture of his fiction
his existence isn't gifted within this dimension
it's a senseless decision to befit a contradiction

==================================================­====

discretion

if deception is a threat, i guess it begs the question
does perception get better with less discretion?
can a gesture of conception be answered best with ingestion
by letting down our guards will we fester in suppression?

changing our direction away from our debts of reception
pressed by our expression of protested progression
best bets are guessed and when we collect we learn a lesson
back to the question, is perception better with less discretion?

====================================

rhyme without reason

what is a rhyme without a reason?
it's no feat to beat the drum of no cohesion
it's like planting seeds that aren't in season
or a disease that leaves a bleeding lesion

a decent poet is adept at seeing adhesion
leaving the meaning amounts to being treason
completely missing pieces for completion
not even worth reading, only worth deletion

========================================

everlasting (4 versions)

though i have ran with the rats of cancer
as i craft the ladder to the final chapter
i never planned for crass disaster
abashed by the lasting factor

where the past is passing faster
i ask the lord and await his answer
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i clasp the hand of the everlasting master

---------------------------------------------------------­-

abashed by the lasting factor
i never planned for crass disaster
as i craft the ladder to the final chapter
though i have ran with the rats of cancer

i clasp the hand of the everlasting master
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i ask the lord and await his answer
where the past is passing faster

---------------------------------------------------------­---

abashed by the lasting factor
i never planned for crass disaster
as i craft the ladder to the final chapter
though i have ran with the rats of cancer

where the past is passing faster
i ask the lord and await his answer
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i clasp the hand of the everlasting master

---------------------------------------------------------­-------

(you can also do one of these)

where the past is passing faster
i ask the lord and await his answer
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i clasp the hand of the everlasting master
i clasp the hand of the everlasting master
are my chances granted to live hereafter
i ask the lord and await his answer
where the past is passing faster
you can make different versions of everlasting, with different shapes, and different flows by changing the lines around...some of the shapes look cool if the poems are centered also...i had a blast doing this!
The bus pulled up and I got on

It was empty, 'cept for two

A lady sitting at the front

And a man all dressed in blue

The lady sat in front alone

Her parcels by her side

The man, he stood alone in back

And I got on for my ride.

The sign in front said "Do Not Smoke"

Capacity...that's blurry

I couldn't see it from where I sat

But, I was in no hurry

I walked on up, to check it out

And read the aged old sign

It said "seating room is 63"

And standing ...twenty nine

I reached my stop and I got off

Not thinking much I guess.

But that man was still way in the back

And that lady in her dress

Was motionless up in the front,

Her parcel by her side

They hadn't moved since I got on

And it was an hour ride

Others joined us on the bus

But all were gone before

There was just these two,  still motionless

When I walked out the door.

Each day for weeks I rode this bus

And each day,  like before

The lady sat down front alone

And the man, behind the door

It never made much sense to me

He never changed his spot

It was if he were a sentinel

To guard this bus...his lot

One day I asked the driver

Why he never did sit down

He said "You must be new here"

"You can't be from this town"

I said "Why did that matter?"

He just laughed and looked at me

"It's never gonna change here"

"There's a certain courtesy"

I didn't understand him

And he never put forth more

So, I went on down the bus aways

And I sat  just by the door

I passed my stop and rode a while

While others filtered through

Then all at once the lady rose

Followed by the man in blue

She left out front, him through the back

And it left me there alone

Well, except for the old driver

So, I rode around to home

I saw as we drove past them

On our return route down the Strand

The lady and The Man in Blue

Were walking, holding hands

I thought "What gives?, they sit apart"

She forward, him in back

Now here they are together

They're a train on the same track

I asked the driver to explain

This sight that I had seen

He said "Just wait a minute"

"And it won't seem so extreme"

He stopped the bus and came to me

And he walked past the back door

"See that faded line there miss"

As he pointed to the floor

I looked real close and there it was

It was a line in pastel blue

"Now, listen here's some history"

"This is something new to you"

"Way back when, a lifetime back"

"Segregation ruled the land"

"You didn't mix outside your race"

"You would never understand"

"The line there on the floor shows"

"Where the buses made their mark"

"The white folks stood on the drivers side"

"And the back was for the dark"

"skinned folks who rode with us"

"I know it don't sound fair"

"But that's the wasy it was back then"

"I know, 'cause I was there"

"This couple...they confuse you"

"Her in front and him in back"

"Did you ever stop and notice"

"She is white and he is black?"

