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Steven Forrester Feb 2014
Where can start
With an Apollo heart
Where can I run
When chased by the moon and sun
An infinite race
With an Adonis face
A quick pace
In the presence of grace
Like Zeus I am powerful
Like Hades so sorrowful
With the temper of Aries
And as quick a wit as Hermes
I have an appetite so ravenous
Like kronos
And just as Dionysus
My parties are rapturous
So I find it difficult
Despite my piety
I believe I've failed
In finding one single
Equivalent diety
In reference to "the hellopoetry pantheon" (in which I was not included)
jar Oct 2013
a few months ago,
you asked me: "What is love?"
As you can see,
it had taken me a long time to understand the question myself,
but I think I've finally come up with an answer.
Unfortunately,
the English language
has only one word to describe something that has limitless interpretations.
In Greek,
there are three words for the three basic types of love.
Eros;
lust.
This type of love
is when you find yourself doodling their name
on the inside of your history textbook,
dotting the I's with hearts
as if you are 13 again and you were just asked on your first date.
You chose that textbook
because it will be the only place no one would ever think to look.
You think about everything you would be far too shy to say or act in person,
making out in the back of a movie theatre
not caring who would walk past,
sneaking off away from your friends just to have two measly moments of what you both call "peace."
Most often,
this type of love is encased in "I love you"
only to obtain a certain goal.
Virginty,
a picture,
or even just one more night
of having them in your arms.
Eros is not authentic,
it is emphemeral.
Phileo;
Brotherly Love.
The friend you would drop anything for in a heartbeat to make sure of their wellbeing,
but also the neighbor you see from time to time watering their garden.
They ask you
to tend to their garden while they are away,
and you do it
even though you've never spoken more than a paragraph to the man
because it is what you believe is right.
This type of love is the devotion of time and energy without any promise of compensation in return,
purely out of the good of heart.
Phileo lasts as long as the people do.
The final type of love
is Agape;
unconditional love.
In religion,
we are guided
or pushed
towards showing this type of love towards the diety.
Yet, very rarely
it is shown towards a human being.
Unconditional love
is the ability to say so much with only uttering a single word.
I have experienced this love,
it is great pain
and great sadness
but the feelings of pain will never leave my lips
in case they are transferred to the person i wish to have the least pain.
This kind of love
is when it is not only enough that you think about them every waking moment but every slumber-filled one as well. You have hung up your needs at the front door along with the key to your heart and devoted yourself entirely to them,
even if they don't reciprocate.
They have been adopted by your body and taken the form of a vital *****.
If you do not
pay absolute attention
to them at all times
you will run into many problems.
You need to keep them running smoothly in order to stay alive and healthy,
because without them you are nothing.
You are a sorry sack of bones with a beating heart with no purpose.
Unconditional love is taking all the lessons you have ever learned
all the rights and wrongs you have finally learned the difference between and throwing them out the window.
It is the thin line between sanity and insanity,
heaven and hell,
and safety and danger.
You walk the rope
from building to building
without the promise of a net.
Unconditional love
is authentic,
but not emphemeral.
((Love *****, don't do it.))
Amelia Jo Anne May 2013
I have a habit
of hypnotizing myself
I like to put on my veil
a shroud of alteration
marry myself to the haze
again & again
I baptize everyday before I
light the world on fire
lose myself in the afterglow
live in the confusion

I love the girl who is
the sister of Leila, Ophelia, Astrid
o, Sweet Mother Mary
pray for me, stuck in melancholy
& losing ground
unity in Heaven's Rose
you are euphoria
mostly because I have
arranged my wills
to center & propel
those wills of yours
think for me
show me I can't live without you
can't
do for myself what you do for me
let's swim in the river
where I forget everything for a little while
enrapture me
all day every day all ways
Katherine Laslie Nov 2015
I am the sly fox
Sacred and misleading

My spirit,
You worship
A treasured diety

Beautiful, though I am
I am horrible within
Tread carefully
Treat me with care
Or ignore me, if you so dare

I am the sly fox
Colorful and cruel
Loyal, though I am
Don't ever take me for a fool

My spirit
Is in the air
I can hear you
Anywhere
Don't underestimate
A wild fox
That can't be tamed

