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Carter Ginter Oct 2012
The moments when I need you the most,
Are the ones that you never see.
The tears are silent as I tell you I'm alright,
My mind hushes the words that my heart desires to speak.

The sinister silence is my only companion,
No one is there to comfort me.
Alone in the dark, no peace in my empty world,
Salvation is the one I truly seek.

I stand as though I am strong,
The pain carefully hidden behind a mask.
You saw only what I allowed,
Then taken aback when the truth was spoken.

I laid myself open to you,
An unforeseen and immensely challenging task.
You took it for nothing and left me torn,
Now no knowledge remains of my emotions.

To hold on is painful and dangerous,
But to let go means going back on my word.
To stick by my promise, and stick by your side,
Will surely end with my broken heart.

Yet still I stay, I will give you all I have,
Until our hope becomes deterred.
I care enough to let it go,
As my heart is quietly ripped apart.
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
5:00am and folding laundry

when the inspiration tank is yellow lit,
and E stands for more than empty,
g e n u i n e emptiness,
try this remedy that is a
first generation family secret!

fold the laundry.
all kinds.
his n' hers,
blacks n' whites
really clean and

and the kind that never get clean,
no matter how much d e t e r-g e n t
you use, how oft you wash 'em...


Instructions:

1. fold only when wearing t- shirt, tank top, briefs (optional)
2. put on Pandora 60's rock n ' roll (folk rock - highly recommend Runaround Sue by Dion and the Belmonts, The Wedding Song, The House of the Rising Sun)
3. dance, shake, improve your moves when nobody's looking
3a. control yourself, if you must sing, at the top of your lungs is not acceptable.
If alone skip, skip to no. 5
4. every third piece give a sniff, get high on
fresh starts, clean notions, the idea that all can be washed away
4a. Every third piece of hers give an extra sniff,
so you can know why love keeps you alive
5, if you have to sing, then only loud acceptable
(***** the others, you're doing the folding, they're sleep-dreaming)
6. drink lots of water
7. have pen + paper handy cause ain't no doubt
the poet puppet muse masters gonna smack you
when folding sheets alone.
8. finish the write and post it ASAP
9. always leave the single socks on top of the dryer,
a prayer to the laundry gods for the
safe return of their better halves
10. finish
11. If done correctly, you need to shower (wash hair!)
12, around 6:00am, all scrubbed and clean,
fold yourself back into her arms. Snuggle, spoon.
13. when she mumbles you smell clean, you reply,
                                  "been folding laundry, writing poetry,
                                   and the clean smell done fell on me"
14. if alone, despair not, read this poem and know we are together
15. believe this day is full of possibilities,
write me a poem, put the load right on me

there are stains that cannot be removed,
deterred by this gent, and his a-gents,
they are history, treat'em with respect
and not more
deter-gent

every poem must end,
so when the folding is done,
whisper:

*the day ahead is full of possibilities
like the pleasured making of my clothes happy soiled,
so I possess an excuse, a reason, a rationale for living
to fold laundry again!
I have no idea where these crazies come from.
"But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"
Maestro Bill Joel

For Harriet Tecumsah Watt

11/24/13
I arose one morn
from a venerable night,
Whence thou consum'd
mead til dawn's light.
My head torn asunder with a fierce pain,
My stomach in tatters from drinking games.

O all ye who know of what I claim,
A terrible recovery from alcohol's bane.

I made what ministrations I could, using cold water
and dry food. Alas, all in vain.
The hangover would not relent
it's cruel tirade. I gathered the clan
who endured a similar state
and told them of a plan
to cure our fate.

We'd venture forth from K-side
and seek alchemy
to ease our pain.

But first we must brave
the barren lands
of Westside
and the enemy that lingers there.
As we made the transition
from the wastes to the west,
We eyed the onset
of a looming threat.
Off in the distance
raiders roved,
Orcs in tracksuits
stalking the roads.
Heads in hand,
Our pace quickened.
Out from the grasp
of ragged estates.
Past Glen Dara,
Weary of raids.
Make it through
to the city we did,
And set a course for
where the alchemist lived.
The prize almost within our grasp.