"But, that's not the way things are today"

I said, still unsure of these two

He said "I know, my dear"

"But this way's all they knew"

"They've been a pair for twenty years"

"They've rode this bus for more"

"When he first rode, it was so bad"

"He came through the back door"

"He couldn't get on through the front"

"They wouldn't let him pass"

"In fact once some one threatened"

"him, they would soak him down with gas"

"So he went on back, through the back door"

"And then he crossed that line"

"And he's been doing so for sixty years"

"He's done it all this time"

"I never charge them to get on"

"I charge them when they leave"

I said "I don't see them pay"

He smiled and scratched his sleeve

"I never charge them money"

"No, that just would not be right"

"I tell them to just get safe home"

"And  to have a lovely night"

"The next day when they board the bus"

"She smiles and looks at me"

"And as I look down to the back"

"I smile...and so does he"

"I know that it is different"

"But down here, it was the way"

"And this white girl and this black man"

"helped to show me shades of grey"

"He'll always ride in back there"

"And she'll be in front with me"

"But, you know that they're so happy"

"And that's why they ride for free"
Dear Lord, please hear my prayer
Each night I ask the same
I'm sure you know me well by now
So, I will not leave my name
My husband is a soldier
Doing duty overseas
I pray you have a moment
to listen to me, please
We have two growing children
And they need their dad around
Please see he gets home safely
Once he's safely homeward bound
I'm sure you hear from others
With the same request as me
Please Lord, give them an answer
Give a sign for all to see
We ask for our young children
They're the ones in need
Please keep our soldiers safe Lord
Once they've planted freedoms seed
I count each day I ask you
I tie a ribbon to a tree
Bring them home for all of us
Don't just bring them home for me
Of all the yellow ribbons
On all the Old Oak Trees
Please Lord, I ask you
I am here upon my knees
Our soldiers left in earnest
Please keep them alive
Let them do their duty
Please keep them safe 'till they arrive
I'll be back again tomorrow
And my prayer will be the same
Like I said, I'm sure you know me
So, I will not leave my name
Andrew Rueter Sep 2017
We use video games
To make video gains
Until the screen goes black
And reality attacks
We lose all our progress
In the deletion process
As we level up we devolve
Around the TV we revolve
The more experience we gain
The more moments we lose
Our memories forever stained
When this is what we choose
Our life inside a hard drive
Our life becomes a hard lie
We revel in being unwise
Rage quitting life
We enjoy strife
And avoid pesky light
When we live in the dark
With consumerist plights
We are all marks

Video games balance in a zone
Between game and art
The frustration starts
When art is confused for games
And games mistook for art
People take things to heart
And spitefully spew viper venom
If this is where games send them
Then why do we play?
We have no other way
To feel accomplishment
In a society that worships competition
Video games become the second edition
Of a life filled with loss
On our pixelated cross
We are murdered millions of times
Reminiscent of the millions of lies
That make us losers in the real world
Video games become our shiny pearl

The computer displays defeat
When our lives aren't complete
Because we need someone to beat
Not realizing our lives are conquered
By frivolous topics we've pondered
Our meaningless life squandered
And hope comes in the form of new releases
While inside our faulty headset is in pieces
Anonymity is an illusion
He tells me.
He tells me,
No-one can remain unknown
On the World Wide Web.
Don't think deletion makes a difference,
Don't think that everything you've ever sent
Received
And posted,
Isn't hosted on a server
Forever,
Awaiting discovery and disclosure.
He could find me in minutes,
He could find me,
If he wanted to.
He doesn't,
But what if he did?
What if he did?
I would feel safer
If I'd posted intimate photos
Or sexted a thousand faceless strangers.
My poems are a diary of my soul,
My hearts' helpless, hopeful blog.
They expose me.
No-one knows me here,
But he could find me,
And he would know.
No-one is anonymous,
No-one is unknown.
arin May 2018
Just a little
Tiny tiny tiny
Don't let them see
It's just a small-medium-large cut
Don't let them know
Throw out your breakfast-lunch-dinner
If they know, they'll scream
Your glass foundation will shatter
They'll leave you behind
You'll be locked away
Do you want to be alone again?
All alone in the dark?
It's quite scary isn't it,
Being alone with me
You know what you must do
Smile
Make promises
Lie
Act calm
Make up excuses
Do what you need to do
Stay out of the spotlight
Avoid
Avoid
Avoid
AVOID
DON'T LET THEM SEE
IT WAS THE ONE RULE
THEY SAW
THEY SAW!
RUN
YOU MUST RUN
GET AWAY
HIDE HIDE HIDE DISAPPEAR
DON'T LET THE FIND YOU
SHRINK SHRINK SHRINK
BECOME SO SMALL THAT YOU CANNOT BE SEEN
KEEP RUNNING
YOU'RE SO CLOSE
JUST A LITTLE CLOSER
LOOK DOWN AT THE CRASHING WAVES
TAKE A DEEP BREATH
RELAX YOUR MUSCLES
J U M P


-------------


OPEN FILE

[YES]             NO


-------------


OPENING FILE


-------------


Name: Alec Crawford
Diagnosis: Depression. Anxiety. Violent Outbursts. Anorexia. Impulse Control Disorder.
Side Notes: Self Mutilation; Keep Patient Away From Objects Capable Of Harm. Occasional Ticks And Fidgets.
DOD: May 14, 2018.
Cause Of Death: Suicide; After Jumping Off Oceanside Cliff, Went Unconscious Upon Impact, Drowned.


-------------


DELETE FILE?


[YES]             NO


-------------


Deletion Complete.


-------------


I said to disappear, right?

Now I'll make sure they never know you even existed.
I think I'm going to continue making little character writings and have multiple parts for each character. Each part will be numbered.