We are born to destroy
For, destruction flows through
Our veins

Be ever wary
Stay alert
Keep your voices
Hushed and unheard
The sly fox
Is on the loose
And knows of no boundary
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
it can be nothing but a deviation from modern
       concerns -
i was once in a pub, drinking a beer -
and this medical student turns to me and asks:
- if you could be a god, which one would you want to be?
        without resistance, without hesitance the reply?
- hades!
            of all venerated beings - his: the sole "phatom"
so feared that no palace of worship was
              erected; that's right: no temple in his name;
but just imagine my shock: a medical student
who supposed the existence of gods -
                    and yet in a society where there are these
diaper atheists... these biologists
                        and physicists - these proponents:
they really take the romance out of the universe -
              and here is this hippocratic oath adherent
and he's inclined to believe in the gods:
             for the sole purpose that he can manage
complicated tasks on the "microscopic" stage -
                                         in his niche -
                           while on the macro-plataeu
he's like:             well nothing explains nothing,
or the many other nothings.
                                  rare to see a plural form
                                                  of that singularity.
but of course: the mere thought contemplating the gods
is comforting - evidently we're not the people
to suggest or enforce a ritual to sacrifice one's time
with a duty of prayer -
                           walk into any monotheistic temple
and film the lunatics... sober lunatics: which is worse
than watching intoxicated lunatics dancing as if
they might be enthralled by the concept of prayer.
       just looking through the aeneid glossary -
can you even imagine if they will someday unearth
skeleton of centaurs? obviously you could only
unearth dinosaurs first, however much you push down
in geological terms: the older remains are unearthed
first, that's the tectonic dynamic: older comes first -
             in organic terms: skeletons are, after all: organic
materials... and centaurs might not be an ease
metaphor to stomach after some time -
                                       but what is the darwinistic
improbabilty of their existence, that once was, but now
isn't?         what is the darwinistic improbability?
             it's about time we force these questions,
since darwinism has lost all of its scientific sensibility
and has become level-tier with marxism in
       the battleground of culture - it has finally caught
up with marxism as a cultural impetus.
                         yet peering into the aeneid glossary
i had to invent at least one god, and one river of hades -
a. acheron - the river of grief
      b. cocytys - the river of wailing
  c. eridanus - a river leading into the underworld
d. gela - the river of laughter
   e. lethe - the river of forgetfulness
     f. styx - the river of hate
  g. ucalegon - the river of uncaring.

              what is indicated: i once had the idea to
compete with the styx - the river borrowed from german:
the zunge - or the river of tongues -
                        perhaps idle talk, the river of gossip -
or of those who drank from it: became prone to
the whisper of the god janus - the two faced god,
who, upon ushering his two tongue's into
      the drinker's mind: split the drinker's mind in half.
yet i find the concept of the river ucalegon
more befitting to this realm... named so after a trojan
warrior - still, the literal, simply: not caring;
                                          and do the dead care?
if the living can only muster a cult of the grave -
                   but not the cult of memory -
                                       no wonder so many pass into
the shades, through sheer neglect in organic remains
of their legacy.
     so of this god?
                              well, narcissus and his brother
                      solipssus -
but there is another, akin to the ancient diety of the latins,
namely quirinus (romulus deified?) - rooted
     by origin in quirus - meaning spear.
       i really can understand plagiarism on a polytheistic
scale, how zeus became jove, how kronos became saturn,
    how pilumnus has no greek equivalent -
   how hades became pluto -
                      that i can understand, a plagiarism
on a polytheistic scale... but what happens on a monotheistic
scale? tyranny against the mind!
                enforced labour for a mere sake of an argument,
what happened when the qu'ran was written.
                      and since we're on the topic:
słowianin - słowo
            and the horrid english slav( ) with a supposed
missing limb of                                e...
     again: know your mother and of that earth speak
the tongue - it is derived from, quiet simply word...
so we are wordsmiths first, keen workers? sure.
                         but wordsmiths first - in essence -
         and indeed, if there was the ancient italian god
           quirinus -
                           it would seem natural for the opposite
of a spear, akin to the maxim: the pen is mightier than
the sword...   ergo?
                                          quill...
      ­                              and the diety?
                                                          ­       Quilios.
           for a silesian peasant, that might translate
into regional idiom as -                        Piórkowiak:
patron of god of poets, with enough ***** to conjure
                         such explanations - that those in
the hippocratic community might appreciate, even they
can... but obviously, the cultural darwinists
                          have but one answer, and it's almost
       akin to the islamic dictatorial stance for defining
                              what culture is, and what culture isn't;
sensible? was it really about sense & sensibility?
                  maybe for jane austen is was... not here... not now!

p.s. Quilios, as combined from qui (who)
          but also borrowing from heliocentric -
                  or simply helios: sun -
                              writing illuminates: or, (he)
                                                           who illuminates.
Isabelle Jan 2017
For 939 years he is living
To live such a long long long life
I do not know if it is a curse or a blessing

Centuries swiftly passes somehow
Past to present, present to future
He was there before, he is here until now

Every death of friend or foe
He witnesses and will never forget
Left alone, soul is full of woe

The Goblin’s immortality
Was said to be a punishment
And never an eternal tranquility

The sword stuck in his heart
Is the key to death he longed for
Then only his life and misery will depart

It is only the Goblin’s bride
Can pull out the sword in his chest
So for centuries he searched for a wife

Until fate finally reveals itself
One look, ahh, a lovely bride he met
Sad love he utters to himself

This love will cause him death
But after a long time, it made him feel alive
Now he don’t want to lose his breath

But his choice will only bring demise
And his newly found happiness
Will only last until his bride dies

Pull out the sword, the Goblin will turn into ashes
Let him live and his bride will die
What a tragic story, love until one perishes

“I have to disappear to make you smile
This is the decision I have to make,
I have to end my life”


It was long ago planned by a diety
Immortality not a reward but a punishment
A sad love, it was their destiny
Note: I somehow altered the ending.

