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Johnny Noiπ Sep 2018
The space of the body of an *** is a good thing,
as long as the face
of the poet is Black;     keeping ur hands out of the war,
the head of the dead;
The heat of the land of years of snooch in the darkness;
he has the white feet of the Queen to do all that, you learn to **** when u're young;  & 1 have thought of the Green American Jesus,
      coming out of the Big chosen field of the Gold find;
the beauty of the standard of a living being; the sun,
           the ancient fortunes of money are an iron barred jail cell;
           ******* War is hell, the city,       the future of the goddess of death,
the stars of the blood of the females; In place of the word ***** is a great sea of ​​six poets; Called by the name of the Kids,
              her hair in roller thinking of a Skinny hand to love
              & to hold,
            but she  lost the baby at the door;               but it's better
what w/ the fire living in the sky;          the Moon's true history
of the happy girl's marriage [Media General]          
was a Dream told to Wall Street Roy; Igor, drunk then married the air base
opening where her American father heard she was made of gold;
a person writing in English w/ hand around a cool beverage
in the middle of a part of Greece that was a highly rich in fresh water  
& should it come into his heart,
he was willing to see that new-born children
                      are the real saints but the work  
   of turning it all around & walking through
                              the three states of yellow;
is the nature of lateness,                  however, it was full of the stars'
              yearning to feel
the Book of the Medusa; the son of ugly red wild beasts
     was on the way, walking onto a small amount of a kid in
     pieces,                                     & suffering the rock;
              the stone Guy's aquarium flooded in the year
     of the age of Maria Brown, gay mothers
     leaving us to take up arms;
in                    the month of the lips, but where there is the spirit
of the osculating dear friend of the mistress    & the deep things
of course to form;              Virginia Civil Society, as it appears that
at 1 a.m., I am writing the best of Ivan;  the wet Russian girl-child
fills w/ smoke            & 1 & 1 will say to the soul of the song
                               dancing to the evil of smoking firebrands,
          the material of the window
whose mirror is the revolutionary
perfection of God; Secret of the underdog,                  the invisible things
of the guys, including the blind man;   modern history turned into reality;
standing & listening to music,                    she was asked if she read a lot;
of eating the ***** in the field                               free of a stripper's cares

enough to talk rings way around the plate
of Standard club strippers,
Kissing & Falling over;                                      then leading to the house
                                                  once up on their feet again;
        The war the death of the good of the land of the poet;
          Nigeria within the body of an ***
pulled out of the fire by the head
of the mutilated snooch;              & the fixed period of the heat of the feet
                                of the
                                                   Princess of all others in the dark;
& for him a white stone, & for her fresh **** in the field because,
                            for 1,
                            because he is considered too green,
                       & the Americans own the Big Knives,
                       that they conduct to the chosen;
            The beauty in the methods that have been prepared;
by the goddess of the Sun,            |      the star of the old iron one:
& the sister that had been defiled       by the blood of the female,
        & the price of the fortunes   of war is great glory to the sea,
                                                     then the city would be hell,
                        & out of six places come the acts of the poet;
But love has become a lost child;  1 thought the skinny kids
in the air were really the opening of the Moon's seminal story:
[Media: General]  but they were only |      | Dreams told to the
Wall Street Journal,
get Igor drunk & he'll lead the way
            to the American Air Base's
                      glory hole
                         where
a Golden man is writing in English by hand
  & comes in from the cold
  hole &                                                shall be given drink in the middle
of Sparta of Greece,          as they had been waiting for Him to come on
                         the  first,
where the water is deep;         & a new boy is out w/ his new toy,            all   out except for the work;          To walk in the same amount of time
as just the small amount of time;                            of
                             ­      red high-spirited kids cutting it to pieces,
& they shall strike the ugly son of the stone cut out of the rock,
it is the sorrow of the fisheries,
not the Guys living in the time of Mary Brown;       
  leaving the arms of mothers
                     & the gay press,
                     at which time these ladies' love runs deep in Virginia
deploying among civil society, it appears that the mind is the best;
                          writing about you & us wet in the Russian 1000's;
                        1 will say that it is filled w/ the music of 1000 Bad dances;
& these fires;           this is the perfect picture of the revolutionary
                measures        taken
                through the window
                into the dog's secret invisible,
    because it is blind;      modern history            has become reality;
      1 asked the girls listening to music & reading a lot;
    not because 1 hate them: but for the expression of a man made of iron
     in order to be allowed to sit w/ the dog keeping watch
on the territory;    which consists in speaking
                        w/ the carelessness of his toes,  
& a sparkled stripper in the Strippers English Club    |    dances to show
                                she knows
                                  her way                 around the plate wear
                                       [testimony to the house of legs]:
The head of the inside of a she-*** out of the fire of death
for the good of the land of poets;                           War & Nigerian snooch
that fixed the period of the ****** feet of the African Princess         in the dark; the heat of the fact that it is said,               |            to him, |
a white stone lost in the green of the field,  |
& w/ it with the sacred scarab; South America knows knives,    
choosing &                          Ready to be born into the first path into form;
1 thought the skinny kids,        were already up in the air
but the door of the moon's seminal story has not yet been opened:
                | -}[Media: General]{- |    dreamily told the Wall Street
John that Igor was drunkenly leading everyone to the American
        Air Base's glory hole where the golden heads of the fathers
bobbed up & down;
who can write,        For example, in English,
                        from the hand to the heart of Greece;              from the cold;
we shall give drink to the first;                         |    that it will not be lacking
in the waters of the great deep;                                The child without a toy
   making a new effort to walk in the small amount of space
   that the sons of the high-spirited kids have cut into pieces;
           his being deformed & the amount of red in the stone;
                    which had been hewn out of the rock of sorrow
on the earnings of a woman,           the fish that we bought;
the guy is a writer of histories; in the time of Mary Brown;
husbands,   & wives are the weapons of the bottomless pit;
leaving the ladies gay,                               love has flown to
| Virginia;                                  Deploying the wine-presses
                                at a time that pertained to civil society,  
to the life of the mind,                                  to be a woman,
it seems that it is the best way for you, & us to write
                                                     of the wet Russians;
                                                it is what gets the evil out of the music;
  I filled 1 Cup so far w/ inflammation in the perfect image
  of the dog
  in the window; blind revolutionary measuring
                                        Secrets w/ invisible instruments,
                                   because modern history is the truth;
                                   1 asked the girl        
          standing beside me listening to
                                   music
if she read a lot;  1 did not think that she had a desire to do so,            so far,
&   yet she may be awakened out of the devil w/ the sword;   Doth not your fellowship w/ the black dog in the field
preclude breaking the covenant; that is to talk about the carelessness
of his fingers sparking against a stripper's back;             | Or of a meeting of the shifting
                                   Tectonic plates below the
                                                       English Isles,
          having sent the sun-burnt strippers
          spinning in the House of see-through underwear,
          considering
                                    the ways of the club;    
                                    her budding feelings
                                                        ­                                            & beautiful shining feet
Ben Jones Feb 2015
Finding something on the road
And serving it for dinner
Buying dresses far too small
And thinking you look thinner
Solar powered submarines
Broken ribs or ruptured spleens
Driving cars and drinking beers
Lightbulb licking, bad ideas

Knowing where you shouldn't be
And being there despite
Going out in thunderstorms
To fly your iron kite
Sharing needles with a shark
Going to Mansfield after dark
Setting fire to someone's ears
Telemarketing, bad ideas

Not deploying gaffer-tape
When doing D.I.Y.
Believing the implausible
While branding truth a lie
Replying to Nigerian Princes
**** bleach and ******* rinses
Tabloid papers touting fears
Voting UKIP, bad ideas

Impersonating ******
Before nineteen forty-five
Catching a train on Sunday
And assuming you'll arrive
Turning lights on with your nose
Eating food that moves or glows
Listening to Britney Spears
Marmite Pringles, bad ideas

**
I’ve been made sick by technology.
Those key boards & keypads,
The roving mouse,
The touch pad, and ultimately,
That telepathic chip
Implanted while I slept—
Who-da thunk those fingers doing the walking
Would become tendrils of the Watching Class?
Surveillance inroads to your cerebral cortex,
Ultimately taking command.
“Pilot on the bridge,” the Bosun screams,
Whenever we needed reminding
That even our Captain,
“Oh Captain, My Captain,”
I would console my crew:
“Even the Boss has a boss.”
Interesting liability issues could be raised here.
How can a human being
Be held culpable for crimes,
Any crime or thought crime,
When their mind, body & soul
Has been wired to the mainframe,
Stored in some remote Deseret,
Like that secret NSA facility,
They are building
Out in the middle of nowhere,
***-**** Utah?
So what if the people there
Are descendants of the
Original Apostles of Joseph Smith,
With a deep genetic recognition
That there was a time
When no one wanted
These Latter Day gypsies
Putting down roots.
Anywhere.
It was simply out of the question.
“Practice polygamy, really?”
That’s like wearing a sign round your neck,
A neon ankle bracelet round your crotch,
An in-your-face bright warning & caveat:
Men with wives or daughters--
**** wives and young daughters, or
Young ****, daughters--
Or old wives in any condition
& Mothers.
Are considered fair game for *******.
No thank you!
There’s the highway, Mr. Smith and
Take Brigham with you.
Cause nobody’s gonna sell you land,
Land around here.
Let alone there,
Or anywhere.
No one will sell you squat
This side, 500 miles from water.
Good water.
Farm-good water.
Wet navigable water.
By the 1830s,
The free soil
East of Ole Miss
Had pretty much dried up.
Those wacky bigamists
Pushed west again to Illinois—
The Prairie State, after all--
Raw land; still.
Raw people too,
Fearful, intolerant rubes,
Barely familiar with their own Book;
Scarcely needing another.
Our wacky gypsy Saints,
Treated like Christ deniers,
Treated like Jews, for Christ sake!
Joseph & Hiram--
The Smith Brothers
(Note to self:
Check on Mormon cough drop connection)
Slaughtered at Nauvoo.
Their Mormon brethren dispossessed of land again,
Try Missouri next--
Missouri, the show-me the door state--
These so-called Latter Day Saints
Get expelled by gubernatorial proclamation.
Saints pushed ever westward.
Until finding themselves in a place that
Even the ******* Indians didn’t want.
They dug their wells around the Great Salt Lake,
An American Negev chosen by prophecy,
They hunkered down in their desert Tel Beersheba.