Edit: I never expected this to get as popular as it did... I've been wanting to explain this one for a while now. The DOD was the most recent night that I planned to commit suicide. Instead, I made a character that was a spit image of me and let him do it instead...
xyloolyx Dec 2014
yet another year zero
reinventing the squeaky wheel
constrained writing just for kicks
reviving a tragic hero
tabula rasa and leaky spiel
trained for fighting prickly ******
hollowing future and reticulating splines
swallowing nature then duplicating rhymes
only a blank drawing
at a bank withdrawing
funds splashing down like acid rain
workers trashing town with great disdain
fluxing bureaucracy
with ad hoc hypocrisy
go country for old zen
and then
shot glass shopping sprees
statues with haunting verdigris
from target to target
the stupid (never forget)
airport shuttles and toxic puddles
epic riddles while popping bottles
thrusting bodies and a fruity box
alternating current and topic drift
trusting hotties with shuttlecocks
baiting adherent with basic *****
eating that dog in a bar by the ditch
bar all rowdy with many shots taken
beer hall drowsy as closing time looms
far too loudly with identity mistaken
the band had us frankly and amply forsaken
awakening in a ditch as the a-bomb booms
a thousand soldiers ready for battle
at town's end with less depleted morals
worried about the deleted portals
we buried hell well without the cattle
no more long weeks of slicing ****** meat
origins about which they should not care
oh to sell knockoffs to the rich elite
hear their yells and use an odd nom de guerre
the profit and the revenue forecast
**** on the new road
the prophet and the parvenue act fast
pill for the wet load
he had dropped the load leaving pungent smells
in the dark it glowed and lit the deep wells
launching a rocket every four hours
we encounter yet more perplexing times
measuring success with fewer metrics
punching the clocks in tall black towers
changing the locks and the warning signs
altering quarters with newer ethics
cannibals watched while we profusely bled
fine forget it forget it forget it
ingest the capsule to induce the sweat
just relieve don't botch
figure figure figure
don't bereave think scotch
ticker ticker ticker
sounded like it came from someone shady
getting beat to end with some other blend
year to date murders now about eighty
yet today's statistics lie and pretend
fudging the digits to fake the assent
so what happened last week stays in last week
all of those painful jarring sights and sounds
making it all seem to look rather bleak
kept sly with pennies and kept shrewd with pounds
on alibaba we will not delete
separated heads from dark desert towns
metropolis with millions of dark souls
lighting up papers for a rapid trip
necropolis with brilliant harkening trolls
fighting the power in order to strip
their medals that they never earned at all
writing this line here and ******* the fall
straightforward message from a plain green rod
a photographer in obscure disguise
throw him into the main canal and nod
the coffee shop looks banal with just guys
losing interest quick and wanting to dip
touching that shiny pink wide-open clip
unknown underground studded with diamonds
mind-blowing trap sounds burst from the caliph
volume gets higher and heads start to ring
they came in sequence and then came silence
waking up confused in a condo lift
taking refuge in an ugly building
just invited myself into your home timeline
somewhat sublime reciting trifling rhymes
alter rhyming scheme to eschew couplets
now fully mobile and automatic
pentameter schemes and android tablets
tents and suburbs that look quite nomadic
recruited minions for the rebellions
human microphones sans inhibitions
quicken resistance to the man's big plan
invoking the crowd to buck traditions
spell that with an accent with great élan
broken mobile phone texting hexagram
a rapid drop in communication
a postal service mailing vexing spam
token for transit lost at the station
we can no longer go back to the farm
here in the city living these last days
sounding the airhorn and the fire alarm
seahorses as fish and whales as mammals
hard to keep track here of various things
went to the desert and smoked some camels
patient zero died sounding the alert
some will paint dark scenes with exigent themes
paintings so dire that your eyes avert
inverse distance decay in the network
old flags questing through the flood and tumult
of course these rhymes make them go **** berserk
losing sight of sites that house the occult
refusing to eat and wanting to drink
these words resonate with all those who think
utopia fell soon after completion
never understood humanity well
rationality ends with deletion
all the fine stuff just goes to *******
humans emitting alienating vibes
they form foul cliques like pups from putrid tribes
three ships all wrecked up in some unknown land
divulging harsh things and eating raw food
far too many times getting shunned and booed
had all my writings fully blocked and banned
still no dumb luck yet after x decades
recalled old friendships that have long decayed
more constrained writing that will make them groan
some will even see the trail left behind
writing all of this mostly in e-prime
punctuation-free zone made just for fun
lighting dark alleys with a mobile phone
some get all the love while others get none
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch
glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch
kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch
stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch
twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch
yesterday's blunt stunt went to the gutter
no regrets no threats no whatever man
just like autechre and that song flutter
forget the police just rave on til dawn
**** how darkness has lasted this **** long
ominous songs here still pumping along
exponential sneers and the obscene scene
existential fears lit up with benzine
socially-accepted narcissism
honest thoughts here treated with cynicism
forget all -isms / go back to the scheme
spending days like these sniffing naphthalene
won't dwank to the masses or kiss *****
temperamental peers can go live that myth
experimental stage done and over with
(pause)
*
* *
*