We called ahead to secure our purchase,
Only to find
nothing, emptiness that hurt us.

Sigh I did
with a heavy heart,
But with a pounding head,
Deterred I was not.
So onward we marched
to millennium's park.
There we spoke to a sage
of a man about a dog.
A malady we would have.
There were ill omens about
all that we did hear,
They spoke of men captured
who we did revere.
The wise-man foretold:
"The tidings are bad, the city in drought,
There be no mortal to solve yer doubt;
But all's not yet lost. To acquire your
remedy
you must give a shout to the apothecary".
With the prophecy foretold he disappeared,
Leaving us to ponder
the wise and the weird.

With a new hope
we began our approach,
We communed with the figure
and opportunity arose.
An accord was reached,
To the square we'd go.
At forty to five
the apothecary would show.
Finally our way, luck did flow.

Meet him we did and for twenty five gold,
A bag of magic
we were sold.
Spencer Craig Dec 2016
Being just friends is not something I prefer
To the lack of intimacy which now is deterred
But to me this relation has been so instrumental
I needed this... a force rough, yet gentle.
Viola you appeared, to ally all my sighs and moans
At these feelings you jeered, even with my barren tones.
You would put a smile on my face just by poking.
I don't bathe much but I let those moments soak in.
I don't remember every conversation but I know how I felt.
I remember when you'd hold my hand I'd melt
I remember the tingle I got with your hand in my hair
I remember staring and thinking how such a fair
Smart, comforting woman could find me appealing.
I remember... that you were the first person to return my feelings...
You and me is still the favorite of my ships
The way you make me feel... you just can't buy this
No amount is enough to pay so
Offer me a thousand planchas DE queso
Or An Emma Watson, one or two
But no matter who we chose to pursue
At the very least i can say that we knew
That both of our skins were both very blue
Val Ajdari Nov 2016
Arrow upon arrow the poisoned heart endured,
Strife and doom its woeful dream ensured.
Vile phantoms of creed with deception en route
Intended to thwart, unveil their wicked fruit.
Then satan withered the spirit's purpose and flame,
And gathered an earthly militia; among those to blame.
A maze encrypted, the light yet unseen,
All prospects stolen, great efforts wiped clean.
Creative the mind twilight art it presented,
The Sphere's evil hosts were reflected and resented.
Lost was all hearing, faith and sight,
Misplaced sense of wonder and good sense in flight.
"I worship nothing!" our soul once preferred,
Such was the spirit in high degrees deterred.

       "Paragons of justice, will I ever get to see
The day my misfortunes cease to be?
They shadow, entrap and starve my soul
Of love and joy and all control!
So tired I am, and tired I shall stay
If purpose here is merely to convey
No purpose at all, except for one:
To enslave the soul, casting punishment for fun.
My simple wish, then, is simply to impart
An end to this misery and to my sanctioned heart."

       Our despairing soul put in motion so
An idea most frightening, its telling shall forego...
But immerse in their demise, allow for stricken grief,
Then foresee the King's hands and His graciousness in fleet.
He gathered around, with love He replaced
Satan's troubled minions conspiring in space,
And severed The Pit's shackles with incomparable might,
He then enlightened our soul, who could not see the light.
All calls to heal had reached The King's mystical vibrations,
Had released the soul and nullified its  limitations.
Profound divine knowledge our soul now espies;
Seeing The King's glory and the destroyer's lies.
Great wisdom and revelation now fill our faithful heart,
Yet, a tale best left for another form of art...
By: Cedric McClester

Mexico hasn’t
Heeded his call,
But he’s still insistent,
On that **** wall
He’s presently seeking
8.6 billion y’all
Or our southern border
Can’t help but fall

We the taxpayers
Will be stuck
With the bill
But he’s not deterred
Even still
With building a wall
That Congress
Will ****

He made a promise
To his loyal base
Even though
The wall is a total waste
The reality of which
He has yet to face
And he probably won’t
In any case

So we the people
Will have to resist
No matter how much
He might insist
On its necessity
And ***** his fist
Either we do
Or we’ll be remiss














Cedric McClester, Copyrght © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Tyler A Sullivan Feb 2018
TURN OF THE SEASON

For Friends and Family


Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
                                          -Robert Herrick

Intoxicated nights of orange halogen lights-
Illuminating through misty blown water.
As the April breeze ruffles the newly sprung leaves upon the trees,
Men pour malted liquor inside clandestine cellars of tuxedo staff and obsequious waitresses

Echoes of an engine shuffles on down the alley,
Startled it hides in the cornered places.
Men enclosed in smoke talk of days of old-
And better times,
And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces.

