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Where Shelter May 2017
The Prism Through Which We See Clearly

~

light saws our untrue selves with acute angles,
piercing our holistic pretenses, daily disambiguation features,
our sheltering disguises into our essence refractive elements

this is not a cute rainbow poem - run from here

it is a dissection of our true nature
why belabor, why elaborate?

through the prism
you color-coded self, tracted,
a mapping of your intersections,
what each color speaks, needs not an explication,
your hidden humanity comes to my eyes, in full revelation

at last I see you clearly

the lost and black withered limbs,
the stirring, leaping, enflamed flaring, never ceasing, breathing elements that mark your singularity

did you know your eyes are constant singers?

through prism, each note heard distinctly, as it rises uplifted,
your song, mine for observation and weeping exhalations,
your song, the production number of thy own composition,
through prism, our interior visual disinterred and released,

here I must cease, for what seen, grievous weeping deepens,
from the glory and the pain my blurred wetness overwhelms
the clarifying crystal useless when tear coated

through the prism,
before the full length mirror,
my own, unowned, never could be owned,
'mirror mirror on the wall,'
warped weave of tissues, mine,
the song sounds, mine,
from lungs disgorged
myself, diagnosed and displayed

of what I see, spitting speech
ceases and desists,
the only thought permitted, repeated,

where is my shelter now?**


5/13/17 6:49am
Asim Javid Jan 2016
A nebulous hope on the silhouette of horizon.
My redeeming font , one sweet poison.
Slowly it obliterated  me ,
branding with ache of reaching.
The ashes of my nous shouting and screeching.
Left with repugnant psyche of an undying hype.
Resplendent hysteria of an antithetic type.
Is it the verity or  nebulous dream.
Is it the silence or vociferous scream.
The part of me desists.
The part of me resists.
To walk the path that leads to decay.
Holding the faith with doubts at bay.
What do I do , to overcome this interlace.
May be I spiflicate the existence , and
   live as Inanimate* .
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
only today i learned ø denotes
        an encoding of diameter,
and it's Scandinavian,
                     or how the globe is
past the equator,
         and the lob-sided earth,
winters in Australia in the Summer months
in Europe.

    high philosophy begins with Beijing
dialectical highs,
    but take the route of lower philosophy
and encounter diacritics rather than dialectics,
because that matters, too,
        θought, a moral ought,
   and φilosoφy - and missing ought -
          and the two being irreversibly twins
in said... or θought an immoral ought,
                 sure, tubes, mistook ø74 for something
akin to φ...
    high philosophy never acquires a diacritical
dilemma...
                  or why local don't do anything
but actuate automatic application
   and those immigrant, or bilingual troops question...
    ø = diameter, not to be confused with the θ;
             higher philosophy begins with dialectical
beginnings,
               "lower" philosophy also begins with
dialectics, but it ends with diacritical application,
rather than utopian: nowhere from nothing.

what am i going to say next? *machado de assis's

philosopher or dog? introduction.

          ........................................­..................................
..............................­......................................................
..........­.................................................................­.........
.......................................................­.............................
...................................­.................................................
...............­.................................................................­....
............................................................­...........
(or a paragraph on the pleasure of drinking,
    or how to save you an optometrist appointment,
or how to take an interlude,
   to do the opposite of the Andy Warhol stipend
for making enough buggers hearing your
opinion, unchallenged,
                    but never having a diacritic concern).
hence the pending, or what everyone seems to
desire these days, circa 100 years later,
     how to provoke an interlude, how to hunger
for interludes rather than fame,
           i also drew a sketch before starting,
       shat -
                  and hey presto!
           ****!
                   yuck in orange in florescent.
yellow (florescent), F, pretty pretty pretty,
          in pink the bit about diameters and phi,
           again in yuck orange: swigs and the wiggle...
a paged concern for graffiti.
                  again, pending, yet to be hottie
and poster boy of a poem,
        again the impromptu break worth of fame that
actually isn't fame, but a chance to compare
                   how much whiskey makes up for the
Niagara continuum.
        again, (pending):
............................................... (how the hell do you
write pending ~15 minutes later?!)