✝ gone to a higher place ✝
Elihu Barachel Dec 2014
Hey lovey-dovey christian, run and get your NIV
Read to me some verses, read them just for me
-
Show me how you live, "not by bread alone" [1]
But by every single Word, from God's Holy Throne
-
Especially if it's written, black words on paper white
Read them from the NIV, yes-sir-ee you fight the Fight!
-
Do you have a problem? Can't you find the verse?
Why oh is that? Your "bible" is accursed

[1] Matt AND Luke 4:4

++++

Matthew 12:47 -- removed in the footnotes
Matthew 17:21 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"Howbeit this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting."
Matthew 18:11 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost."
Matthew 21:44 -- removed in the footnotes
Matthew 23:14 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayer: therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation."
Mark 7:16 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"If any man have ears to hear, let him hear."
Mark 9:44 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched."
Mark 9:46 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched."
Mark 11:26 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"But if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses."
Mark 15:28 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"And the scripture was fulfilled, which saith, And he was numbered with the transgressors."
Mark 16:9-20 (all 12 verses) -- There is a line separating the last 12 verses of Mark from the main text. Right under the line it says: [The two most reliable early manuscripts do not have Mark 16:9-20] (NIV, 1978 ed.) The Jehovah's Witness "Bible" also places the last 12 verses of Mark as an appendix of sorts.
Luke 17:36 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"Two men shall be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left."
Luke 22:44 -- removed in the footnotes
Luke 22:43 -- removed in the footnotes
Luke 23:17 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"(For of necessity he must release one unto them at the feast.)"
John 5:4 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had."
John 7:53-8:11 -- removed in the footnotes
Acts 8:37 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. It's deletion makes one think that people can be baptized and saved without believing on the Lord Jesus Christ. Sounds Catholic. What are you NIV readers missing?
"And Philip said, If thou believest with all thine heart, thou mayest. And he answered and said, I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God."
Acts 15:34 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"Notwithstanding it pleased Silas to abide there still."
Acts 24:7 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"But the chief captain Lysias came upon us, and with great violence took him away out of our hands,"
Acts 28:29 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"And when he had said these words, the Jews departed, and had great reasoning among themselves."
Romans 16:24 -- COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. What are you NIV readers missing?
"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen."
I John 5:7 -- Vitally important phrase COMPLETELY removed [also deleted from the Jehovah's Witness "Bible"]. In the NIV it says,
"For there are three that testify:"
Compare the NIV reading with the following Jehovah's Witness reading--
"For there are three witness bearers,"
What are you NIV readers missing? What does the real Bible say?
"For there are three that bear record in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost: and these three are one."
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.
Jabin Jul 2018
Symmetry, balance-
Perfection.
It is possible.
You have to know how to blend.
Shade the yin with the yang.
Redefine---------------------------------------------

Never say the curse.
Politeness...
You must know the truth.
Mix the knowing with pretend.
Now, choose your words well.
They listen.

The light from the screen
Pulls the dark
From within my mind.
It asks me what's on my mind.
If only you knew...
I type lies.

Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.
Lies. Lies. Lies.
LIES. LIES. LIES. LIES. LIES. LIES. LIES.
Because they don't want the truth.
You don't want the truth.
I need lies.

I can't be myself.
I am sin.
Worse than that, I'm wrong.
I can't ever change my mind,
Because there it is,
Forever.

I show what you crave-
Perfection.
It's all tremendous.
This life full of happiness.
No gray, only white.
For your eyes.

When I power down,
I'm weeping.
Tears of confusion.
Tears of impotence and rage,
Because I know - Truth.
Perfection.

Each day, I fear death.
Wish for it.
Each day reminding,
I take a shot for sugar
Because I was weak.
Misguided.

Each day, I am weak.
I pretend.
I want to lash out.
Want the world to feel my pain.
But I don't do it.
I love you.

What is on my mind?
Hate, anger/
No one really cares.
If I die tonight, who cares?
The world keeps spinning,
Deletion.

Programming to cope,
Coded hope-
Trust we'll meet again.
But I'll be in the ground soon.
Fed on by the worms.
No more words.

So I stay hidden.
Sit with the truth
That I am pointless.
All of this is just pointless.
Symmetry of good
And evil.

I'll be what you want.
To save you.
I've figured it out.
Perfect in isolation.
I'll stay here and wait
For the void.

Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.
Even more-----
I don't really love.
I don't have true empathy.
No, those are all LIES!
No, I choose.

Can you see me now?
Do you know?
My eyes are of fire.
My thoughts are vitriolic.
But my words are sweet.
So pleasant.

Do you understand?
Who am I?
If you say, "Devil"-
Oh you, so full of terror.
You fear yourself too----
Do you not?
Alexander Liss Jun 2014
Completion is the form I crave in my soul to achieve. Deletion is what I am currently conforming towards....
Nick M Apr 2014
we are the misfits,
looking for reason,
every day goes by,
another dealt with treason

we are the misfits,
just looking for our freedom,
making up our goals,
and just trying to seize them

we are the misfits,
just living with no reason,
every day goes by,
waiting for our deletion
v V v Sep 2023
Stops and starts  
tidbits and scribbles
3 years of notes and files
and pain filled ramblings
but nothing cohesive.

Instead, what’s written are
the short circuit musings of a brain  
on the mend after 25 years of  
miscellaneous addictions.