But I digress.
We were talking about
That secret NSA complex
Being built in Utah,
Being built right now, July 2013.
When complete
The Watching Class will surely tune
Their screen resolutions
To those of us evincing
An unusually keen interest in
Issues like privacy.
Those among us, for example,
Using noms de internet,
Maintaining multiple email accounts,
Changing passwords
Randomly yet frequently,
Clearing browsing histories hourly,
Deploying anti-viral applications—
People: perhaps, with something to hide.
Those of us driven to paranoia
By the shape of things to come,
Those of us afraid of exposure,
Yet, incapable of staying off-screen,
Impelled by conspiracy fever,
Betraying ourselves on
Blogs and websites,
Leaving digital breadcrumbs behind.
Mysterious Aries Nov 2015
My days at Penlandia definitely reached its afterglow
Now it’s hard for me to find my rhythm
Hopefully, the soul of some of my poetry will find their mark
If not unto someone’s head, then to somebody’s heart

I hope my words are not just vandals on the wall
Nor merely a stain on the paper
I created them to touch, stab, **** and make love
To bring peace unto hell and create fire in the sky above

It’s up to your eyes now, my dearest readers to magnify
Hate my stuff or love them
What's the reason why I’m inches away on parking my pen?
Voices from the other side echoes within my ear again and again

That’s why I’m writing this poetry as if my last
But if one day you’ll see me deploying another poem
I hope you enjoy stories with an unexpected ending
Besides, even the afterglows have a little radiance remaining

Mysterious Aries

11/19/2015
Sebastian Perez Jun 2012
Looking for an exit in life, perhaps other option that is rarely available. Time travel, utilitarian way to modify the past and the future.

Trapped in a matrix of flesh and bones controlled by my encephalon, it controls  every part of my daily life, from breathing and blinking to helping myself memorize.

A feeling of antipathy in life that could never bring me happiness.  

The inculpation for the misapprehension in my past relationship and future.

What does a man like me to do? How can one display their philia when they're not certain of that emotion?

My endurance in this life is on a perpetual edge. I perceive with attention toward happiness.

A deprivation I share with others. An absent of happiness.

A happiness of dominance; a switch that is only controlled.

Today he can be happy; switch ON.  Next week he can be unhappy; switch OFF.  

I walk on egg shells in this relationship and have to be careful that it won't break. I'm sad and lonely, this is what I get and deserve.

God nor I could change this, but I don't see it happening during my remaining life.

Stifles with silence deploying infantile  plots. A day at a time I enunciate as my composer easily is un-maintain.

Hidden arcanum among a number of these unidentified entities lashes out at me discreetly.

Posing no threat I conceal the pass deep in the abyss in an unmarked grave sealing off the hippocampus that only the Creator can breach.

Unannounced the gravestone is turned my past is breached which I assumed that only the Beneficent can release.

Once an inhabitation, but no longer my domicile. Set aside and noted as a lost monument.