the concept of Monday is greatly undermined
by Darwinism,
    as is Tuesday through to Sunday,
generally the function-able week desists the idea
of an Iron Age, as does the pantomime
of all that's worth celebrating -
generally speaking Darwinism is anti-history,
theology has nothing to ask of Darwinism
to argue against,
                             theology isn't a history,
but Darwinism is the purest variation
of history, variance of how we define logic
and its applicability, whether it's
i + think            /             1 + 1
    and have the moral attraction toward a 2
         or variate a moral action into a 3:
cos Radiohead simply sang 2 + 2 = 5 in a song:
cheat! matchstick principle regarding counting!
machado de assis? Darwinism is peppered with
overt imagery than salted with:
you get to sneeze a lot...
             a writer's voice: irony, mockery,
         consolidating the lessened counter-productiveness...
Flaubert, Dickens, Zola, Balzac, etc.,
                    homie, rap that **** out, condense it,
i thought Brazil was half the way America should have
endeared you? i had problems with Prussia
Austria and Russia... guess i was wrong how thuggish
i had to be with the Orpheus *******...
       cos the lyre was dumbo blunt deaf and therefore
cacka...
     higher philosophy begins with dialectics,
"lower" philosophy begins with diacritics -
     a return to the source, a debate with Ivory scales
concerning the Rosetta - a neo-formatting of
what's quiete
                           right: Sophia: hence anew: Rosetta.
and all for the pear that's woman and whether Satan
chose the fruit prudently according to Milton.
or the progress of a drunk:
centipedes and Fitzgeralds, Hemingways,
lust and last said...
                           the cf. of every apparent transitory
made to provoke the quasi and quack,
              ducking the Donald and the *****,
in agreement,
                     a happiness toward the tiresome
encrusting of what's worth being stated,
and then the deviatory,
                              as marketed a deviation
from a Louis Napoleon -
                                    because no Belarus was
to be chequered by an impeding force...
                      hence the cha cha cha...
                                    and hence the stanzas of
Argentinian tango...
              juicy and later the cruelty choking
of what some might make of Macbeath's habitual thinking
                                       worthy of a classroom
                audience; and that too is
exposable in return for being disposable.
higher philosophy is regarded as such with
dialectics,
                        but "lower" philosophy is
yet to be regarded as such with diacritics -
     not a case of what's to be said, and thus bedded,
but a case of how's something said,
                                and thus given a freedom
of: bedded, wedded, pimped, or whimpered into
                                     surviving writing a poem about;
also achieved by Humphrey and that chuckle of
revising Casablanca for an unnecessary quote dynamic /
diatribe when Hiroshima said
                 much more than the above certified:
boom! 1 million ******* dead.
       that's an overt-quote that gropes the many
amens among the citations of Marilyn, and still gets away
with                     a memory of J.F.K.,
           because that ****-honing masterpiece
was needing my memory rather
                                   than a b. b. q.    scewing.
          i find people rather forgetting:
jeopardy battered boundless gym orientational
                     thoughtless two shots of tequilas
            and three paraphrases of sours in biting a lemon
to upkeep a trough of a suntan with the H-He:
boom boom, higher tier laughter,
             ingesting that inflation of prop
                    boom boom, v bomber,
                     squeeze...
                    lob-side lo & behold,
                                       'n'        - squiggly extra thus born.
AMcQ Feb 2015
Down in the depths of a wilderness;
the derangement of **** and of wisp.
A creature is arched in a hunker
over bundled leaves; golden and crisp.

Its' blistered hands riddled with splinters
Its' tired face blackened by dirt.
Its' glowing and warm disposition,
Worn pale by commotion and hurt.

It is wary from cold and from torment;
the dark of the forests damp chill.
But it scuffs at the bones as with tinder
igniting the marrow with skill.

Wiping its' brow with its' forearm
the creature desists with a gasp
Smoke trails up through the forest.
A spark has alighted at last.

The flame inhales fallen pine cones;
blazing up through the bramble and briar.
Excitement and fear harmonizing,
'till their voices can't sing any higher;

'till the heart is consumed by her fire.
Alif Mar 2019
I am a muslim, a name familiar but for wrong reason.,
An identity misunderstood very often.,
I am not a muslim just by name or birth; But to the will of my creator, I bowed in complete submission.,
Hearing me say, some curl their lips in disdain and some give terrified expression.,
Terrorist/extremist/fanatic/radical muslim are the different titles I am given; But to which I have neither close or distant relation.,
I am proud to be a muslim for it transformed me into a better human .,
From all forms of alcohol/tobacco/ drugs my tastebuds refrain.,
From looking at any obscene things my eyes abstain.,
My heart restrain from every shameful desire or unlawful relation.,
My body desists from doing any immodest/immoral action.,
My tongue holds back from saying harmful/hurtful/ disrespectful/disgraceful words to any fellow man.,
My mind sees no disparity or discrimination.,
For no man is superior over the other either by wealth, caste, colour, region or religion.,
To be just and honest, I try my best.,
" Who ever kills an innocent man is as though he killed the whole of mankind"; My creator's warning is engraved in my mind.,
I dare not disobey any of his commandment.,
I am his weak slave just striving to be obedient.,
I submit to the will of Lord of universe, the exalted, the merciful and the most magnificent.,
Call me by any name; I shall remain a Muslim.,
"Terrorism has no religion"
EJ Aghassi Apr 2014
you wouldn't believe the things i've seen.  well, it's not like i've been around
for a long time or something but

let me tell you, i couldn't even begin to tell you

so many connections
so many seemingly important
separate reflections

rises and falls

scratches down walls

psychotic
neurotic

world in revolve

and i sit in high chair
judging each one and all

destinies laid bare before me

but all that desists,
vivid images, wisps,
and one thing now
begs more
focus
and
attention, concern
than all the others

why is it that
i always
do this after
i *******?
Marshal Gebbie Mar 2012
A gossamer extravagance
More valuable than gold
But substance less as ether
Impossible to hold.