Woman go about chatting of useless things and waste the night away.
Men sit about playing games of little meaning and waste the night away.
Both will head to familiar places at mornings first rays
And April effortlessly falls into May

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
Slowly trudging through the paces
Slowly they tighten their laces

And set out for another monotony dipped day

Planting their ears to the ground listening
And many things they'll hear and say
With many hindsight memories in their mind glistening
And their lovers will whisper are you listening
And they'll say "yes yes my dear have no fear I am here"

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
And they'll make many a plan and in cases
And step over cracks in fear of dark places


The clink of a glass carries on down the hall
The bartender while wiping the counter yells
"Last call"
And they'll retort "for what reason"
And he "none at all"
Then the bar goes the way of the shopping mall
And summer slips effortlessly into fall

What reasons can they make when the night is through
When it's time to wake what will they do

As the days retreat with their hairline
And each mirror more distortive than the last
They'll retreat further, further into their mind
And what will they find
With their sanity fleeting fast
A desperate thought floating in the breeze
A candle to thaw the freeze


Intoxicated nights of solemn solitude
Tucked in the back thoughts of a lonely suburb
Trying arduously to abandon actuality
But failing and jumping the curb

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces
"Sorry love they're not home I'm afraid"
"They've gone to the races"
Each two lovers in two different places

Rest assured rest assured they'll return
They'll unconsciously sell their freedom
Rest assured rest assured they'll return
At this moment they are Carpe Diem

Rest assured rest assured
They'll be plenty of time
To fumble with furniture
Plenty of time
To spend with her
Plenty of time to waste
Plenty of love to give
Now's to go slow not make haste
Now's to go slow and live


And they'll remember childhood
As a warm August kiss
And where their feet stood
And what they missed
And when the leaves
Upon the trees
Fall down down down
To rise to their knees
They'll remember who they are
And who they use to be


So, before you grow old
And wilt away
And the December cold
Melts the summer’s day
Enjoy what you have
For what you have is to enjoy
For what you haven't
Are merely foolish toys

This summer began as the last one did
And will end when Autumn bids
With the sun and stars above for you to see
Run around like children in the heat of lunacy
...


Though I've fasted and wept,
Wept and prayed
And stayed stoic long
Through passing day
And bards’ men song
I can never,
Never truly say
I have achieved arête

No, I'm not the son of Xanthippus
Who instigated the apogee of Athens
The past beacons of Atticus
Dims my own ember passions

Though I've loved and lost
Loved and lusted
Won a few
Others busted
Though I've seen the world at the needle point,
With all the sordid souls suffering
I've lived like Cummings
The farthest extent of emotions
I've kept a drug induced devotion
But never could I stop from wondering
Never could cease sundering

I've seen the valleys of my life
Where the flowers are disseminated like t.v. static
And the only sound a high tinnitus pitch
They've said go, Go I don't love you anymore
Not pretty enough to be a poem
Not intelligent enough to be of any use

Though I've smiled and agreed
Agreed and died
Through all this hell
I have tried
...



They're troubled tonight
Their restless gaze fails to penetrate the maw of a darkened window-

To have
To have not

To operate in the probity of normality
To practice trembling sobriety
To lose an arm for the ones you love
To have in heart the morning dove,

Assures that come evening tide
Through shroud and delusion
Secrets the world shall confide
And lift your illusion
...