Ascendency barbarous with words of articulation fatal to ones self esteem, grossly spoken enslaved. An inclination to the predisposition of my life.
Kida Price Jun 2014
Us
Ten years shy of our interlude
You watching me punching you.
First impressions were insude.
Who would have thought they would have lasted as long as you?
Hardened shells
Never crack
Passing notes
Hear you laugh.
Searching hallways
Looking back
See your face
Give me that.
A casualty of a hacky sack.
Keeping face and holding back.
Hug me tight
Apology
You won't see a single tear from me.
Turned your back away from me
Never wanting comforting
Especially from the likes of me.
Hugging back
Selflessly
Making you see this isn't me.
Highschool drama
**** those llamas
Keeping rage to a tolerable somber.
Pretending not to see you leave
So far away from my company.
Feeling others pulling me
Away from your integrity
Intentions made so violently
Trying to hate you
Have you forgetting me.
Angry notes are pushing
You farther and farther away from me.
Making us complicating
Something as simple as you and me.
**** this ****
I want this
Complicate me with our trust.
Let me be the one you dance with
When there are others you dismiss.
Passing up what could have been our first kiss.
Day of love
The day I hate
Who needs a valentine?
It could **** my taint.
Down the hall behind your back
A little flower
Now I'm trapped.
Handing it to me
Watching a smile grow widely.
Making my words into hypocrisy
Now they know I'm a girl and see
How you're cracking every bit of me?
Kissing cheeks
Make us blush
Never stopping our blood from the rush.
Holding hands
Intertwined
Finishing sentences
Reading minds.
It almost felt like you were mine
Before life parted us with time.
Far away
Computer screens
Catching up
Living things
Watching you love and letting you be
At least we had the memories.
Fell into some habits
So did you.
What is our lives coming to?
Feeling the shells harden again
Please don't break it
Let me pretend
You don't see me on this end.
You won't be proud of the things I did.
Fall off planets
Wedding bands
Stand at attention
No longer in each other's plans.
Seeing the world is the latest trend.
Asian continent
Back on earth we land
What are the odds
Of you planting your legs where I stand?
Aisle walks
Who's at the end?
Selecting food with a friend.
Stand like a statue
As I ascend
Hardly believing we're breathing the same oxygen.
Did you shake?
When I wrapped my hands
Around your back
Am I an illusion?
Miles from home
And I found my friend.
Bring my songs back to life
Thinking we've change
Together that's a lie.
There's much to do about nothing
To pick up where we left off back then.
The mold I'm squeezing myself in
You trying to keep yourself busy
Any excuse to have a run in meeting.
Find religion
No, but you'll spend time with me.
Watch me do some mormoning.
Maybe come over for some holidays
See the part where I'm cooking things.
Confiding in you that I hate Christmas
And you full heartedly agree.
It's not that bad though on the couch reminiscing.
Pull out year books and point out people
Together hating
What have you been up to since leaving me?
I love long stories
They won't bother me.
Once again fingers entangling.
Almost forgetting to whom I'm belonging.
Don't remind me of what I'm craving.
Here...look at these girls
They're all that you need.
The attention you give me only makes me think.
FHE hide and seek
Sit in my car
Listen to me sink
Oh, you met someone
Isn't that neat?
She makes you laugh
She helps you feel less lonely.
It wasn't until you had us meet
That my inner envy began to creep.
That night before deploying...
Even in front of her
You saying that you loved me.
And I believing it being more than friendly.
6 months out
Desert sands
Losing someone you thought you had
On both of our ends.
Ask advice
The hell if I know
The same thing is happening to me.
I wish it wasn't how it came to be.
A matter of time before you return to me.
Work day
In my registers place
I'm the first you choose to chase
And in response I jump to your embrace.
Relieved you came back in safety.
You came back home
And my home came back to me.
Darken sidewalks
Hand in hand
Tell me how you spent your time in the sand
Your place now
And I confess
There's things I feel
Parts of you I missed.
Expecting you to call me out
It's not fidelity if I say it out loud.
And yet you don't
You mimic me
Telling that you had been missing
Me.
At least we know
We said our peace
No further even though our doors are opening.
Don't swing wide
Don't let me feel your breeze.
Just one toe in
That's all I need.
Game of thrones
Barrack rooms
Wondering what I said to you
Just lay down
Don't go too far
Non make out session
Our hearts pound hard.
I'm on top
My face too close
Touching lips
The story goes
It's you and me
Staring
Can't believing it to be happening.
Just this once and then no more
Kissing as if we never had before.
Trying hard as hell to not want more.
All convictions to the floor
Loving each other like there's a settle to score.
But it doesn't count if you don't say
That you love me in anyway.
Let's keep it casual, I say.
Let's try to stop this all today.
Going out
Drinking scene
I'm trying to look pretty.
And you always look good
In whatever you throw on
Inebriated I try to make you sing a song.
Go out for some air
Let the drinks speak for me
Telling you I love you right then and there
Regardless of whoever could hear.
Moving too fast but I didn't care
If I lost you again at least of have it out there.
Drink me up into your cares
I'd rather be here than where I came
While you tell me you love me all the same.
It's probably wrong for both of us to say
But we've know it too long to be too ashamed.
Let someone else take the blame
Of constantly getting in the way.
Evenings spent in each other's sway
Till he calls or we get too carried away.
Not letting me go home just yet
Don't leave me alone
Don't make me forget
The places I've kissed on your neck.
Crevices discovered
New places of wonder
In and outside of those covers
No control
Let's leave the room
In the zone
Inhale those smoking fumes
Stupid smiles
To one another
They all knew about us and each other
The lust branded us both lovers
Except for that certain act
We broke ourselves not to rein act.
Kissing can be forgiven
But that sure as hell can't
Only when we belong to each other
Would we ever do that.
When and not if
After all of this
We felt too much with every kiss.
Placing each other in each future scenario
Naming kids and watching them grow
In our heads.
Plucking out names as we star gazed
Debating on waiting or straight away
Having our perfect family.
Talking of sharing our lives alone
But we weren't alone.
Knocks on the door
Back home there was met
Someone who found out our little secret.
Confronted
Turns out that I was actually wanted
Could have fool me by his quiet neglect
And we were both being treated like back stabbing suspects.
And that's when the guilt in me crept.
Stronger than I, you stood your ground.
Feeling bad for the conflict but not for being around.
Wanting to protect me from every sound
Of rage and breaking hearted rebound.
And after that it was like a divorcing trial
He'd have me all week and then you on the weekend but only for a little while.
Trying to keep myself going wild
Trying have both of you smile.
Stupid me
Now I see
I'm not the kind of person meant for sharing.
Back and forth and still I'd be
Exposed to 360 degrees of jealousy.
And on top of that you were leaving me.
Not deliberately
Not intentionally
Not wanting
To see me fade away into nothing.
Do our time
Make it count
Get the claw and pull nemo out.
******* there's a gloomy bear?
10 more tokens then we're there.
Photo booth
Print it clear
That we happened. We were here.
Walk a trail and find a tower
Watch the sunset from the water.
Skip those rocks until I get it right
We were always worth the fight
For any of those memories to see the light.
Knowing though right now can't be
Someday you ask to marry me
I've been asked that before
And you see where that got me
You don't blame me for the disbelief
And your ever hopeful eyes still plead
Never thinking back in spite
The things we felt on your last night.
Folding socks
Packing tight
Kissing time away that night.
Interrupted
And I left
Feeling so in completed.
Watch the clock before you take off
I need to make it now or not
Walk right through the terminal doors
And all of your resolve plummeted to the floor.
One last time and then no more.
It's hard enough to say goodbye
I can't do it when you have tears in your eyes
Trying hard to hold back mine
All we wanted was a little more time.
We always joked of how
Hours went by like seconds now
God allowed time to slow
When you're feeling miserable.
In the line
Watch you fly
Now it's only me, myself and I.
Hoping one of us can keep our memories
As my tangible one fade away from me.
Try again to recommitting
To the one I left hanging.
Trying to still be in your mind
But letting go to prove him right.
Then he left me high and dry
Should have saw that coming as soon as you took flight.
Hoping you put me from your sight
Burn my letters and live your life right.
While I deny myself the right and mine
Thinking I deserve it for my crime.
Breaking 3 hearts including mine.
Pass the time
I need to be better
I need to follow his life to the letter
Thinking I don't deserve much better
The one who you had wants out but I won't let her.
Feels like I waited forever.
Reconnected the line to the wrong receiver.
Thought I had done what I thought was best
Hearing your voice say those words and I couldn't contest
With your distance and your suppressed
Empathy for my distress.
It's the undeniable consequences.
Let myself fall of the surface
Breaking ties
Become the enemy
Become the very kind of person
I spent my life loathing.
Prey upon those who'd believe
All the pretty words I'd seethed.
Who knew it could be this easy
To make someone else fall in love with me?
Faceless guys who tripped to see
Any kind of attention from me.
Getting drunk every evening
Just to **** the part of me with feeling.
Touch me want me kiss me taunt me
Think you've made me the one who's wanting?
And then the prodigal boy who bounced me
Came back when he saw what I was flaunting.
You would have rolled your eyes at me
With everything that I was portraying.
Going back to the way I was playing.
In my defense I wasn't thinking.
About him.
About you.
About myself or what I had to do.
Deny the basic human right
To feel some happiness
To feel alive.
Take the bottle and the pills
Waking up the next morning
Disappointment with a side of chills.
At least it was a wake up call
Trying to control it all
If I was going to let myself fall
I didn't want to inconvenience anyone at all.
Play the part
Say the words
Live the lie
Make it work
Made my plans
Aligned with his
Come back home and he leaves again.
Knowing in the back of my head
You were somewhere else
And you lived.
Maybe someone was warming your bed.
Last we spoke, someone did.
Trying to keep my space again
I'd done enough as it is
For you to want to see my face again.
So I had thought
And I did.
You were waiting for my message.
Even if it was just as friends.
Facebook stalking
We both admit
We'd do it weekly until one of us
Started talking.
Passing thoughts
Wait for an update
Profile pictures
Changing
I kept taking more and more
Note on your tagged photos
Wondering who took those.
Did you still have the ones I took?
When you were alone and thinking
Did you have a look?
Did you ever think of me?
Why the hell aren't you messaging?
Then I, with silence breaking
"Hey there stranger...."
Message seen
Then you said you were willing me
To say those words through the screen.
Find out how you were close to me.
How did I feel about visiting?
Driving three hours to my county
And now to you I'm nervously driving.
Pulling up next to you
*******!
When did he get so huge.
Wait a moment for my breathing to ensue.
Unbuckle, get out and walk to you.
Pulled me in
Was the first thing you do
And the the feeling came rushing through.
Like some ****** on a binge
God, it felt so good to be held again.
Trying to avoid holding hands
Check me out
And I'll check you back
Tease each other
Make me crack
Almost kiss
Pull away
**** this ****
Do it anyways.
Walking in public places
Didn't help the pulsing phases
The time apart didn't diminish the traces
Of the physical draw, we just misplaced it
Maybe we should go back to my place
Watching some film while we look away
Baby, let's not get carried away
Close call
You almost made me fall
Crazy how that felt like no time at all
Till we're back on the same spiral.
Catch a glimpse of my swinging face
Smile now frown now back to our places
It's hard to feel so far away
When I stare at your face through this screen everyday
When I fall asleep to your voice at night
When we speak of drawing first blood
How hott it would be to fight.
Making business meetings
Into merging companies
Telling secrets
Making scenes
Silly faces
Fairly lands
Does it bother you?
It never did.
Trying to make my life less complicated
Convincing me
That the ground your standing
Is the one you claimed
Like planting a flag down in the name of your country.
Come to my door
Pull the beasts away from the floor
Then I'm against the wall
Pick me up
Never letting me fall
First impressions are the best
You say hello in a way if can't contest
Trying to keep the shake from your hands
As you fiddle and press all my buttons
Road trip riots
Scream out windows
Call me maybe?
That poor couple.
Amusement parks are just a perk
We're already amused together with the way we work.
Baby, I love you, turn around!
******* A!
The sloth you found!
My jaw almost hit the ground
I went full ****** just now.
Lemonade ice
Wishing wells
Tattooed dad's
Hands are held
Fight the straw
In your mouth
Remind me of my stature
Elbow on my head
Apologize
Kiss my face instead.
See a family struggling
With capturing their own memory
Tell me to ask and see
If their picture could be taken by me
So shy by your own generosity
I lovingly agree
Sleepy now
Wearing out
First time sleeping all personal.
Promise to stay
Regardless of what's happening?
We don't have to go all the way.
Naked now
If you kiss you lose
Did you kiss me
Or did I kiss you?
Alarm clock ******* up the sleep cycle
Waking up to see you smile
Morning breath
Just give me a little while
Get up from bed
Pull me back down
Put on your shirt
Take it back off now.
Taking care of canine kids
Taking a shower while you sit
Ready to go back on the road
Walgreens, gardens, now my favorite abode.
Secret spot that I show
**** rubbing that tree made me giggle.
On the strip
Arts and crafts store
No, I've never been in there before.
We both enjoy what we see so far.
*******.
They're playing Fast Car.
Stares are swapped
Grins are spread
Sharing that secret
Like we did.
Waiting till that song did end
To head to our next destination.
Walk up hill
Serious talk
Sit on grass
Picture swap
Ninja pose
You're built like a rock.
Find some food
But it's too crowded to walk.
Jason's deli has what we want
Only conflict is the drinks that we bought.
You like mine better?
I like yours too
Problems solved
Let the trade ensue.
Ticking clock
Almost time to leave
Rewinding parts of mr nobody
Trying not to let me see
How much you don't want to leave.
Kiss me like you don't want me to,
******* this kid is making me lose it too.
Get in car
Drive away
Call me soon
Drive home safely
FaceTime ******* us off incessantly
If we were in person
We wouldn't need this ******* thing.
Hardly an hour past, and then
You ask when you can see me again.
Make some plans
Rinse repeat
Tabb throw back
Dairy Queen food endeavor
Food lion **** break
Tim minchins radio doppelgänger
Read my brain
You thought it too
Art museum
I'm gunna get you
Riled up
And frustrated with me
It's hard to walk when in my ear
You're whispering
Do you hear a piano playing?
Let's trek back and see
The master of that melody
Hunting down the elderly
That old guy is you
And the old lady is me
Speaking of our future constantly.
Back to the ride
The glove box won't comply
Get some wire to compromise
Take me to get some shakes and fries
Wandering in the mall's walk lights
Going back across the bridge
My paranoia of the road permits
Squeezing your hand every five minutes.
Relax
Scream and step on the gas
You sure know how to make my brain go lax
Check on the kids
And then pursue
The slumber party
Take two
Messing up the room info
King sized bed
Downgraded to two q
Serious mechanisms burst indelibly
Shooting forth their product, packed tight
Shrink wrapping my internal appetite
Silencing the spoken word, sealed lips
Leaving no reminders of their last
Interaction; capital letters parading
Outnumbering the lower case ranks
Fighting off commas and full stops
Obliterated, deploying the erase mace
Wandering and withering til inky
Smudges pushed through wasting
Its background, depositing friction
To take ownership of the break through
Alan McClure Mar 2011
Oh baby,
prepare yourself for a fitting tribute
at the hands of my lyrical ability.
I will rhyme effectively
much as a successful sportsman
might employ his talents
in order to win a tournament of some kind.
Indeed, my mastery of rhythm and rhyme
will be such
that you will find yourself very powerfully
attracted to me.