This is all the time we have
Every second past is lost
Irrretreivable to we
Who ,so nervously, count the cost.

Every mote of passing time
Fading from the now in mists
Losing shape’s integrity
Whilst coloured radiance desists.

What is soon to be, is now
And relegated fast to then,
Vanquished in a flick of fraud
Of stolen time to frantic men.

Like dust it pours through fingers
Seconds irretrievably depart,
Fleeing fast from consciousness,
Wrenched away from racing heart.

Lying in our skinny beds
We sweat away our seconds now,
Flicking eyeballs counting down
Till death eternal shows us how.

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
4 March 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Alex McDaniel Dec 2014
some picture life as a labyrinth
a maze,
concrete
and exact.

they claim we spend our time here looking for that one final answer,
the way out.

but the irony is that there is nothing at all that makes life concrete or exact.
so as the walls of the labyrinth crumble in your mind

see,

that life is an ocean
an infinite high tide
where the salt stings at the whites of your eyes
and throws your body like a rag doll into its shadowy depths.

there is no knowing where it will take you,
in the end,
when the storm desists,
some may end up on a beach with everything they've ever wanted
and some with nothing at all.

we are at the mercy of the tide,
that in itself is the horrific beauty in life.
iamnoone Aug 2015
A thought came into my head
as thoughts are wont to do,
"My Darling knows but desists to agree
that all I've done or would do
springs forth from love and adoration,
honestly,  freely,  willingly. "

And you grow weary of heavy words,
you rebuff giving shelter.
For who would desire, in their right mind,
My house of cards, my shameful,  faithless squaler?
Only those who feign their love,  'tis all that I deserve.
A string of them--ad infinitum, inanities, vapid and absurd.

And I stand and cry aloud, thru every fated turn,
"'Tis I still here, bludgeoned but unbowed,
teaming with endearment,  unforesaken, real and proud.
Perhaps now you might agree,
that trust is all you need, trust
and a leap of faith to me. "

Had you done so, who can say
what might have fallen from the tree.
Perhaps an unseen kiss on the lips,
as lite as lite can be...
These words now are barron,
and useless as can be,
I'll dream forever of that kiss
and continue to be me.
Kawsu Sanneh Mar 2020
Tell them, let them to vanish
I mean those cruel vampires
I am referring to them, the crisps,
The evils to our lyrics to perish

Free us, free us from your satanic shores
Let us life, let us be happy but not sores
Let streams flows through our pores
Let our dreams be fulfil at the highest scores

Let those Vampires vanish from our government
From their unruly atitude, where all flaws farment
Where their deathly games begins. Where corruption
wine and wallows within our administration

Refer them to the scribbling scripts of the land
Lay it, Spread it, Open it and read it before them
Even if they resist, Do not desists to grab them
Led them to the truth. Tell them that change, we demand.

What did they wants from us, which they not been
Awarded. When they hoared loudly for votes
We gave them. We paid them through taxes. We have seen
Them brutally burning our fleets of vehicles.

We shall never needs "rocket scientist" to led us
And we don't sense of elegance. Where humours
Hide with hedonic faith. Where they thought we are
Sleeping. Until I task champion to read us "Sleep no more"

From an enigmatic society, where our soul have bee laid
To survive. We shall never slacken our ink. We have paid
Them as servants. How could we surrender our armour
When our only blood vessels were been torn in every hour.