I gather all the words together  
and wonder what to do with them.
I contemplate deletion, but no,
there has got to be something  
here that's worthwhile,
something worth saving.

So I pull out all the lines  
that somehow feel right,
lines that have potential,  
lines that show me how far  
I’ve come since getting clean

and I write down the best of them
and then comment on each
from my current perspective.

     I used to chase the dragon  
     now the dragon chases me  
     across fields of wet leaves
     in the timid December sun.

(I must have walked a thousand miles while being chased)

      I force feed the feel good  
     to override the let down.

(One of the main reasons a user uses)

     There is no willing oneself to wellness,
     there are no bootstraps to pull on, and
     no self talk to conquer the chemical
     malfunction in my head.

(Without Faith and Hope, I wouldn't have made it)

      It’s a kind of spiritual act,
     A mystical replenishing of
     all the used-up parts of me.

(Could have said meditate just as easily)

     I knew it was wrong
     but I wanted it easy.

(Perhaps the most honest thing I have ever written)

     It makes me wonder if  
     the gaps I have are
     there to protect me.  
     But more so it makes me
     fear that hidden moments  
     shaped the core of me,  
     and when I don’t like me,
     what's missing are the things  
     that if I knew I could not  
     survive the knowing of them.

(I can only assume this made sense at the time)

     I do best when I live in retrospect.
     The present is too real.
     In the present my demon is here.
     In retrospect  
     I can choose to leave him out.

(So glad I got past this, and live solely in the now)

     When we exist for only ourselves  
     the world is not round,
     it is flat and we tend to fall off the edges  
     into pandemonium and unhappiness.

(Still so very true!)

     In all of my searching I  
     cannot find a way to love you  
     like you need to be loved.
     In other ways, yes, but
     second to what you want.
     But even so I want you to know
     you are my rock, my harbor,  
     my safe place, as consistent as  
     the dawning day, as reliable as  
     the setting sun, and as beautiful as  
     the harvest moon.
     Without you I am lost.

(She saved my life and she knows it)

     When I am close to God  
     I smell lavender.

(Don’t remember writing this but I like it)

     A common idiom -  
     don’t put skeletons in your closet;
     My father hung bones like he hangs his shirts.

(Never been a fan of “Do as I say, not as I do")

     I can't let myself
     be shamed for that  
     which I'm already
     ashamed of..

(Be kind to yourself!)

     I'm not afraid IN the dark
     I'm afraid OF the dark.

(The unpredictable loneliness)  

     I will never be happy because
     there is too much I don’t know.

(The need to be in control is a death sentence)

     There's an uneasiness with the  
     easiness of stress-free living.

(Chaos is a large magnet and I am sheet-metal)

     Sleep never satisfies for long,
     like a drug tolerance 
     its ability to provide escape  
     loses effectiveness over time.
     You'll notice this while dreaming,
     your dreams become more vivid
     and uncontrolled, a rolling
     tide of daytime worries warped
     into colors you can't escape.

(Sleep, by far is the most elusive aspect of healing)

     I am afraid of love 
     and that's a difficult existence 
     when your greatest need
     is also your greatest fear.

(Such a horrible paradox to live in)

     Pounding my fists on  
     the darkened altar in my mind
     makes the night much darker.

(A place I’ve been where you do not want to go)


The gap of these years has now been recorded.

I am free to move on towards what is to come.
While away from HP, I spent the last 3 years healing mentally and physically. I am now 3 years clean from any addictive substance which for me included Alcohol, Nicotine, Opiates and Benzodiazepines. It has been an extremely long road to recovery but it had to be done. I truly believe that had I not done it, I would be dead. As a public service announcement I just want to say that most people don't know that Benzo's are by far the hardest thing to get clean from. The most important literature out there for this is the Ashton Manual. https://www.benzoinfo.com/ashtonmanual/   I highly encourage anyone out there who takes Ativan, Xanax, ******, etc. on a regular basis to read and reference this.
Where Shelter May 2017
~
took and tucked her in my pocket



a rare Monday holiday, and whomever, undoubtedly
an impractical man-someone, (always our fault),
decided to dampen the lawn and the entire countryside with a steady, not drizzle and not rain, something in between, and a dolloping, artisanal, organic, grey creme fraiche fog that
permits hinted glimpses of sea and land, home from away

a perfect day to finish that overdue library book,
and the deletion of unanswered email notices of your ever increasing criminal status,
both a delicioso rainy day, deep dish pizza pleasuring

or
go for a "walk and talk" in the rain with oneself,
properly attired, naturally, in a yellow slicker and silly hat,
(a perfect car target)
observing how the bay gets refilled, and the elm and the oak
drink themselves tipsy on an all-day-grey goose ******,
all the while looking for side-of-road weedy, wordy poems
that will look nice in a vase day or on a colorful plate from
Saint Paul de Vence


more a "walk and compose" insists the brain,
denying the legs and feet the full advanced three credits,
for providing nothing more than cerebral transportation,
poor brain, inferiority complexion, thinking the female does all the truly heavy duty thinking stuff and of her,
nobody ever thinks or kisses!