Inspired by Goblin, a korean drama which I finished watching last night. It was sad yet beautiful drama. So beautiful that I can't get over with the story.
SassyJ Sep 2018
Let’s dally in pain
coat ourselves in coal
as we await the apocalypse
when the diety will declare
death to the society
death to the communion
death to the society

Let’s the emotional turmoil
become the boil that bursts
all the unhappy drafted chants
when the diety will declare
death to the society
death to the communion
death to the society

All the clouds will burst
with chalks of clay
those chunks that mend
As we amend to a neutral
at the leyline of a sublime gift
where the interface of energy
draws attention to the waning moon
under the shear of unwanted hearsays
as such a time is drawing nigh
As their sacrifices drown the night
At the crossroads where ...... two wrongs never make a right
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Apr 2021
Can one wish
to become a Hindu deity?
Well, one can wish
that wish, and perhaps
in self-delusion,
come to feel
it has happened.
Or perhaps instead
of becoming a social worker
to help the poor and hopeless,
one chooses instead
to attend Columbia Law School
and then pick up a MBA
and go to work on Wall Street
where one can make billions,
no longer millions,
and live in Greenwich
in a grand home big enough
to house the homeless of Hackensack.
A private jet would be nice
to have to jet about the world,
eating at only 5-star restaurants,
sleeping only in beds
of luxurious hotels real estate agents
in Fargo can only dream about.
How about yearly attending
the meeting of the financially mighty
of the world in Davos?
Wouldn't that be swell?
Well, it depends on who you are
and where your heart lies
and if lies don't bother you.
An avatar you do not make.
Either you are one, or you're not.
Be your real self as soon as
you can to find out.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
MAHA SHIVA RATHRI
Truth, goodness and beauty are eternal trinity
They are the qualities of rarity and divinity
Today the Hindus celebrate maha shiva Rathri(the great night of goodness)
may this Hindu festival bring upon you all brightness and greatness!
Christians believe only Yahuwah as reality
Muslims regard only Allah as divinity
but Hindus believe that God dwells in every entity
and worship every plant, mountain, river as Diety
Atheists plead God as mere irrationality
but nobody can deny the trinity
which are more internal than external
God may not be truth
but truth is God
God may not be beauty
but beauty is God
God may not stand for goodness
but goodness is surely God
Let us all strive for the trinity
Truth, goodness and beauty
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
Melodious moonlight thy clear liquid spreads
painting all in lavender hue
and moistening lips wait for the kiss of your words, muse
You sing through her parted lips your cryptic hymns and poetry,
words wound together in strange nightly meter
that twist together and shift like tree limbs tangled
and petals cast down the stream

To bathe in the rippling water
and wait for clarity to wash away the rough edges of the mind
let the stones become smooth
and mind like bowstrings, taughtened.

But the crowds protest in collective indignation
all members chained together by common trepidation
lest altars crack under the weight of strange words
and the diety's light grows dim
they sharpen what was dull and loose arrows in laughing mirth
into bodies' crooked minds uninhibited and feet unshackled

The ones in the crowd yell with groans and laughter
but they groan also with the pain of what is constant death and birth... they are resigned to their tradition's lies
and perish ten thousand times.
Nascent generations yell out in incredulity until voices become hoarse and skin turns gray, resign themselves to murmur their insolence in dreams as they whither slowly away.

But the one who, in nighttime, sings
and bestowed by muse's mind, from human lips part
words and strange poems spoken blaspheme
will live but once and one day rest
by the shifting branches and on grass by trickling stream
and not by chain's clanking arrest.
Maggie Neer Aug 2011
Today the world begins new lives
Reborn new
A phoenix prize
A old soul merely metamorphisized

Yet equilibrium remains the basis
For the illogical
Yet chronological
Order of homeostasis

And I do believe
Indubitably
In the infinite
Infinitely
Exponentially

We're all composed subatomically
All we want is stability

You want my opinion
Here's my two cents

You think that's gonna pay the rent?