The very next morning
Or so it would seem
Awoke the old men
Rendering a dream

Patiently focusing
For a clearer account
The words from the past
They seemed to mount
And as they pressed closer
Not to be deterred
It crested their mind
And then they heard

"Soured metal, rotted walls
Darkness hangs from hall to hall
Broken bonds burning ambitions
A feeling half held until fruition

Life a moment
A last choking breath
Happiness a second
Before eternal death

We exist only
In the time between
A hint of joy
Goes often unseen

Until again
The crest breaks
And life slips by
But leaves no wake

Such was the tale
Of the great eluder
A hidden knife
A dark intruder

A ****** thorn
Upon the rose
A heap of sand
At the toes

Left undone
The last request
Above the head
The water crest"

Intolerable mornings of required communion
Accompanied with formulated phrases
Men limp from church
Their mind wondering
Far from there
To their childhood breakfast table
Breathing the memory becomes stable
They hold on to it as long as they are able
Plates of porcelain
Decorate the wall
Floral patterns swirling to the center
Across the room mother enters
The image wavers and ripples like water disturbed by a pebble
"Honey set the table
Get the biscuits, gravy, ladle."
Set the trays down equal from the middle, a cup to the left, forks and knifes to the right-
Get those filthy boon dockers off my floor and out of sight
Go get your brother without causing a fight
BREAKFAST TIME
Rise and shine on the biscuit line
BREAKFAST TIME
The sun is up and shining
The coffee is on and the bacon frying"

The memory dissipated into a fleecy cloud.
It hangs heavy on their heads.
Remnants of yesterday remembered in indignation
When slipping off to bed.

I'm in the December of my days
And stuck fast in my stubborn ways
If only I could grasp youth for longer
If only my frail body were stronger

If only I were confronted again with every last myriad encounter where I chose reticence
Opposed to openness
My martial mind refuses any peacefulness
Perhaps the reason of my restlessness
...

Shaking off the foreboding dream
A distant luminary seemed to gleam
An old man frail but proud
He spoke a poetic oration aloud

"My head is swollen, my mind it wanders
My tongue is twisted stumbling it stutters
My thoughts are lost in the colliding clutter
My meaning is lost under soft mutters

My smile shields my solemnness
My eyes reveal my weariness
I am a man of little happiness
But refuse to possess helplessness

I am as I decree
An old man wrapped in misery
But not one broken to submission
Just one in a transition

I have tasted the bitters of love
Witnessed the horrors of death
I have choked my linen dove
To its final breath

No, I am not a careless senior
Full of content
Shriveled in demeanor
Mind absent

I'm dying not dead
No resolving to expiration
Living instead
No meeting expectation
No bowing my head

In credence I say
I'm living for today

No consideration for tomorrow
No more drowning in sorrow"

...


The day was overcast
Fitting the mood
Black suits stood in formation
While the lucky ones heaved their load.

"He was not an exceptional man

Not one of great worth
No wife, no kids, no friends.

To an outside eye it would seem as a waste
And maybe it was
But that's the nature of things to end abruptly
On a minor note"
Written by
Tyler A. Sullivan
Revelation born of change
sourced from behind the eyes
seeks the mirrors to be seen
when vision lacks bravery
still, the restrictions had deterred
those self-made, sourced from fear
on the span of baby steps
to fly beyond a gilded cage

if only verity did not hide
that spark admitted to the self
base of thoughts from years ago
as presentation now complies
sadly fear lingers on
when society classifies
good with bad, entwined with lies
denoting sadness sanctified

a spiral set upon itself
small momentum found at last
the journey isn’t made alone
small pushes and gentle hands
still the shadows may remain
slowing progress beyond this place
forward motion is still made
saving grace belying pain.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190403.
The poem “Born to Change” is about the sometimes slow progress of transformation and self-discovery.  Thankfully the daunting creation is not a journey made alone when friends are there to lend a hand.
Tyler A Sullivan Nov 2018
Turn of the Season (Expanded 2019)
TURN OF THE SEASON

For Friends and Family


Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
                                          -Robert Herrick

Intoxicated nights of orange halogen lights-
Illuminating through misty blown water.
As the April breeze ruffles the newly sprung leaves upon the trees
Men pour malted liquor inside clandestine cellars of tuxedo staff and obsequious waitresses.

Echoes of an engine shuffles on down the alley,
Startled they hide in the cornered places.
Men enclosed in smoke talk of days of old,
And better times,
And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces.