Until then we will never relax to advocate
We can't fold flawless flanges to suffocate
We stand for change. An immediate change
Where we shall all sleep in pleasant peace
Bonk Bonk Sir Feb 2019
Sharp talons clutch the weight of a thousand words.
Black feathers carry the pain of a thousand scars.
A small head filled with dangerous thoughts,
Burdened with haunting visions whirling through a twisted mind.
Weighed down by the realization of never being the same
And the forced unawareness to try and stop the aftermath,
A distinct sound spreads throughout the empty home.
The clear sword had made its first hit to an unsuspecting victim,
Breaking hollow bones.
A cool breeze brushes against white hair,
An old hinge screams as the splintered door opens,
And black feathers, now tinted red, are strewn across the entryway.
The door closes, a feeble hand pressing the cold latch.
Perpetual screeches echo through an empty hall
As the wounded struggles with itself,
Casting itself from wall to wall,
Coating white walls in claret tinted paint,
Praying to a god it no longer believes in,
Slumping onto the icy tiles.
Cloudy cerulean eyes, like icebergs,
Meet small black ones, that shift from obsidian to coal.
Sable wings become scarlet soaked.
As the faint sound of breathing desists,
And the room is enveloped in a deafening silence.
All that is left is a lifeless form,
covered in the blood that spreads from beneath it.
And as the deep carmine seeps into the porous grout,
A quiet voice hums a happy tune.
Kawsu Sanneh Mar 2020
Tell them, let them to vanish
I mean those cruel vampires
I am referring to them, the crisps,
The evils to our lyrics to perish

Free us, free us from your satanic shores
Let us life, let us be happy but not sores
Let streams flows through our pores
Let our dreams be fulfil at the highest scores

Let those Vampires vanish from our government
From their unruly atitude, where all flaws farment
Where their deathly games begins. Where corruption
wine and wallows within ouradministration

Refer them to the scribbling scripts of the land
Lay it, Spread it, Open it and read it before them
Even if they resist, Do not desists to grab them
Let them to the truth. Tell that change we demand.

What did they wants from us, which they not been
Awarded. When they hoared loudly for votes
We gave them. We paid them through taxes. We have seen
Them brutally burning our fleets of vehicles.

We shall never needs "rocket scientist" to led us
And we don't sense of elegance. Where humours
Hide with hedonic faith. Where they thought we are
Sleeping. Until I task champion to read us "Sleep no more"

From an enigmatic society, where our soul have bee laid
To survive. We shall never slacken our ink. We have paid
Them as servants. How could we surrender our armour
When our only blood vessels were been torn in every hour.

Until then we will never relax to advocate
We can't fold flawless flanges to suffocate
We stand for change. An immediate change
Where we shall all sleep in pleasant peace
rubben Wainaina May 2018
Like the joy a newborn brings..
A toddler is bought -fourth,
Young,Naive,path crooked but destined for greatness!
In your arms i reigned,indeed new king!
Reunited from 9months of adoration,care and certainty.
Time is of essence but this new gem became your idol.
A seraphic time machine!
Born sinner,violent and hopeless
Your words are wondrous,in them i abide- Mummy i love You
Your midas touch,ardent love Never desists.
What ive become,- a rebel,irreparable
but don't lose me the more I change, no!
Yep,she rues of how raised me,but shw proud of what she raised!!
May the grace of the Lord be with you now and forever Mummy!
Our beloved youngest daughter Shana Aubrey
(endearingly called “Shayne Punim”)
still feels under the weather,
with symptoms centered around gastrointestinal tract,
though she lives in Bend, Oregon
(experienced her pseudo autonomy
before she completed eighteen Earth orbitz
approximately three and a half years ago).

Said healthy apple of mine (myopic) eye
begat between me and thine married mate
conceived approximately late April/early May
nineteen ninety eight
lived with my youngest sister,
whose husband George Andrew Dunning

both willingly, readily and eagerly
accepted role as proxy parents
while the child we bore
matriculated (methinks -
but don't quote me) – as sophomore
at Redmond Efficiency Academy
whereat high school diploma she acquired.

Near impossible mission to track her down
plus this papa desists unnecessarily intruding
aware how he never healthily underwent
loosed apron strings, but overstayed his welcome
never choosing apropos time
regarding painfully breaking home ties.

Sadness manifested nsync with empty nest syndrome
I rarely succumb, whereby sentimental bouts
finds yours truly reminiscing father daughter bonding
less infrequent episodes getting teary eyed
versus managing to converse with progeny
on adult level, nevertheless vicariously

feeling despair when thee aforementioned offspring
when she describes being physically unwell
with abdominal cramps, bloating, nausea...
ultrasound hinted her malady
inherited courtesy the missus
namely Nonalcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD).

Her psychological and social progress phenomenal
since being biologically gifted to us
February 4th, 1999
diagnosed with developmental delay
(more specifically high functioning asperger syndrome
closest affliction to garner medical coverage)
nothing short of an amazingly graceful
metamorphosis from irascible toddler

to mild mannered young lass
hmm... okay a few bumps along figurative road
when above named girl afforded us challenges
preceding maturation and eventual bonhomie
especially when late blooming darling
manifested cognitive faculties
(albeit acquired abilities fraught with challenge).

Appreciation abounds for extensive intervention
Montgomery County (Pennsylvania) Intermediate Unit
marks commencement where flesh and blood
(concerning mine and the missus begat)
bundle of pride and joy
despite tasked with being legal guardians.

— The End —