Get off that couch and pick it up
Perhaps it's fallen heads up
Cause God knows we could all use some ******* luck

If not
Make your own
Flip it over
Turn the record
For the record
This song is over

Needle eating soundless motion
Captured on a carousel of 4/4 time

But you're consumed
By the commotion
Of the emotion
Of stainless steel
Stealing you

Today you and I begin new lives
Reborn new
The phoenix lies
For in your eyes
It's simply
Innocence
Simply
In a sense

Hands keeping timing
Telling me it's past tense
Hands intertwining
Telling me it's not yet

And I think we're intact
But in fact
The entropy of you and me
Has certainly
Got us slipping into passionate disintegration

Because you're entranced by the segregation
Of a million minuscule lights
Cubically distanced
Creating a whole
With a hold
On you

But me
I'd rather be a broken piece
Than one ****** up whole
Because at least
One out of ten broken pieces
Are quite pretty

Like the faces staring back at you
Trapped in their box
Where the walls absorb their pleas
Thriving off vibrations of their screams
Feeding off you
Trapped in their box

But HELP!
I've got this problem
I've got this hole in my shoe
Not through the soul
Ripped through the side
Pierced through the skin
Exposing me
Hiding within

And I am listening
To the pitter-patter symphony
Of twisting
Knotting
Nodding off
Into twisted fictions
Friction
Of twisted knots

So help me Maiden Marlboro
Save me Lady Nicotine
Before you're consumed
By my temporary satisfaction
And become nothing
But the ash hanging upon your precipice of life
With every burning second

But me
I'm not the type to let you sit there and hang
I'll flick you off
And flip you off
And watch you fall with a
BANG!
Goes my brain
Snap, crackle, POP goes the weasel
And round, round, round go the wheels in my mind
As I wrote, wrote, wrote you letters
You said marryme, marryme, marryme, marryme,
But that life was but a dream

Dear Planet Earth,
Today I begin a new life
It's the same cup of tea
With just a pinch of spice
And a little splash of crazy

Fueled by an endless series
Of connections
Coincidences
And personally prescribing medicine

Today
I am baptized by the rays of a new day
Projecting a mirage
A facade
Of a God
Of a Diety
Hiding inside of you and me
So I'll salute you
Then shoot you
Just so I can set it free

Because I am that which must always overcome itself

Forever
And ever
Forever
Endeavors
Davy Jul 2015
Ever since I very nearly died, I believed in you.
I believed there was someone that gave me a second chance in life.
I went to church and read the Bible to find religion.
I always thought you were a warm, kindhearted person who shaped this Earth for the good of mankind, but it turns out you're just an evil mastermind who enjoys playing sick, cruel games with people.
I've prayed for you to take me under your wing, but now I pray for you to get the **** away.

God, even though you live in people's hearts and you're immortal, you're dead to me.
No offense to all the religious people on here, it's just my feeling.
Grace Pickard Jun 2014
It all started here;
Some thirty students-
Minds controlled by their puppeteer,
Walked in clueless

My mind came colorful, progressive-
Only my beliefs sprouted!
The seed had already been expressive
Just- the stem was clouded

The renaissance fertilized the soil
Dry, cracked, barren, deprived;
Destitute of the benevolent oil-
Used to awaken thoughts: revived

But what truly blossomed my bud-
Were the French philosophes,
Who's blue, liberal blood-
Solidified my leftist approach

I have always been the optimist;
Through many deaths and rebirths-
I knew it wasn't the apocalypse,
And instead kept the beauty of earth

Because I filled my life with fascination,
My opinions bloomed:bright and rich.
The rain could not cleanse my veneration,
Not to a diety, but to my democratic itch

My petals are strong to hold bees-
Who cannot fly or make honey
It's my civic duty to fight this disease
That in life- one is subject to money