Girl,
you put me in mind of a famous celebrity
noted for her physical beauty.
If you were, let's say, a car,
you would be
a really good car.

The sort of car
I would wish to own and drive.

Not convinced?
Then let me assure you
that I can easily put paid to my rivals
by deploying the linguistic and musical prowess
which I believe I mentioned above.

Oh yeah.

Incidentally,
I would think nothing
of expending quite considerable sums
on nice things to give you.

That would be nice,
wouldn't it?

So, baby,
if these enticements are sufficient to stir your interest
in me
then I would be delighted
to exchange
contact details
or something.

Oh yeah.  Get down.
- From Also Available Free
Adam Kinsley Aug 2016
You crawl beneath my timid heart
Deploying those feeble desires
I speak with vivacious eloquence
But, I have not changed my reasoning--

Or, lack there of

I dive, head-strongly, into the same folly
Dreaming dreams I've halfheartedly dreamed before
With vehemence as my blind witness:
I stab at the sands, to search for sentiment

Or, lack there of

[The sentiment I had unnervingly hurled into the sea]
There is nothing to gain from this redundant Intention
Crestfallen, it follows me, with all of my lost chances
And, I have Run...out of places to peddle my Love

Or, lack there of...
Gaurav Gurung Aug 2024
As the morning songs initiate with singers of feathers,

As the hellish darkness calms with sunrays of answers,

Comes a beautiful new day in the un-urbanized,

The father with his sickle goes on to fetch green to his beloved,

The mother wakes up in devotion and chants mystical speeches

The children wake up with energy of a lifetime

Enough to get them through their carefree lifeline,

The people here are simple not bothered by Mondays,

Nor are they very  happy when there are Sundays,



The birds still chirping, the streams still flowing,

Children with their silly little games, above them the sun still glowing,

People from the country are bored, no TV, no network,

The Villagers instruct them to keep their worries aside

And enjoy the organic meal prepared

Enjoy the carefree environment before the troubles reappear

With a sip of water that’s sweeter than life

They carry on their silent relationship with their wife,

Life here is different, time works strange,

Afternoons are silent- could one be deranged!



A spider likes the one seen on TV lurks from the corner,

In the garden a snake, quite venomous is noticed,

The elder with one courageous might sweeps off the snake

The on lookers are awestruck, taken back by his might,

An hour in the afternoon is like an asylum

So Silent, everyone sleeps due to the heat waves,

The sound of chainsaws are heard in the distance,

Could deforestation be marching?

The sound of engines roaring,

Could the corporate be lurking?

To “modify” the landscape and make it more “mainstream”?

They’d destroy the peace here with a showcase of their money,

Deploying clouds of steel over what was once sunny!



The shining orb of the night returns after her shift,

The Sun with it’s protruding glamour leaves the scene,

The children scatter from the trees and hurry back home,

The elders with their “doko” full of green currency retreat,

In the end, the silence abrupt the call!

Perhaps, it’s now the Owl’s turn to howl!

A Beautiful Day in Heaven comes to a halt….

A Beautiful Day in Heaven comes to a halt….
Inspired by true events, the narrative follows a day in the villages! As someone who's mother belongs to a rural village, visiting her side of the family always ends up fascinating me and hey, as a poet, I've fulfilled my duty to write it down!
How many stretches of imagination
does it take to reach the Moon?

daily exercise?
I fraternise with this
enemy,
within me
there is untapped energy
come
'frack me'

ha
I crack myself up at times.
Johnny Noiπ Sep 2018
is not yet open: [Media in General]              
measured by Secret Inventori    |
ego est Virginia         Deploying the wine-press
          at the time that pertained
to civil disobediance in society,   to the life of the mind,
to be a woman, it seems,  that it is the best way for you
and us to write to wet the Russians;             & it is what gets the evil War
& Nigerian snooch in  a                    fixed period of the feet of the Prince
of Darkness;                       |   but the heat of the fact that it is said, to him,
that a white stone is lost in the green field,         & it w/ the sacred beetle;
South America or knives, choosing;             |      Ready to go into the first
path to form;            1 thought the skinny kids were in the air
but the door
of the moon is out of the music;    1 filled Cup so far; inflasibility,
because modern history is the truth; |     |           |       |1 asked a girl
standing there listening to music
|                   if she read a lot;          1 did not think
that she had a desire to do so far,               & she may have been awakened
out of the devil by the edge of a sword;                Doth not your fellowship
       w/ the black dog in the field preclude the covenant be broken;
that is,         to talk about the carelessness of his fingers sparking &
striking a stripper like a match;  | Or off w/ her ******* instantly upon
         meeting
|                                   &            onto the Brass plates of the Nephilim;
                                                       ­                          the English having
sent the strippers;                                             spinning into the House
           of see-through underwear,                                        considering
the ways of the club, & her bud's feet;                                          drunk
                                            & leading to the American air base's glory
                                              hole where the golden heads their fathers,
who can write;    For example,            in English,
        eat from the hand
of the heart of Greece just in from the cold;        where we shall
get drunk in the first;               that we will not be lacking in the
                            dreaming
told the Wall Street Journal by John that Igor       was animating
the perfect image of the dog in the IMAX window;
          blind revolutionary waters of the great deep
                                                              & the child
              w/out a toy on a new effort to walk
                                        in the small amount
 of space that the sons of the high-spirited kids
                                    have     |  cut into pieces
with his being deformed;           by the amount of red in the stone;
   which had been hewn out of the rock of sorrow inside the head
                     of a she-*** leaping out of the fires of death for the good
of the land of the poet's seminal story        of the earnings of a woman,
the fish that we were           & later caught             & still later bought;
    |                                 the guy is a writer of histories;
    |                                      in the time of Mary Brown;
                                    |                       husbands, wives
                                   are the weapons of the bottomless pit leaving
         |                         the ladies gay,       |       love has flown||
for MM
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
So what happens when too strong of a signal is fired
When the synapse is blown and destroyed?
Alignments of stars are deploying themselves into
Physical reality from your own ideas of nature

Give me all that I can use
Let me in
Or do I back away,
Do as the balanced disciplinary
Tactician would do out above the unbeatable city streets?

The skulls of my many deaths pile up
In the memories of my extragalactic cemetery
Back home where I was one with everything

I was following a number of prisms
Into voluntary service
When it came to collision
But it didn't concern me
As I marveled at visions
From the center of existence
To the edge of religions
To the furthest reach of outer space
And other dimensions
Ken Pepiton Aug 2023
Let it rest.
Let us see better, saying
some say we have dues to pay,

duties to the whole human race,
race being loaded with royal faith.

Any propagation of holy order, go,

take the land that lacks any kings,
make men modeled on Donald Trump,
from boys modeled on the anti-hero,
and ---

Accept the offer of a satisfied mind, for a minute.

Poverty of being me, not obliged to any
powers of orders from God, general use,
under which, in America, pledged children stand.

Stepping beyond the ordered classes,
my generation, born into natural TV, Eureka!,
I personally watched Archimedes say it, on TV,
I was seven, and used …
-------------
Information gathering, intelligence collecting,
ever learning never knowing everything about,
ever, as a state.
Eureka!
Communists, say the word,
instant hate,
****, say it, sayit Niggerniggerniger ghuck yew.
Potential traitors, aliegiance pledge violators,
called to vote, under the laws God authorized.

Vote for fear,
vote for hope, vote for leaving me alone.

------------------ governing a self, letting any mind
be in you, being found in the gaseous we state, ever
after all's been said and done, a dozen times, or more.