Woman go about chatting of useless things and waste the night away.
Men sit about playing games of little meaning and waste the night away.
Both will head to familiar places at mornings first rays,
And April effortlessly falls into May.

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces,
Slowly trudging through the paces,
Slowly they tighten their laces,

And set out for another monotony dipped day,

Planting their ears to the ground listening;
And many things they'll hear and say,
With many hindsight memories in their mind glistening,
And their lovers will whisper are you listening,
And they'll say "yes yes my dear have no fear I am here".

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces.
And they'll make many a plan and in cases,
And step over cracks in fear of dark places.


The clink of a glass carries on down the hall;
The bartender while wiping the counter yells
"Last call",
And they'll retort "for what reason",
And he "none at all".
Then the bar goes the way of the shopping mall,
And summer slips effortlessly into fall.

What reasons can they make when the night is through,
When it's time to wake what will they do ?


As the days retreat with their hairline,
And each mirror more distortive than the last,
They'll retreat further, further into their mind,
And what will they find
With their sanity fleeting fast,
A desperate thought floating in the breeze,
A candle to thaw the freeze.


Intoxicated nights of solemn solitude,
Tucked in the back thoughts of a lonely suburb,
Trying arduously to abandon actuality,
But failing and jumping the curb.

And many men before and after grasp the image of their obscured faces.
"Sorry love they're not home I'm afraid",
"They've gone to the races",
Two lovers in two different places.

Rest assured rest assured they'll return,
They'll unconsciously sell their freedom,
Rest assured rest assured they'll return,
At this moment they are Carpe Diem.

Rest assured rest assured,
They'll be plenty of time
To fumble with furniture,
Plenty of time
To spend with her,
Plenty of time to waste
Plenty of love to give,
Now's to go slow not make haste,
Now's to go slow and live.


And they'll remember childhood
As a warm August kiss,
And where their feet stood,
And what they missed.
And when the leaves
Upon the trees
Fall down down down
To rise to their knees,
They'll remember who they are
And who they use to be.
            ...
And they'll come to age
Lost among the rushes,
And they'll gaze back on hesitation
Condescending conversations
Sharply silencing hushes.
             ...
So, before you grow old
And wilt away,
Before summer loses hold
And December has its day,
Enjoy what you have
For what you have is to enjoy,
For what you haven't
Are merely foolish toys.

This summer began as the last one did
And will end when Autumn bids
With the sun and stars above for you to see
Run around like children in the heat of lunacy.
...


Though I've fasted and wept,
Wept and prayed
And stayed stoic long
Through passing day
Scrutinized by throngs
I can never,
Never truly say
I have achieved arête.

No, I'm not the son of Xanthippus,
Who instigated the apogee of Athens.
The past beacons of Atticus
Dims my own ember passions.

No, I have not achieved what desired
Thrown to the wind it seems
Another day is expired
Forever slumbering in dreams.

Though I've loved and lost
Loved and lusted,
Won a few
Others busted,
Though I've seen the world at the needle point,
With all the sordid souls suffering,
I've lived like Cummings:
The farthest extent of emotions,
I've kept a drug induced devotion,
But never could I stop from wondering,
Never could cease sundering.

Oh do not say to me I have
squandered my time,
Racking the innermost emotions of my mind.

Oh do not speak of me
As if I were not here
But some sailor sunk at sea.

Oh do not confront my convictions,
As if I were a child
Lost among the maddening crowds,
Dreaming wild.

No, I am lost to the Demos,
They will not understand.
I wear a veil of pathos,
Deepening desolation with every  reprimand.

I've seen the valleys of my life
Where the flowers are disseminated like t.v. static,
And the only sound a high continual pitch.
                 ...

They've said go, Go I don't love you anymore
Not pretty enough to be a poem
Not intelligent enough to be of any use
                 ...
Though I've smiled and agreed
Agreed and died
Through all this hell
I have tried
...
You are not wrong who deems
It's all madness it seems

Life was so much more back then
At the apex of humanity
At childhoods end
We are met with insanity
  ...