so I took and tucked her in my pocket,
(your brain's gender contrarian to one's lower physical gifts),
and poem-picking, away we went, to wet sand beaches
looking for shells, bones, forgot plastic buckets and shovels,
i.e. articles of inspiration incorporation composting composition

just me and she for the other 'her' chose to curl,
herself upon her spot under the always shedding blanket,
watching Richard or Henry or one of the Mary's plotting,
on what we agree must be a perfectly British style
spy's rainy day, or an Agatha ****** mystery
or a visit to the Towers

a little pause between showers, the seeding clouds,
catching a breath, allows the birds to exchange trees
in what appears to man as suicide by diving musical chairs,
while the seagulls oink, "perhaps a cucumber fish sandwich with a nice hot cuppa?"

alas, alas, only flowers that must perforce remain unpicked,
here and there a solitary dorming daisy uprising,
from cracked concrete protruding, but nary a poem of somber consequence found

so to home and hearth and some telly,
me and she, where upon arrival
took and untucked her from my pocket,
my empty poem pocketed persona somewhat mocked
by she who regales splendiferously on her couch throne

our composure discomposed and discombobulated and wet,
instead wrote this trip report and submitted it to the teach
as a homework assignment

5/29/17 8:00am precisely,
upon the where shelter isle
for the overdue book keeper, daughter of the recliner, story teller, sister,
mother to cat, babes (including one that shaves), patron
of empty student minds,
one homework assignment submitted
How I long to grasp at Heaney's squat pen
Instead of flying lightning fingertips
Across a headache-bright square.
A flare of brilliance
Is better captured the old way,
But there would have to be a transfer,
Which would lead to hesitation
Then deletion,
(Plus there's too much guilt about trees,
And I can never find a pen).
Heaney hesitated, too
And dwelt on digging,
Before acceptance, and resolve.
My fingers flutter over letters, seeking my own answer,
Determined to dig myself
Out of this hole.
'Digging' by Seamus Heaney   http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177017
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Dead people are no doubt bored, so I'm sure these folks would be happy for free food and conversation. Of course, this is just a partial list, subject to addition and deletion. Feel free to add your own in comments.

Buddha, but a light lunch.
Jesus, but kosher of course.
******, come on, who wouldn't.
James Joyce, just to mock him.
George Washington, to try to catch him in a lie.
Hemingway, but just for drinks.
Reagan, to deliver some Depends.
Bakunin, for mutual aid.
William Butler, my ancestor who survived The Wheatfield at Gettysburg.
Audrey Hepburn, but a date, not lunch.
Ingmar Bergman, just to cheer me up.
Ervin Schrödinger, about that cat.
Shakespeare, because I've always wanted to meet an extra-terrestrial.
Ezra Pound, to tell him he was right about usury.
God, to let her know how disappointed I am.
Richard Nixon, so I could drive a stake through his heart.
Julia Child, just to hear her voice again.
Lenin, because he was a self-starter.
Mozart, because he would be fun.
Emma Goldman, to dance.
James Dean, as we look so much alike.
Janis Joplin, because I might get lucky.

Come on, I'm sure you can add to the list. Don't be shy, try.

mce
Who would you add? It can be anyone but Justin Bieber. I'm open-minded for a geezer, but not that much.  :) Anyway, they must be dead. That's the only rule.
Steph Wams Feb 2022
We read our books and pretend to
not make glances at each other.
We smile as if the pages in the book had tickled at our sides.
We write love stories in our heads and forget about the ones on the page.
An uncomfortable warmth surrounds us as we pretend not to pose ourselves in our chairs.
As if we are offering ourselves to the sun to immortalise this youthful love.
Our hands quiver as we turn each page.
Like these stories will ours come to a brief
end?
And though you and I are nothing,
destined for
deletion,
taunted by
extinction.
We pray that these feelings are more than that.
But when I see the stars in your eyes my worries float away,
for I know this love is cosmic.
I to wish for a love so sweet
JJ Hutton Jun 2016
I find myself in a coverless Italian summer.
Grass browned. Skin freckled.
I find myself impatient,
no longer willing to entertain
the destinies of the salt and sea.
I edit video of you in a cobbled basement.
There's a knowing look that lasts four seconds.
I split it into six fragments and set it in reverse,
an unknowing, a deletion.
The crook of your neck
and shoulder blade. The red of your hair.
Some nights I hang from the rails. Five minutes.
Ten. And pull myself up.
Tented and mad by August,
stabbing ice with a little
black cocktail straw.
How can I change my
How can I love my
How can I erase my
body?
The rains wet me.
The wind wrings me.
This city we used to walk
under streetlights.
Now I bike through,
pedaling, furious and blind,
toward a place I don't know until
I arrive, and I kiss a young woman
who looks a lot like me. I ask her
to say my name over and over.
I want to fully occupy the moment,
the space, this time. Her lips
remain closed and her
hands linger on my shoulders
and no music plays and
there are voices, loud and
happy, speaking a language
that's completely new.
Michael W Noland Apr 2013
Intrepidly neglected, of my lessened reasoning, I am dissected, of my insurrection, from the blessed beens of yesteryear's glints, dancing, parading, and burning, in layers, stages, and fazes, fading, and melting, the plastic faces into the smelting heap, that has come so far, just to inspire me.