The entertainment value of life.
Judging one's own experience, later than most.
Age tested…
ex agere, eh, gitgo, let it roll… therapy, in session.

Listen, Doktor, I am a good liar,
I just wish I were otherwise. That's everyman's truth.

It is written, all men are liars, not only Cretans.
Therefore, right,
knowing that, accepting that, we all naturally lie,
and if we are rewarded for the art of mimicry,

we lie until we die.

Think yourself to the source, when did the mind
on offer to the elite who hired spirited tutors,
change
to allow the untouchables
to read?
------- Freedom from unknowing why I disagree.

Over the last century, however,
Freud’s ideas have since been met
with criticism,
in part because
of his singular focus
on sexuality as the main driver
of human personality development.

https://www.quora.com/Do-you-agree-with-Freuds-theories

My AI, intuitional artistry, assisting informant, informs me,
- ego chooses to, a bit vehemently, dis-herd my hide.
Be not conformed to this world…

be not conformed
to the mileau projected as reality, you and me
being formed in, positioned
as carriers, or as carried messages, proof
of all naked mankind may bear up under imagining.

Stand and ask the chronicles. Bow and ask the spirits,
sit Zazen lotus on a goldfish pond, stride across surface tension,
examine
animated orderly symphony of
how big a show we can put on.

Splash.
Recall the age weapon, wielded unrighteously.
-- I can out time waste any young mind.
-- time acknowledged passing. So,
what
am I to do well enough to influence turbulence positively.
Make a point.

Think a cause, make up your mind, our whole mortal mechanics,
levers and weights and balances and tension holders and releasers.

Prods produce anger, and
any we we thought we were kicks it self to death, when…

- Cadmus, it is- and this then that stone thrown at
dragon's teeth, taken from Ares,
by  our selected hero,
fed early Book of Knowledge, and Britannica,
and Aesop, and Poor Richard, and all the Nursery Rhimes…
- just so right, if the least heat zone is cool.
Goldilocks.
Rapunzel, coming of age, rites of passage, understand.
Peter, the pumpkin eater, had a true Freudean problem.

Not some thing nursery children can parse.

Knowledge of the story,
holistic impression on the cultural psyche, do tell,
says the Id to the Super I.

"Peter, Peter pumpkin eater,
Had a wife but couldn’t keep her;
He put her in a pumpkin shell
And there he kept her very well.
Peter, Peter pumpkin eater,
Had another and didn’t love her;
Peter learned to read and spell,
And then he loved her very well."

I'd better think myself a fine boy, for this plumb,
line upon line, steady sense of balance and
timing since, aim, edumacated
will to tell, provocative force, tensile strength stretch
of the imagination,
the imagining machinery, pull

Target audience, the attraction in us all, to hit it
the key first thing,
the corner stone.
Masonic
cultural syncretism, lying idle, conjoined heads and tales,
inspiring

preconscious, conscious, unconscious, subconscious
science - use, measure, from seventeen POVs, at once.
collect a consciousness,
form a we, me and thee.
We are perhaps the briefest form of mind,
the passing fancy, fantasy titular idea, the works

opera, machinations deploying ropes and wheels,
and crashing cymbals, Zildjians, no doubt, old ideas,

tinkling bells, and jingling bells, sounds of whips,
sounds of sails snapping, tacking,

ambitions lead us around the obstacles, land us on the sand.
------------
knowledge, expressed with confident proof,
poet's license taken as granted, this is all I offer life.
Any ant-like urge to gather for the colony, I offer this.

I disagree with Sigmund Freud, and Bishop Sheen…
and doubt we ever could have been friends, like me and

the few names I have power to recall, with a thought, like
a charged ion on a quest,

to prove the best use,
of any knack.

This is all I brought with me from my past,
I speak English and
I have a linked history through five generations.

Being amusing, and being a user of muses, are not same
in balance of Natural vs Artformed,
Art's own sake, they say, causa sui
the use of knowledge, knowing and doing, showing growing,
formations of cultural biomes,

rust dust, color of Mars, Ares, same idea,
a good god of war…

"Turn the other cheek."
Love make simple - imagine Romance Novels, all day, all night,
News as it would appear, after the generational curses
propagated at the K through 12 stage,
bear fruit on grafted limbs.

The poor you have always
with you, ye poor in heart.

Fitting war's reality, 2023
--fit, not fight
Pieces of my mind, hoping mostly not to lie, unconsciously.

Lines, floating on singularities too tiny to feel.
Forming
From our conjoined mind's past,
to our oath tied you and me agreement, I admit, I pray,

in much the way I prayed as a child,
hoping to win the lottery,
believing my mercy on the universe plea,
worked.
I can imagine news from the Daily Planet,
I can imagine pogroms looking like a zippo'd village.

Can't we all?
Is not the power of the message art offers seeing eyes,
worth the promise of redeeming shame, cash in the secrets.

The work of a prophet, use the best gift, fabricate a valid reason.
T'is today, Monday, once.

So sophomoric have we become, tomorrow never comes, we know.

Live for today, eh, seize the light, stretch it, stretch it, to the night.

Blessed. Favored above the cursed, happy having things to do, right.
Cursed. Tied to the fear of death, due to childhood trauma, Victorian
moral standards,
five moral generations ago, height of the mission to hide the theft.

History and new thought. Novelty constantly, let me,
entertain you,
let my words be the glue,

listen with a will to know,
and grow your own shelter from the storm,

become a passive unibomber, seek and destroy the glory,
iconoclasm chasm leap

of merest faith, spirit verbing lief as well, mine or thine,
whatever.

Where this is, in a construct believed in as direct objective
The Cloud of all collected knowns and their known uses.

I, ego of the entity I play, outwardly aware you are there,
thinking we think at once,
this time,
this instant, and some men of faith can sell that.
Some sit in the buzz of electrified retiremental bliss,
content. Sowing seeds of kindalikeness.

The prize of the satisfied mind… seek that first.
See what it turns into.
Letting the hope of doing good, act out.
tectonic plates gnashing together
volcanic activity becoming more prevalent
tsunamis flooding coastal lands
there is much volatility on the Earth

the weather seemingly out of kilter
snows falling on the summer plains
scorching hot winds affecting the tundra ice
there is much volatility on the Earth

man deploying weapons of a chemical kind
killing innocent people well away from battle lines
not thinking of the consequences his operations will cause
there is much volatility on the Earth

governments telling lies and being corrupt
politicians bringing no honor to themselves
the public is sickened by the political process
there is much volatility on the Earth

media outlets inform us daily of these events
upon our minds they make an indent
so much happening twenty four seven
there is much volatility on the Earth
Secrets weigh heavy as burdens on the heart -
stone bags wound tightly with string-
Swaying into a crippling pit
But the risk of a personal heart is better dealt than the loss of the others held
Sobriety tasted vacant-
What felt free was laced with potent, bitter tendencies  
Decisions narrowed and lines embarked-
Deploying Tangible intercept
Danger has a way with sweetness to the ears
Trickery-
Taking the mind away from the world-
The well being of the doubtful with a sip-
One

Two

Three

Four

More-
Back to the downfall

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro
PLEASE TAKE THIS LIVE YET AIM LESS, GOOGLY EYED, EARTH LINKED, HOTMAIL OF A YAHOO WANTS TO GO ON A SECRETE MSN i.e. mission. SO PLEASE HELP ME >>> JUNO WHAT I MEAN?