However, I am not just one of Paine's flowers,
I am an independent with liberal powers.
This is part if my informal final paper for ap euro- I decided to answer each of the five prompts with poems
Hooflip Feb 2013
Elaborate a little on the empty space.
canvas
Fill it with spills.
It all seems so accidental, did you bring your credentials?
Passwords linger throughout the discussions,
reason & recognize
Act with the valor of lightning and they will stumble like thunder... Timber.
Down falls another point on the pop chart.
Playing tic tac toe till the the tacs tic down by the toe, action falls into a drifting memory and crumples at the custodial hour.
Feet pounding time on the tiles
Repititions, turning inches to miles... Progress??
Does the diety of a paragraph outshine the novel drifter??
I mean, both read only one line at a time...
https://soundcloud.com/thehumbleloud
david badgerow Nov 2011
hi, how are you today?
i've broken every bone in my hand
writing you this letter
i've hidden away every past mistake
in the cushions of your puke green sofa
every broken promise from an ingrained diety
coffee cups and cutlery that i keep
as monument to one night spent with you
a thousand killing smiles and a hundred stolen kisses
i bend my knees and take a shot of clarity
the outline of dreams and IOUs
the place where awkward belongs
the sign of recovery hides in a dimly lit alley
***** and hungry and lonely and desperate.
Joseph Martinez May 2016
this love is now & new & once again
stabbing @ me like durga-like diety
with sweet golden daggers
an essential togetherness
teasing out of these odd surroundings
I was listening to Jack Kerouac on the way
home in his mad
bop rhapsody apocalypse
streaming out my speakers
while familiar streets crawl past
once again
I'm thinking
as the day old glum spread over me
& out to envelop all I see
how little different to be watching
seeing street signs all opening
into cul-de-sacs and open storefronts
paraded in the endless traffic flow
now bent slow over
feeding my cat crab cakes
that my mother made
myow myow, he goes
& I acknowledge
myow myow, he goes
& I answer
what?
what in god's name is
the matter with you?
myow myow
his solemn reply
licking @ a piece of
exposed claw meat
nestled among old bits
of dry brown kibble
how about this soul?
how about this life?
this sickness?
how about this always seeking I?
how about he music of my mind
in untraceable car rides alone?
wherefore to I wander
ceaselessly in search of what
wonders where I might be
born on the road of least descent
cat paws, grabs @ bottle caps on
grained wood table
my media
fizzles & searchlights
in my window
there is something I'm not facing
something inescapable, my love
like you
born of locusts in the dust, my love
like you
my weary dune-mother
how solemn are the tunes that run
thy face, o' mother and thy will
how broken are the lines upon thine
shining brow in bedroom windows
open to the world like peace
stolen in the sad glance I gaze @ everything
stolen is the cup I fill @ leaking kitchen
sink pipe strands of scent or bark
of neighbor dogs amusing grass flow
weather flowers under well I'm never
knowing what--I never will
no matter, all is well
another's all is nothing now
where knock goes streaming
crashing loud
like anvils in the rain
it's only me
how now, my dear contender?
like a shadow fallen into sound
how now the planets unwatered?
how now the roots are killed?
we all inhabit the same fears
how rabbit hides his smear
to give me a surprise
for me, none so dear
than the mystery
& April dies today
There was a thing with nothing,
No form,
No gender,
No name,
No home,
No diety.
It roamed by itself with no one.
No girl,
No boy,
No anything,
No direction.
It bumped into another thing who had,
No form,
No gender,
No name,
No home,
No diety.
It felt a feeling it never had felt.

The feeling grew the longer it was near the other thing.

The other thing felt it too.

A light flicked on and showed the two things' true forms.

Did the feeling stop?
I got inspired by the title space. This is not bashing or approving anything. Please like, add, and/or share it if you're not afraid to (and if you actually appreciate it).
langit b Nov 2013
pieces of pain
fly into the crescent moon
we walk through the falling snow
storm and broken road
are we alive or just pretending?
wisdom of the nirvana
tell the mysterious diety
yellow grass and smoked old man
strong promises people made
promise it won't be breaking
seeking the shadow of your savior
survive the long cold night
with an eclipse
torn fall between us
pale lips with a cigarette
living our future in a ***** promise
lead me, surviver
to the end of this tunnel
standing in the rain to see the lights of the buildings
galaxy and hidden planet
walk to the flower shop
rose or jasmine
red with madness
or white with sadness
painting your soul with blood

(a.l)
david badgerow Dec 2011
i have
some vague idea of
any possible universe
without any laws
designed by an idiot

designed by a diety
thinking of something much more abstract
betterdays Aug 2014
and tonight it is
the elder, mother god
of which i speak....

she  snores and snuffles
in the lazyboy chair
slumped awkward
and sombulant,
akin to a ragdoll,
carelessly,
tossed aside,
after a day's hard play.

and it is in the cracks
and crinkles, both large and minute that craze and track
accross her well worn,
well loved face
that i see,
the god-dust...
lingering.

and as i gently,
place a woolen wrap
over her tired old body.

i take a moment...
to give thanks and
worship,
her hard earned diety.

and the mothergod...
slumbers, snoringly on.
I want you to take this match
keep it close
and when the time comes
burn down everything in your path
it's all wicker to your flame
and if you leave them a single memory
they will never remember your name
carve yourself a giant
from the remnants
a diety to end all
assure no descendants ascend
from the ashes
as cobblestone falls
as steel and bones clash
when all hope is gone
it's you and that match.
Unfinished and such...
Chronology Dynamo(Cogwheel Goddess)

Excogitation; twiddling my thumbs…

My eyes are glued to the soil beneath me; I shall sink into the mud.

The winds embrace my untimely surge of vain equations.

My metacarpals have contorted; supplication exhausts my soul.

“You my Goddess, who I look to for Time, yes Time and solace“.

“Thou shall not reveal to me vicissitudes of vernal decay”

“When shall the Great Harvest arrive?”

“I ask myself this oh Mother of Divine Infinity; Scythe of Era in the hands of thou.”

-When-

-When shall my flowering forth arrive from aegis wings?-

I sweat; I bleed; I murmur; I fade; I glow; “now what am I?”

Translucent in skin; hollow to the core; dying to warp through dimensions; lithe like a sylph.

Her diadem is one of metallic gears and bejeweled bolts; a Manufactured Diety of the Glorious Space and Time.