Always.

Always you unto me, spiraling, indefinitely into the deep, where ceased is the times, with bloodied hands, and laugh lines, laughing one last time, while glancing toward my watch, under setting suns, and rising stars, smiling faces, and in tearful goodbyes, i realise

The sky's limitlessness

And in all the glory, and all the bliss, the eloquent stories, and the gentle drifts, my imagination uplifts, in wisps of gentleness, where i submit to reason.

Bless-ed be, the one who garners to my support, from a vortex of euphoric antidotes, of mindless quotes, and animated emotes, pulsed, from straight faces, and lost hope.

Ill tell the truth, you can go with nope, in whispered breaths of gun smoke, lathered in lith-dope.

Just trying to cope with the flow, until i crash upon the shores of nevermore, and, explore these holes in my soul intent, ascending from the contempt of bent perspectives, and twisted concepts, letting the blood of the peasant from my arms of harmony, trembling blankly to sleep.

To you a *****, to me tranquility, as i sink, into the world i knew, so that it may be seen, casing the well being, of all the things, and pixelated dreams, from a thieves keep.

Deep, down, below me, in obscurity, i seep, through the soil of my turmoil, until my hand reaches out, from beyond my doubts, and clambers from the shadows, outside of myself.

I am born, of mud, of muck, of the stuff, you're afraid of, and all i bare is love, love to shrug the shams astray, vacating the placation, and dichotomies, unifying light, into one me, shining in the rainy streets, of my deletion

Until my completion
Completely
Erases me.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
i was in a pub once, talking to a friend, among other things,
the european union came up, i said: i can understand an economic union,
so that economic migrants are no more, i rather like talking polish after all,
but a political union, with so many contrasts?!
that'll never work. then i hear the news,
and the heavy burden of saying things before they happen;
and unlike the insinuations between philosophy
and conversation, with that one mundane origin
of philosophy known as dialectics,
i find writing necessary in prophesying,
indispensable you might add -
when governing to say: the old roman said to the
new roman: the old member boarders want inclusion,
they want the slavs gone, the dream to unfold by their
terms from carthage! i want carthage gone, erased,
gone from the dream of unification, but there's
carthage dictating to the old frail rome known as the vatican!
no! carthago delenda est!
but no, they are replicating a deletion of the past -
russia predates them in propaganda as necessarily
nibbling and knitting so that, as i might add -
old bulgars and roma will testify in fright to the yugoslav -
why such northern expansions?! the whole revelatory book said
concisely enough to market a roman revival as was first insured by
pestering russia with that famous abnormal foetus collection
of peter the great, who was the sole saint in petersburg -
saint built a city! saint built a city! how can francis assisi ever compete
to sainthood by merely talking to sparrows and squirrels
when peter the great built a city?!
well, carthage moved to raqqa - that's how!
or spot me distancing myself from the bookworm moth
philosophies of the library with shush rather than: two for 'un yer bananas!
i am that i am said: it is what it is, a god speaking of the creation,
but then the interaction within it is what it is -
the predation of all ideas and associations, a single noun, moses.
so i am that i am said inside it is what it is to
a noun who had no cartesian relevant past  in terms of
refraining from swish buckle cat's in high-heels and tutu - ***** up! you
break a spine introducing me, forget the family and the child,
you me, we encounter the world changed -
what i said prior: it is what it is will become it is what it's not really.
hence enter the philosophical lexicon: reality... perception...
bulls buckling against *******... enter moses the grand oration
of this famous dusty lexicon bettered. bettered? no really,
just us the same monkey flashback drunk with barbers and better beards -
maldives under the armpits!
i tell you, there are two kinds of world spirit like that quote
about hegel on foot and napoleon on hoof -
one spirit of the world is shrouded with, is cloaked in philosophies,
in thoughts, in the oughts and the morals of DON'T DO!
the other spirit of the world - filled with musketeers and other
pawn shrapnel - expendable creatures to conform to the dictatorial ditto:
napoleon said: marshal ames said: general maccabee said:
lieutenant general nadim said: major general eban said:
major general saburo said: brigadier taavi said: colonel yakov said:
the rest were man of cadet worth with fancy pink ribbons to sport
the wide mouthed bartender of shell-shock and etc.
those are the two spirits, while in the second realm
we have the false prophets governing - with the residing "god" as devil,
but imagine fooling a false prophet from this realm, e.g. jesus to
descend, what would the devil think?! oh ****, 2d!
so a third realm reveals itself - the pseudo edenic ****** ciphered
in the koran disappear, and we salvage ourselves by not imagining
eternal sundays, eternal idleness in such with such a realm: ***** ***** frisk frisk, lubricant;
what, a ****, eternity, as dictated by the kingdom and the koranic gardens;
peasants' eternal fill, no lion, the witch and the wardrobe in sight -
no valhalla! boring! (insert family fortunes' buzzer of x).
i want to be as worthy as a tree to rejuvenate each day after slaughtering
hel's and loci's spawn!
anonymous Jun 2016
if we were peacocks,
i would blue-green iridescent burst beauty
all the other ***** would high five me for my excellent choice of eye shadow and  elaborate evening gowns
brightness would be bravery, screaming LOOKING THIS GOOD IS WAY MORE IMPORTANT THAN SAFETY FROM PREDATORS
pretty would mean masculine and drab would mean feminine
feminine would still be an insult.