     scrawled about 150 years ago with me sharpest nicked n jagged finger nail while temporarily holed up in a dank damp dungeon before being rescued by scrooge.
--------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------
      Light snowflakes danced across fuzzy lunar beams casting moon shadows of absolute delight - at least until morning the morn o Christmas broke.
     Uncle sam and partner in grime (one union jack) joined ranks to rescue me.
     This bro British gentile ben (who likes converted rice) pull went on their beat, which result equals this swift tail lord n harried style scribbling.
     As evident dis lit writ fellow enjoys bending, deploying, experimenting, gripping, illustrating karma (his) thru words.
      That then ***** (epitomized in countless burlesque chaplinesque productions, dickensian tales, oil paintings some from artistic hands of great masters and others from anonymous exquisite painters, et cetera) remembered nothing of his birth or childhood.
     My amorphous gauzy, hazy memories solely comprised fragmented collection of miserable memories, which epitomized living a hellacious hand to mouth hard scrapple existence.
     Past and now present existence seemed a worse fate than death.
     The overpowering urge to survive as one foreigner against depredations of the grim reaper found me daily fending off real and imagined threats against daily/night grind.
      Yours truly dug deep within his bony strength in an effort to mustard every last ounce of strength to avoid the skull n crossbones that tried like the dickens to ketchup with me.
     Although cursed with nefarious fate in tandem with a measly looking specimen of thee human varmint, this then grimy, grungy, rangy, et cetera looking being clung with all the might to his five foot ten inch or so tall and one hundred and forty pound body.
     I tapped into survival skills and summoned willpower to stay alive and bear this heavy cross of ***** poor poverty.
     No matter a hard-core skeptic at heart, this cynic plaintively called for divine intervention to help, this human piece of flotsam and jetsam to cope with living like a junkyard dog - name o Jim Croce.
     In essence, this ignored and shunned vagrant frequently raged against the machine and found figurative and literal lovely bones that picked at mailer demons that tormented his psyche.
     While he traipsed along the boulevard of broken dreams (before the end o September came), a torn and well-worn shoe kicked a of couple pointed items.
     One comprised colorful jagged shard that in a previous lifetime housed some cheap fermented liquor.
      Nothing but crud filled the remnant of what looked like a ***** guzzling hounds favorite drink.
     This solitary sojourner never felt drawn to drown out moi sorrows by turning to the bottle, cigarettes nor drugs (a respect for thyself existed), though an automatic reflex found ma fingers to grab this eye-catching drunkard’s lost memento and wireless device.
     This tangle of webbed, weird wired mesh constituted a dullish metallic uh object generated by ac/dc charges, which turned out to be a heavily damaged MOTORAZR phone.
     Out of some foolish embarrassed instinct, I cradled then rubbed this remnant once containing some amber liquid of the hot ***** shaped stone temple pilots of the dogs.
     In mockery against cosmic consciousness, my mouth jabbered away into the mobile phone.
     No sooner did these chafed, course and cracked fingers slide across the unbroken surface of said bottle in with my cracked, frozen and parched lips uttering some plea, a crackle, snap and pop delivered a lifelike goddess.
     The mp3 player began issuing syncopated beats indicative per some previous owner favorite play list tunes on this electronic contraption.
     This vision and auditory music definitely brought a sobered Judy e shall punch to moi cloudy sense n sensibility flush with pride without prejudice.
     I clapped mine nearly deaf ears and thence rubbed mein kempf gnarled hands across nearly blind myopic eyes.
     A maiden suddenly appeared in plain view.
    Disbelief found me as some pretender to feign acting like a beastie boy to use said cell phone and speak in a matter of fact tone of voice.
     She (in a lilting, melodic and sing song tone) responded with casualness as like a genie appears (alladin like) everyday.
     General conversation ensued (albeit fraught with a bit of apprehension and self consciousness) before the purpose of her presence became clear.
     Immediate difficulty arose to think of one wish to alleviate grievous humiliation and immersion in misery at the dog forsaken hour of 4 after midnight, yet we carried and decamped.
     Rather than blurt out the immediate favorite offering for untold riches, I surprised myself and communicated a desire for female friendship.
     A gamesome gal who would surrender herself for cries and whispers seemed more important than any pile of wealth.
     Awareness and self-actualization about my utter decrepitude appeared as immediate deterrent toward attaining a bona fide sincere relationship.
     Nonetheless, This ordinary and reasonable ambition appeared as a lofty goal.
     Self absorbed in this rambling, jangling and longing of the body, mind and heart, I quickly became oblivious to an imaged or real corporeal presence, which spurred such an outpouring toward this ostracized and unwanted vermin.
     Eyes wide shut loosened tongue in an effort to picture the escape from pernicious malady and crushing blow of an abominable lumpenproletariat existence.
     Lips shut tight prevented the woebegone loss of what appeared as some divine trickster who conjured such a muse out of thin air.
     Upon winding down this unrehearsed recitation, a painstaking effort got made to open the eyelids very slowly.
     Wanton soupy pleasure ala a side order of Lo (mein), and behold when this nattering noodle ling manifestation in the actual guise of a gorgeous gal.
     She stood still as a statue, and remained rapt with attention.
     Provenance and providence found pleasure in prattled patois.
     A promise uttered to remain as permanent lass despite many who considered this writer nothing but a wretched pestilence of earth!
     Those comedy of errors leered at this kingpin of words ceased to punctuate one anonymous life with angst-riddled tragedy.
     Pleasant great expectations found all’s well that ends well.
     My ****** innocence, naivete, and nonchalant Tommy knocking cruise across the byways, country roads, and superhighways of this awesome World Wide Web found me sequestered in seventh heaven.
     This frenzied, mad as hatter Caucasian man found himself pleasantly ensconced with a down to earth woman, who playfully grabbed, man-handled and pinned down this artfully flirtatious fellow.
     Thine force-fed (with but a feeble protest) feasts of feverish foreplay found flaccid flesh to become primed for penultimate probing in the primary female plantation in that verdant tropic of cancer.
     Merry widow and 2000th wife who dwelled in a system with Windows 98 subjected this gentle guy to pleasant uninterrupted interludes of gentle felicitous ecstasy devoid of prophylactics for greater intensity of ****** experiences.
     Each countless caress upon thy body politik sans gorgeous gal begged to be fondled ushering (from the chamber of pheromone secretes) that pined to boot for her lil hills of Rome, which miniature towering inferno of ****** exploits dwelled in my over active imagination.
galaxyofentities Nov 2019
Terrified of letting go
I aim for simple things
just focus on my breathing, his eyes
my hand, how it feels
try to remember the summer breeze
try to remember his hug and touch
try to remember burst of happiness

before I have to be by myself
convincing myself to drag on my hallow shell
before I turn to something else for comfort

I am trying to remember
because for once, I had a reason to want to.
I love you always. See you in 6 months.
Slur pee Jun 2016
I pluck stars out of the sky
With long, bony fingers
And crush them with my divine
Mortar and pestle.
Illusion seizes all sight
As stardust flies,
Like a bullet from a pistol
Deep into my left nostril.
Destroying the cranium,
Deploying the alien.
Everything is make believe-
Hallucinations;
Mixing, blending,
Seeping, bleeding.
The world is an image,
Just a little too blurry-
Fuzzy, with your thumb intruding.

-SLuR
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Deciphering astrophysicists’ thought
processing; this not any too easy.
What matter dark matter sought
or if moons be made so cheesy?
Theory ever emphasized seem ******.

What is there here to prove
amongst this space exploration?
Distancing self from earth you’ve
denied Mother Earth’s lactation.
Get real here right now education.

Are you listening dear NOVA TV?
Big Bang me where sun does not shine.
What care I to search galaxy,
when to me worldly poems seem fine?
Just where do we draw literate line?

Losing language of our cultures
as we see school funding disintegrate.
Lockheed Martin be the vultures.
Less deploying do we need to integrate:
for a monkey would I rather imitate.

Eeek! Eeek!
thy body electric experiences
     constant dry cough and wheeze'n
perhaps explainable
     via my headstrong commander in chief

     o' me fifty nine shades of gray matter
     resorting to treason
or deploying high crimes
     and misdemeanors

     during this budding spring season
thus, aye wonder what tooth ink
     when there occurs
     a momentary lapse of reason

noah egg zag jeer rate'n,
     boot aye ham loath to axe 'cept
the onset of degenerative brain disorder

     with ma noggin buzzing like bees
perhaps indicative of Alzheimer's
     notorious amyloid
     gunk plaque hard as cheese
     Parkinson's, Huntington's Chorea disease,
or gamut of other no nonsense

     mind playing game oh yea...absolutely much
     worse than itching with fleas
Diffuse Lewy Body Malady,
     (now thought to be the second
  
     most common type of dementia,
     akin to Google times anxiety
     over a set plus spare lost black keys
Vascular Dementia, Frontotemporal Dementia
  
     (FTD - Also known as
     Pick's Disease), Depression,
     Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus, ba jeez
perhaps inducing knock knees

Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (CJD), where pleas
to divine entity, or merely the power
of positive thinking does absolutely nothing

hence tis ideal to relish each day,
     where without fail
health of body, mind
     and spirit doth prevail
more coveted, favored,

     and immunized one to sail
their corporeal ship of state
     rather rejoice, and in due time
     embrace death, rather than decry
     and blubber accursed fate to whale.
Alec Nov 2017
What light doth yonder window break?
It panes me; to stay and wait
Madness, Madness. Cold and Cruel
Leaving us all Jesters and Fools.

Insanity and Vanity
Our tools of trade.
Do you see what lovely little scars they make?

Perplexing and Vexing
A scattered picture makes.
For who can tell what is real, and what is fake.

Splattered and Slathered
The Mind unveils
Leaving all the ponder it's tales.
Who can tell truth from lie?
Who decides whether they live or die?
Judge, Jury, and Executioner alike
Have all seemingly gone on strike.

The Mind, a kaleidoscope of lies
Nicking and Picking
Fixating and Hating
Obsessing and Testing
Creating and Saving
Destroying, Deploying

Stop.