Her blade of mascara beautifies those who gaze upon her luminous needle lashes;

Her apparel that of disassembled clocks.

The sand of the hourglass composes her tears and blood; she bleeds out every second of wasted chronology.

Her corona is iridescent and she is one with The Universe.

“Ye shall not waste Time, yes, Time, for it is the essence to all things that are and all things that are not!”

She speaks to me as the nebulae around her glimmer, adorned with supernovae creating a phantasmagorical and celestial overload.

My eyes are clocked with sensory overload; so many colors and luminous neon lights.

“Before the collapse of Mother Earth; the Liminal Sphere, you must feed the Galaxies with the brilliance of your heart.”

-When the rivers of time run dry-

-Act-

-Do Not Wait…-
  
*By Sanders M. Foulke III
DM Oct 2012
At first glimpse,
I shudder,
there is something in your face,
I almost recognize,
It's different now,
More articulate,
your eyes have become hollow and vacant,
Without spirit,
Haunting and hopeless,
no longer being seen as bestowed by a diety,
lifeless,
No longer illuminating a disheartened world,
Seeing too many unfavorable aspects of life,
drawn,
the light which once poured,
nightfall surrounds,
not of ignorance,
but from experience,
the secrecy of these shadows,
the rendered soul,
cause me to visit the unwelcomeness,
that I have known,
twilight touches my face,
as I step away from the mirror,
promising never to return.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it was brutal past these two days,
pedantry and what not,
first came the lacklustre observation
that needed changing given the perfectionism of coining the phrase:
machina non ex ego,
then came the familiar “god” barricaded with
what proper pronoun usage there is
in the omnipresent and omnitempus rubric will allow,
what’s the first person present acquisitive collective of i in latin?
it’s clearly stated that it’s poached egg...
so me and my totem the fox tonight, the streets empty,
november rain warming the air...
guns ‘n’ roses could be playing in the background
and a wedding of trendowata / trędowata
(helen mniszków) / ***** / i.e. ń
where the bride dies on the honeymoon...
once in a honeymoon the blue moon makes a joke...
been here, done that, let’s mash up the tango with the foxtrot
while genuine genesis gets the ****-off-factor thumbs up...
peter gabriel never made it to the pop section of critics...
he remained hidden in the realm of late-composition
of mahler and whoever decided slapping lycra pants on
frying pans was definitely music.
hey, my sarcastic humour is back... which means i’m
sitting in an easy chair, drinking whiskey, listening to music...
no, actually my lower back is aching while i type
on a dinner table chair...
so the pedantic masochism that got me hot & bothered
for the past two days was changing: machina ex non-ego
to machina non ex ego
(it wasn't me... shaggy... who thought up
the need for traffic wardens... penalties for parking
on double yellow... or the one who
required michelin-star dining...
or the one who kicked a sphere into a rectangle...
i'm not the one who can claim
such social engineering... i'm not the one
behind the tomahawk...
or calling the mayan diety of wind and rain
hurakan like the polish aversion of something
behind storms an alt. spelling via huragan)...
god almighty... did you see the weather forecasts for december?
horrific!
nietzsche famously ignored america...
joseph roth didn’t...
now i’m at the stage of stealing shadows, given the theory
of actors stealing other people’s shadows, recipients
of life or not...
the only way to steal shadows from actors is in the cognitive approach...
make complete dumb-arses smart, turn the quote inside out
and forget existential ambiguity of single word meanings...
forget the spoken interpretation of the linear tetramarca (“ “)
ditto with theapprox. markings as solved, due to the explanation:
i think i said... not i think i doubted that meaning originally...
let me just change the spelling of what’s intended...
ah hell with it: “i” is worse than ~i.
this bombing of daesh is going to hurt the west...
i know why... the russians know why...
they’re doing the puppeteer tactic of war...
get a weak ruler on the throne... heat the throne up...
see the wax of the puppet melt...
see... russia sided with the assad regime...
the west didn’t side with anyone...
i can see a moral angle in favour of russia...
it bombs because it knows assad, bashar allah sad...
it wants the old honours back for the kingpin jim yong ping pong uno
(a.k.a. deep-blue-pong solo with a brick wall),
the west is playing english roulette...
it’s still the same wheel of fortune...
but the ***** are bigger... perhaps smaller...
throw a single grain of pepper / salt in for the gamble...
that’s the west for me... ****** **** ignoramus,
the ****** third cousin of the motivational coach of **** bred kim carmageddon:
oi guv! spare us a tickle!
but you know what i really really love... memories:
the time i read of kierkegaard’s faustian theory of dominion,
when a man can turn a bright spark of femininity
into a juvenille gamer too nervous to stop playing a game
and engage in conversation...
god that girl was something... but then she turned into a little
mouse who could pipsqueak the whole truth
under “supposed” interrogation...
you know that abraham came from the city called Ur
which is modern iraq?
no, you see, kierkegaard’s theory of faust, or faustian sexuality
in the book either / or is perfectly matched up
with don juan’s misogynistic polygamy - the village bicycle analogy -
he eventually becomes a conquered piece of meat
once thought to be the hand under the shawl of saint teresa...
the beatles v. the rolling stones?
bob dylan v. dylan thomas?
that quote from the devil’s advocat by al cappuccino:
‘i’m the ultimate humanist,
i’m the hand under mona lisa’s skirt!’
i vow my entry... you can have mona lisa...
my hand went right up under saint teresa’s shawl.
then i get an answer from ol’ pizza pound...
cantos xliii & xliv are undecipherable... until the usura sequence...
but then again...
he does mention a hill in canto xlii...
which could be a metaphor for the salmon swimming upstream
in the river known as writer’s block.
Astral May 2015
The marching cries of dark armies, the lambs breath halted by plumes of smoke and walls of flame