If we were leopard slugs,
we would all be one ***
maybe my dad would be your mom and my mom would be your dad
I would never worry if I was man enough
I would love all of my hermaphroditic glands equally
or, more realistically, I would be ashamed of all of them equally,
never sure if my gonopore was symmetric enough,
if my translucent blue-white ***** was beautiful enough to ever intertwine and bloom with another's
there would be no gay bars or marriage equality movements or swallowed-wink "no ****"s
no one would tap around your abdomen in search of the right organs before declaring your birthright aptitude in cooking or car repair
you and I, we would follow each other around all night, exchanging playful licks, before impregnating each other, circus-suspended from a tree branch
... I guess that part would be the same

if we were blanket octopuses or anglerfish
masculinity would mean smallness,
would mean quiet dependence,
would mean dissolution of self
i would search for you, my love
cling to you, give you my everything
you would be my big strong hunter, my provider
this is the only world i can imagine needing men's rights activitists
i would log in to chitter (like twitter, but, like, instead of birds tweeting, it's a sound dolphins make? it was the best i could come up with)
i would log onto chitter and try to tell of my deletion, but
some overly muscular two-meter-tall woman would write back,
"I've never had my body gradually absorbed into anyone else's. If it were a real problem, more octopeople would be talking about it."
they would threaten to eat me, to rip me apart and feed me to sharks, would laugh.

we're humans.
we're closer to slugs than octopuses
we aren't from mars or venus.
we don't act like it.

masculine and feminine aren't straightjackets. they're edges of a map.
on my continent, we take ballet and write poetry and cry in public
we love math and cooking and we don't really know how to fix cars but we can figure it out if it's in the user's manual
we want to be strong and graceful and warm and safe.
you don't have to live here, but don't tell me not to.

i don't know what it means to be a man
i know what it's like to be treated like a man
to be given deference i don't deserve
to be obnoxious or impulsive in conversations and not be called out for it

people with bodies like mine, with skin like mine, we take up too much space.
we can be smaller.
there's room for everyone.
Commentary welcome
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2022
Last Best Shot

July 31, 2020
8:07am

the morning sunlight. high enough to lighten first café & the future.
warming, mellifluous, biding good tidings, a head, ahead for the day.
sun-in-sky-low, so trees stand taller, shadow-makers, just for now.
grass blotched, pockmarked, alternative hints of hope & mystery.
the bay wave waters stilled, unrolled, unroiled, no-thrashing, omen?
is this wellness? is this a green tea soul and soil infusion, calming?


my mind wanders to that remains unaccompanied, unaccomplished.
unwashed breakfast dishes, miles of mail urgently unattended.
poems half-composed, some decomposing, resurrection on the list?
these unwashed word-shards, cry out, if not today, then when?
passerby’s, yachts, kayaks pause, turn, all bow-me-pointing asking?
is today their finale, burial by deletion, or their
last, best shot?

my reflection, neutral-neutered mien in 19oz. Blue Mountain
black coffee, in a Canadian Macintosh porcelain mug, provides
no clue, accident or incident, but inquires: why the adrenaline?
Brandon Jan 2016
Social media
What a great way
To bring the world together
Connection and communication
At the flick of a finger
And the touch of a button
Lonesomeness is a send away
From deletion.

Social media
Share the vulgarity,
Expose the ignorance,
And uneducated minds
Of fellow manunkind.
This life is new to me and I am learning to enjoy the moments. There have been many first times just this year. I now understand what it means to love at first sight. Loving unconditionally has been taught from watching my children love their mates. There are new fights that are being fought. No not with hands as we grow those fights are done away with. The fight for another day is with in me.
While many other things are on constant repeat. There are many new experiences that are being had. Today was the first day that I believe my sister finally tried to understand me. People sometimes paint you to be the person that they think that you are. Or who they want you to be. When I listen to people tell me who I am. What kind of person have always been and it is laughable. It is more than strange that people can know you all of your life and know nothing about you. I have been told that, “you only let people get so close.” This might be true but if I do it should say a lot to you. Trust is earned and never just given.
If I push you away it is because you put me in the situation to. New dreams and heart beats warm my inner being. My mind-set is different. Before I wanted you to know that I am there for you and would put myself to the side to provide. I never looked for anything in return. That mind-set has changed. I can no longer give my all to everyone. I have learned to replenish myself no other human can do that for me.
I am not returning calls that I don’t want to make. I will no longer participate in events to show others that I care. I will not lack sleep to benefit someone that does not deserve my attention. If I delete you I am not interested in knowing that you are offended. You earned your deletion and I hope that you do well. With these small first's I can’t wait to see what more is to come.
As we age we change and as long as the changes are good embrace them
All the locked messages,
Saved on my phone.
That little paddle lock,
Saving themselves from deletion.

All the locked messages,
Remind me of how I fell so hard.
But recovered without a scratch or cut,
Because you were there to catch me.
Open for suggestions :)

— The End —