What Truth is lying within a lie?
That so encaptures and invests our Mind?
What is the difference between truth, fib, and lie?
Perhaps Songbird, Raven, and Vulture will suffice.
Unfaithful marital transgressions
self admitted indictment,
crime and punishment,
no longer think high lee
entailing no mister re: demeanors,
I searingly weathered

(George by bushed, albeit thankfully,
no unwanted child left behind),
nonetheless one unforgettable
indelible, execrable, and abominable
professedly owned his
civil warring battle of life

transgressions undeservedly heaped
(Uriah hit about that)
(carnal feral hormonally seething
gone astray nightwalks)
woven by basket of deplorable
emotionally painful selfish object lesson

forever etched upon mine psyche
(left by one bobbing sponge -
cheeses crust station of his life
within sea of human life now
affixes moniker re: mister *****)
inflicted courtesy yours truly

said marital indiscretion (philandering)
one among many issues discussed,
during treatment plan earlier today
February eighteenth 2020
concerning complex edifice
regarding mein kampf

existential bleak house
(figuratively crowded cheek to jowl)
with and hard times
fraught with many
unattained great expectations
unwittingly accepts psychological fallout

(among kissing kith and kin,
a shellfish chicken and hen thing for sure),
despite years elapsed ex post facto
deploying, incorporating, narrating, signifying...
narcissistic, opportunistic, and phlegmatic
self incriminating doom
visualize deus ex machina

betrayal rendered adopted smugness
invariably set in motion domino effect,
whereby emotional alienation
devastation, humiliation, maturation, suppuration
(yoking impossible mission
to shuck off penitence, the price to pay),

thus rightfully, truthfully, and veritably...
ably, readily, and willingly
allowing, enabling, and providing
incomplete resolution, (hence iresolution)
thwarting rancor thy deux daughters
(livingsocial many time zones distant)
embark quest to guide their own

metaphorical maiden voyaging ships of state
countless transpired hours
at counseling facility, where poetic papa
aired and mulled over bothersome
anguish to complete requisite treatment plan
to receive psychiatric appointment
next (and last) Tuesday of February 2020.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.i love how a bangladeshi smurf invented the term: camel jockey to allocate the term to arabs and egyptians... mind you... the first amry to defeat the mongol ****? mamluks, like the janissaries in the ottoman empire: most probably european slaves... copper on copper-titillating-chocolate / burnt cinnamon / star anise / bark of aged oak racism is funny to watch, sometimes... esp. when growing up... those bangladeshi smurfs (sorry, they are a little bit, tiny, i watched a couple today, walking past my house in their bangladeshi cricket team t-shirts... what? stating the obvious... 5ft4? but i also liked the egyptian's / arabs retort to: camel jockey... ha ha... bush-monkey! ha ha.

ugh... the dreaded draft, i'm running out of these, thank god...

what is it about, about the fact that my act
of writing does not translate into
a conversation...
   HAVE PEOPLE TRULY FORGOTTEN
THE CONCEPT OF CANVAS?!
**** me... i guess they have!
   once upon a time,
cindarella (post stamp,
and her collectors), snow white
   (postcard) and the frog prince
of writing voodoo to boot...
               now? insomniac messaging
services... the I.M.S.,
              direct, directed at what?
drool followed up by dooooooooooo'h...
****, easier teaching a gerbil to speak
shing qi cantonese: owe'h
          'ong kong...
                    when does an intrusion
onto a blank canvas become a flash mob
without keeping to a discretion
of d.m.?
                   face to face won't do
to these people... scuttling rats also hailed
black death: woe'zzin' me...
                scheisse! schnell! schnell!
capt'n just floated off on a magic
rug,
       we have to draw lots on
flying off on: that ****** bit of material
we scrub out boots on when being
entertained...
   should i take them off?
well... was i offered slippers?!
  no... so why would you...
                    is this Giza, or Oxford?
   all i have is a blank canvas...
                and people really want to attack
the ronin flag?
                       flag what?
                              defeat?
                     ­      *** sober me...
but hey hey... pop song videos are:
KOSHER...
                 see you back in Russia...
     getting the VISA...
                                  or the kebab
restaurant fire-bombed by the bomb...
        good luck and the oil...
plenty of trees in arabia...
         what ******* sell ******* will sell...
   am i to judge?
              no... not really...
i'm thinking about being
a Chernobyl post-scriptum in
the belly... how people managed to see
both autumn and spring in the same park,
rainbow nation, your guess,
   half the trees were decaying,
half in full bloom,
         unless you want me to attest
that as a lie: i hope you dream of my
great-maternal grandmother...
    maybe she will explain it better...
            but this saturated talk of ***
just turns me on thinking about
the upper-hand of the female
mantis, translated into man: divorce laws...
or as the common talk speaks...
       no...
      i heard why this:
you're stupid, this is stupid he's / she's stupid
zeitgeist is all about...
         and those rooted always seem to have
the most obvious solutions to
"complex" urban problems...
      hell...
     to some people this might as well be
tabloid toilet paper worth today
but dead gutter rodent black pearl
ship in the gutter the next day...
        poetry, really has to learn
so much from the journalistic attitude...
i still don't understand
why philosophers are relevant,
parasites of philosophy,
when poets are in a dire need
to compare themselves to poetry,
or rather to make a craft from
poetry-tabloids...
             whatever the classical school
teaches you, whatever contest
there was between poetry
and philosophy, whatever
the ancient philosophers claimed of
poets as being easy targets...
  ooh ooh, OLA!
          you just managed to see
a poet nibbling on journalism...
           whatever the year it was,
yesterday might as well have been
2000 b.c.,
         today might have been
           100 a.d.,
   tomorrow?
                ****... the 22nd century
of whatever year whatever date
or whatever designated climate of interests...
__________

so you run into a cul de sac like
a scuttling rat...
but... you buy your whiskey
at the local convenience store...

           back in the day...
when growing your hair long was merely
a symbol of: i listen to metal music,
*******...
           the time when that was the "thing"...
hell, Butlins... of all places...
i cross-dressed...
      a broad lent me her chanel
chic black mini-skirt little no.,
              and i did...
                        i didn't even have to shave
my legs for the gags...
       ***** or no *****...
             i had the flare and audacity
to pull off the stunt...
     now? long hair? a little bit of make-up
and you're: "trans"...
                     how about meta-******?
i mean there are three directions in
chemistry, in terms of attachment allocation,
closely associated with the beneze ring...
in the name of ortho-, and of the para-,
and of the meta-... oh... right...
**** and of trans-....
           clubbing in essex...
   i wouldn't leave the house
               without some eyeliner...
sometimes, then again,
most of the time...
            jews and russians:
      ripped jeans, eyeliner,
          ready for the edinburgh
club scene... being called ****** before
we even left the house...
    very, very encouraging people...
who probably never heard
of the cure...
                
so you're buying your **** at the conveninece
store... and there's this plump girl
checking you out...
    plump... sure...
every appreciate fine art?
   plump girls were all the rave in
the 17th century, and 18th...
              what's that other word?
ah... corpulent! so many nice terms to
use in synonymity with how
a black man might see a porky:
more cushion for some pushin'...
             d'uh...
                      
but there are some nights, like this one,
where... there's an electricity in the air...
it's warm, but it's also cool,
paradox... the wind is stirring...
  you can listen to the wind play a weird
sort of flute while brushing the trees,
nay... combing the trees...
rustling, just pristine agitation is fixating
a sharpness of the air...
someone of a transcendent evaluation
has sat on a throne...

                    akin to last "night" / dawn,
the internet is switched off...
but you still have a sharpnel narrative in
your head...
                    what to do? what to do?!
ah! ****, no paper...
    i never had a tattoo done on my body...
but i figured... might as well intrude
with some ink on my hand...

   again, if these trans-kids didn't bother
grammar? i wouldn't be playing the
"identity politics" game...
  me, of all people, immigrant 1st generation,
adopting a history not akin to my own...

mind you: you really need a steady / cool head,
drinking on an empty stomach -
and if what cabaret voltaire ever achieved...
with tristan tzara and later william burroughs
of cut-up technique fame:
          i too... who can really appreciate
calustrophobic and all the more predictable
narratives of YA novels?

                   a tarantula might as well have
bitten me, and now, i reflect the sepsis of
disorientating venom, the surge of chaos,
without any gratification of staging
    an uproar of grandeur! just, the basic reality.

- because, even citing the mamluks,
or the janissaries, like a belief in god...
                 to cite certain historical events...
is, and will be, deemed, juvenile...
ambitious... middle-aged man with a *******
train-set model...
or a lego project...
        it's all the same... the "out-dated"
cliff-face hanger...
                             it's either atheism
and the respectable citation of history...
   or it's god, and citing the existence of
mamluks and their victory over the mongols...
what is the respectable citation of history?
the aspect of history without any heroism,
the safety of a history that's purely
bureucratic...
      a "history" a person of the modern times
could possibly engage in / with...

   when the quill became mightier than
the sword, but also subsequently became
a spray-can for the outlet of deploying
graffiti... or scratching with a stone on
a stone face, reminders of the first forms of
writing: designated tattoos etched by stone
on stone...
                              krähekratzer
                     ­         ᚴᚱᚨᚺᛖᚴᚱᚨᛏᛉᛖᚱ
                                ⰍⰓ...
   (some words just sound better
in foreign languages...
violin: skrzypce)
                         ⰍⰓⰖⰍⰀ ⰄⰓⰀⰒⰀⰐⰉⰅ
               ⠅⠗⠁⠓⠑⠅⠗⠁⠞⠵⠑⠗

i'll go a step further... time to fiddle
around with some braille...
  although i do concede...
      if you were blind...
          you must have really tender finger-tips...
no point having played guitar...
play guitar? blind lemon jefferson style?
forget about a chance to read braille...
you need pampered fingertips,
able to tell the difference between
        oyster flesh and a woman ******...