Ascend to the next plane, for this one has been scorched by hatred and malice, creatures of dread and pestilence rise from the ****** mud

In the primordial ooze of the human birth, crescendo’s of bashing hymns ring out in the echoes of gunshot blazes

Fires arise like an ignored diety, seeking its revenge
Olivia OConnor Apr 2012
Oh those eyes;
innumerable amount of eyes.
Just following me.
Gazing at me. Staring at me. Glaring at me.
As if I were deformed;
a monster that doesn't meet
the quota for aesthetically pleasing.
As if I were a deviant;
fearing that they may the next victim
of whatever scheme I am concocting.
As if I were a cow
causing earthquakes with
each step I take.
As if I were a stick figure
recoiling at the slightest touch
for fear of the pain.
As if I were a diety.
Bold and beautiful
flowing gracefully across their path.
As if I were a genius.
Just waiting in line to hear
my views on the world.
Or maybe they're not following me at all.
Maybe they're looking right through me.
Straight past me.
They don't even notice me.
euphony Feb 2014
the postmodern condition is attempting to escape the human condition as defined by the parameters of capitalism through alternate realities that trigger a sense of isolation from the societal concept of individualism while bearing the constant struggle of utter loneliness and depression.

multitudinous humans undergo irrevocable mental conditions that originate from a lack of amazement even at a young age of a human being. we endlessly always try exploring the vast amounts of knowledge throughout this temporary universe that we seldom lack the instant epiphany to be grateful enough unto the infinite diety who created all of these realms that are defined in a circular universal matter called an earthbound planet known through the reputation from the appellation EARTH within seven days historically concerning the biblical creation reference.




*this poem will make you think more and talk less to know what goes on around your circumambience everyday!
- from your sincere poetic philosophy lord pax III
Xander King Aug 2014
When I grow up
I want the world to be happy
Because as of now
It is not

For you see
This world is shrouded in hatred
And love can be bought

All around conveyed love is being traded for physicality

As the players get stronger
And the girl
She cried out to a diety
She doesnt even believe in

Because he left her
Broken
Bruised
And
Pregnant

Leaving her for another girl
One with a bigger rack
And ***
Even though she shook hers
Every night on stage
Baring her body for strangers

Only so when she goes home
He can unleash his rage
So she gives him her money
And he loosens his grip on her
Freshly
Dyed
Hair

Then he'll pretend to care
As he invests her money in his new Jordans
Instead of rehab for his
Crack head lover.

because he never loved her.
If he did He wouldnt be saying
"That baby isn't mine."
So he can spend more time
With the new girl by his side.

A girl who's snorting coke
And lets strangers hands
Travel up her bruised thighs

I Cant be happy seeing this world in this disgruntloed state

Because A young boy hangs up
A flowery dress in a closet full of
dusty skirts and heels

His moms attempt at making him
"Normal"

Because what you don't know is he was born a She
But she wants to be a he
And he doesnt know somewhere out there
A he wants to be a she

But they feel more alone
As their parents threaten to send them to camps
In failed attemps to make them
"Okay" In the eyes of
Their God

So he lays in bed
Blood pouring from his
Self inflicted wounds
One for every missed label
As they call him a her
Or he a she

But they don't see it
"It's just a pronoun right?"
Maybe to you
Because you haven't fought
your whole life
To be called something few
are open eyed enough to see you as.