They're troubled tonight,
Their restless gaze fails to penetrate the maw of a darkened window-

To have
To have not

To operate in the probity of normality,
To practice trembling sobriety,
To lose an arm for the ones you love,
To have in heart the morning dove,

Assures that come evening tide
Through shroud and delusion,
Secrets the world shall confide
And lift your illusion.
...

The very next morning
Or so it would seem,
Awoke the old men
Rendering a dream.

Patiently focusing
For a clearer account
The words from the past
They seemed to mount,
And as they pressed closer
Not to be deterred
It crested their mind
And then they heard

"Soured metal, rotted walls
Darkness hangs from hall to hall
Broken bonds burning ambitions
A feeling half held until fruition

Life a moment
A last choking breath
Happiness a second
Before eternal death

We exist only
In the time between
A hint of joy
Goes often unseen

Until again
The crest breaks
And life slips by
But leaves no wake

Such was the tale
Of the great eluder
A hidden knife
A dark intruder

A ****** thorn
Upon the rose
A heap of sand
At the toes

Left undone
The last request
Above the head
The water crest"

Intolerable mornings of required communion,
Accompanied with formulated phrases,
Men limp from church
Their mind wondering
Far from there
To their childhood breakfast table,
Breathing the memory becomes stable,
They hold on to it as long as they are able.

Plates of porcelain
Decorate the wall
Floral patterns swirling to the center,
Across the room mother enters,
The image wavers and ripples like water disturbed by a pebble


"Honey set the table
Get the biscuits, gravy, ladle."
Set the trays down equal from the middle, a cup to the left, forks and knifes to the right-
Get those filthy boon dockers off my floor and out of sight-
Go get your brother without causing a fight
BREAKFAST TIME
Rise and shine on the biscuit line
BREAKFAST TIME
The sun is up and shining
The coffee is on and the bacon frying"

The memory dissipated into a fleecy cloud.
It hangs heavy on their heads.
Remnants of yesterday remembered in indignation
When slipping off to bed.
  ...
With no more action left in my bones,
With no reprise resting at home,
With no pleasure found when I roam,
Distant memories I sentimentally comb.

These gems
Are all I have left,

I'll leave none for anyone else,
Just an old man
Riffing through the shelves.

Poor in mind, poor in health,
Just an old man
By him self.

I'm in the December of my days
And stuck fast in my stubborn ways,
If only I could grasp youth for longer !
If only my frail body were stronger !

If only I were confronted again with every last myriad encounter where I chose reticence,
Opposed to openness,
My martial mind refuses any peacefulness,
Perhaps the reason of my restlessness.
...

Shaking off the foreboding dream,
A distant luminary seemed to gleam,
An old man frail but proud
He spoke a poetic oration aloud.

"My head is swollen, my mind it wanders
My tongue is twisted stumbling it stutters
My thoughts are lost in the colliding clutter,
My meaning is lost under soft mutters.

My smile shields my solemnness,
My eyes reveal my weariness
I am a man of little happiness,
But refuse to possess helplessness.

I am as I decree,
An old man wrapped in misery
But not one broken to submission,
Just one in a transition.

I have tasted the bitters of love,
Witnessed the horrors of death,
I have choked my linen dove
To its final breath.

No, I am not a careless senior
Full of content
Shriveled in demeanor
Mind absent.

I'm dying not dead,
No resolving to expiration
Living instead,
No meeting expectation,
No bowing my head.

In credence I say
I'm living for today

No consideration for tomorrow
No more drowning in sorrow."

...
The heavens opened with their finale word
Come old man and join my hurd
Or was it the universe who spoke
What who gently stirring
Now awoke

Both, one or two, or together in unison
Whispered of sweet reconciliation
Come home my tortured son
Saved from damnation

Or was it darkness who called
Finally silence for body mauled
By time ever moving hand
Come rest in the ***** of the land.

His perception thinned
And then it was as he never been.


             .....



The day was overcast
Fitting the mood
Black suits stood in formation
While the unlucky ones heaved their load.

                    ...


Words spoken to strangers and colleagues.


"He was not an exceptional man

Not one of great worth
No wife, no kids, no friends.

To an outside eye it would seem as a waste
And maybe it was
But that's the nature of things to end abruptly
On a minor note"
Written by
Tyler A. Sullivan

— The End —