krucze drapanie
hmm... devangari:
Ђ / Ⰼ - dj' -
                   त - how similar...
is that?! what the hell is wikipedia proposing,
with regards to, origins "unknown"...
indo-european?
the mongols just showed up from...
"nowhere"?
       Ђ | त                    eh?!
t'ah... elsewhere dj'...
                         otherwise idjota...
idiot...
                          elsewhere
                  id'ȷota...
              yo yo... no "j"ehovah's witnesses...
sure, no **** sherlock,
   i counter the anglophone origin story
rooting me back in h'africa...
             i take my origins in the land
of the 10 spices... india...
  land of the bangladeshi smurfs...
cinnamon, cardamom,
cumin, coriander,
                  i'll give you ten...
don't worry...
                     chilli...
              anise...
                           turmeric...
                           little mini-people scuttling
along like norse god mythologies
akin to the dwarfs...
   more cullinary skills...
less of the metallurgy...
   wizards at the end of stirring spoons!
fenugreek!
                 how many is that? 8...
i don't want to cite black cardamon
(since it's such a potent spice)...
                      mint! **** yeah, 9...
   hell... the cocktail... garam masala!
10!
            well... if the 'ebrews have their
10 commandments,
and i have my *******,
and am still able to *******
while dilating my **** donning
a *******...
   and i place my origin story in india...
rather than africa... then we're settled...
the bagladeshi smurfs can call
arabs and egyptians camel jockeys...

    i haven't finished though...
just like that one night in st. petersburg
with a ***** that, really needed to be ******
over a period of 7 hours...

    will i use more rudimentary language,
deviating from "slanderous" words?
will i?!
               so it's either "tourettes",
dyslexia, or a writer's contipation?
because, by now, "block":
truly implies... the already mentioned.

i never came from africa...
   india is my posit of origin...
and never mind the celebration
of the roman instrument of torture...
the crucifix... i found a better crux
of "all" beginning and of all "end"...
some "random" german...
            dasein:
i'm tired of bashing the germans...
bashed enough, bashed just enough...
bashed: enough!

   when citing credible historical events,
akin to a belief in god,
akin to premature depression and
dementia...
       all... huddling under the same
torch lit roof...
                  it, just, ****** me, off...
oh sure, sure,
most likely...
before some of us bypass the age old
editorial "compromises",
and write what the hell we want!
before that? heavy cencorship...
       just so... the "overlords"
can muster a "plan B"...
                     sure, all is certain!
but who is to address the "real" problems?
ol' Lizzie is going to be fine...
i'll still drink ms. amber...
realizing... ****... am i drinking mz. amber...
or is this watered down
dog's soap ****?!
                  you never know...
i might as well be drinking
prince *****'s shower water!
this whiskey is starting to taste of soap water...
i'm having it, i'm chewing on about
12 12"****** per day just to keep
the Venetians gagged...

   prop me up... ***** starter...
******* mongrels ******* smurfs!
blah blah blah!

             i already see "too many"
english idiosyncracies in the english language
to begin with!
   why would the transgender activists ever attack
grammar?

the current gilette fiasco?
just grow a beard, men, just grow a beard,
problem, solved.

                 want the vox-office senario?
eh? eh?

                 the gender discriminatory
               ontology of nouns...
              what? cite rocky balboa
contra ivan drago.... you... beta male...
*****?!
                     you attacked nouns,
by, enforcing the stature of pronouns...

i like to call it: the pronoun deragement
syndrome...

                     gott! mit uns!
                             Gustavus Adolphus...

how many, "differences",
are to be found, and bound,
to the english tongue?

                    θere (d'er / F),
          although (al'V'ough),
                          θey (V'ey)
                   ex-xenon
   (eks - zee / zer / z'enon),
and what is a chemuical compound...
                to θink...
is to not mind φilosoφy....
                                        
           ­               gender pronoun neuter?!
seriously?
             i thought that nouns were
gender discriminatory?!
  Paris! male!
  kundel! mongrel, male!
*****! female!
                  sroka! (magpie) female!
kruk! male!
                  dzik! male!
                       gawron! male!
              there are so man discriminating nouns...
in each and every language...
pronouns?
   low hanging fruits!
                              a-the-ism...
           do their own natives know...
the native spreschen?!
       the article rules?
the english nouns are not composed
via genders!
         who's to who in terms of "revising"
the retarted "revision"?!
sorry... but certain words just sound
better in a foreign tongue...

            sroka sounds much better
when "coinciding" with: magpie;
beside the point...
here's my hand,
on https://www.minds.com/mateuszkonrad.
Frankie Castro Jun 2018
This day makes my suffering explode
Reminding me of the heavy load
I’m trying to carry around
Thoughts heavy facing the ground
Heart still broken
Painful images left unspoken
My mind is still in prison
Will anyone listen
To me confess
Share this stress
Help me mend those shattered pieces
Offer my depression some releases
See past my tattered exterior
Realize I’m not so inferior
No longer the menace I once was
Embracing the chaos just because
Will anyone listen
To me confess
Share this stress
Allow me to leave an impression
Accept this confession
Refrain from deploying judgement
Help me escape my imprisonment
Let me apologize for every word
Encouraging things I’ve rarely heard
Delton Peele Feb 2021
Oh no ......  
I feel .....
Something......
like a
Nautious memory
Meyes burnt,
Saliva bitterd
Pooled into the
Middle of my
Mouth
Turnt to stone
Covered in dry sand....
And.   ...
I....
Now know
In trying to
Swallow
Along with all
The pains re surfacing
Making it almost impossible.......
I......
Realize.....the
Painjure.  I have been
Living in.....
The stone couldnt go through my chest cavity
The trump rang loudly
My heart cornered pounding deploying a chemical defense.
The stone grew
Barbs.
And claws
Began digging
Through the ugly scars
And every barb
Retract and those that didnt
Dug it and pulled hard.....
singleminded
Its soul purpose
Render me defensless
Making me face
Those things
I dont want to see.
The weaponry my heart sent to vanquish the
Painful enemy invading me
Reinged victorious.
Turnt the stone to salt water
And was immediately out cast .
Through ducts itn the corner of my blood shot eyes.
And giant hot shimmering crystal clear drops rained from there with snot and slober
I looked up and screamed and rent my shirt and my face slammed into my breast plate.
Like the never seen cliche of an  ostrich
Involuntary function.
Still not any better remnants liquidated
Bitter invader.
Weakened me
Allied with gravity
And buckled my knees
Sobbing
Blubbering
Asking
Un-understandable
Mutterings
Like off note guitar strings
And late night belligerent lyrics Eddie Vettar on a rant
Sea shatees.
Followed with a few sniveling
Convulsive whimperings.
Stand up jut my
Chin up
Dry my eyes sever the dangling mucous and blow my nose mop the floor
Gain some composure.
I actually feel better than before....
But lets not forget im a man
Lets not visit that memory any more ....
Dont wanna be
An attention
***** or seem
Needy..
No Sar
Strictly speculation from this mind,
who contemplates stripped down version
bajillion eons ago
cosmic bit sized dots
pinwheeled thru spatial void

repulsed and/or attracted
colluding (putin on the Ritz)
infinitesimal show stopper
devoid of prior rehearsal
since previous cosmic contraction

absent remembrance
tabula rasa, viz consciousness
if rebooted, reincarnated,
repurposed, et cetera,
asper knowing nothing

perchance if previous rendition
courtesy big bang phenomena
commissioned swirling pretty
little invisible thangs
dust mote size

universe created, vis a vis
most violent explosion
blasting subatomic tidbits
bestowing, endowing, issuing, et cetera
propensity, allowing,

enabling, and providing
spontaneous quixotic, narcotic,
and kinetic (kit) impulse
gifted, kindled plenti
tinder vittle loving care,

(albeit on quark hilly
weigh small scale),
each unique data packet of life
transiently questing organic matter
linkedin within uber

webbed wide world
****** by motive forces distilled
since primordial ooze
painstakingly agglomerated
electron's micro gravitational tug

incrementally configured
viable combinations
propelled to fraternize, collide, amass
with other distinct minuscule entities
democratic, platonic, and symbiotic

tete a tete kickstarting avast
differentiation, golong
engendering hulu costs indeed
pensively trumpeting,
deploying, and fracking

the art of the Stormy Daniels deal
eventually across great swaths of time
inaugurating edifice of complex systems
(again unimaginatively teeny tiny
timid uber pinhead size zealots)

livingsocial hoity toity groupon outlook
accruing quicken fancy feast
to concatenate, generate, and get linkedin
with hotmail to discover
visa vis whatsapp
penning with Molly Q. Wells!
In Venice it’s Oakwood park
Compton it’s Lueders park
The Antelope Valley has the
Shadows

From Venice
To the AV
In Compton
Strategically deploying
Maneuvering women

Now days I wake up to Sin
Daily my story begins

I go straight to the
Spirit praying for
The armor of God
True to myself
Heaven, please let me in
LA county All Star.

— The End —