But he can see it clearly
as he pins back his hair
and puts on his binder
Drugs gay binder trans drugs cheated love pregnant strip *** society hurt abuse money hate
wehttam May 2014
As I review the periodic table of elements
I have resorted to some thing so Idiotic
That the scientist have adored the relevance
of some infantile youthful designation.
I wondered... if one hydrogen atom
became two in what state,
what would two hydrogens be in another state.  
Shiftless bonds, or double 0 eight.
Is H2o oxygen or is it O2 in rain drops.
How exactly do I love your poetry.
Do I breath as do tears fall from my eyes.
Are we all spying in on the great love.
Does a capitol L make us doves?  
Ive never had such a crush,
To turn down.  How much of a hug
is a lie to another friend.  Ive had so many
affairs. That the friar asked me to spell affiar again
aware of a fraudien slip.  
I listed turned and down again I went as
I listened to my mother speaking to frenchmen.
The diety, the diet, the destruction of language, I just
stood there smiled and again I said... I wish you knew
what you were saying in Latin as the
holy spirit convenced him.  She said in uncertain
latin, the angle (angel) condemed us to understanding demi gods
and taro cards from matter to benevolence.
Amir Apr 2010
as life got harder
so did the drugs
held high
in reverence

and we too
hardened
toughened skin
callous indifference

it's all
so simple
when disinterest
res'mbles
the thimble

and through a canopy
tenaciously thick
no light shone on
the life below

although
the sick and sad,
they rejoiced
for in dark they
feel so at home
so alone
so alone
feeling without
the diety promised
to heal the devout

an eternal eclipse
and we thirst for the light
hunger to see
the clouds in the bright
or the stars in the night

here to starve
on this forest floor
parasites and predators
but never a friend

no friendly face
to recognize
see only gleaming eyes
repulsed by our own
and it feels so alone

how we tell
negatives repel
and there is no hope
for the hungry soul
out on its own

no climb
however far
could make it to the top
all who tried would drop
or else decide to stop

and would one break that canopy,
tenacious, thick, and tough
one finds the trick to all of it,
the sun is but a bluff

and would one break that canopy,
tencious, thick, and tough
one finds the trick to all of it,
the sun is but a bluff
© Amir 2007
Yandisa mhlana Feb 2010
Locked in lust with dreams of deception. Tricking my senses to believing she's right next to me. Waking up in the morning in search of her body, only to find a wet sheet and embarresment.

She is to be desired, with curves in her skirt that leave a man lustfuly wired.

She's got me wondering if she's better than desert? Cause my sweet tooth be aching everytime she's moving.

Temptation is clearly in the picture, capturing her essence and describing it as an addiction. Obscene pictures being conjured by the mind, if storing was possible, they would be filed under 'heavenly delight'.

An ****** diety in my temple, worshiping her body as the idol of perfection.

Viewing and inspecting her in class, drooling over my notes when she drops a pencil and picks it up infront of my desk.

Oh how i love to pass those tests, knowing she'll be watching when i'm applaud for being the best.

Will i ever make it into her life? Maybe if i do her homework she might just give me a chance.

Or better yet, even a smile.
Memphis
Poppy Perry Aug 2015
Thou shalt, at the heat of the sun, bear thy flesh and bear thy head
Thou shalt sacrifice animals to be cooked in witness of the sun's infrared,
And ingest these victuals in such sun's cosmic light
Thou shalt baptise thyself under the closest water in sight
Thou shalt spread thyself with lotion before lending presence to it
Thou shalt lay upon the soil or sand in unending deference to it
Thou shalt compare thy skin and colour with brothers and sisters
To separate loyal bathers from misunderstood resistors
Thou shalt honour the dark and hold those untrue with severence
Who employ bottles or sprays to to give an imitation reverence
Thou shalt not look bare upon the sun, and keep thine eyes concealed
Thou shalt burn thy skin and be born again, after skin and guise are peeled
But the most import is given to the ultimate pawn of piety:
Thou shalt never speak nor hear
Of the modern solar diety
ForgottenDiety Jul 2016
You are my forgotten reverie,
the melody that I keep humming,
the view that I long to stare.
You are the game that I don't want to end,
the book that I love to read at bed.
But most of all, you were the forgotten reverie
For this time, I have you now for real.*

(c) Forgotten Diety
I will always love Him, no matter what.
PrttyBrd Mar 2014
Arrogance was strong in this youngling
A child playing at being a man
An air of confidence unfaltered
Unrelenting desire
A wanton yearning to consume flesh

Black rules in a white world
Where all is in hues of ash and cement
Self-knowledge builds strong shelters
Past pain is present mortar
With blocks of crystal tears

So this boy, sweet and tender
Loved withoout learning
Longed without grace
Fell without balance
And cried in darkness to an uncaring diety

Cried for those long gone
Cried mostly for the liars,
The cheaters, the judges and friends
The demons grew in the shadows
Lit with the embers of pain

Now, caged in his tear-stained walls
Transparent and safe
He sees without flinching all he once did
Finding home in strict command
Of all he holds dear

No place for frivolity
No needless emotion
All or nothing in matters of the heart
To break, lest he be broken
To own, lest he give too much
To push against pleasure
And claim happiness in humiliation
For it would never again be him

Clear walls like a skyscraper
A firmament of glass shards
Hanging in wait
Of vibrations to set them free

A man's mind
A man's body
A man's need
With a child's heart

Though hardend with experience,
Scarred with it
Calloused
And struggling to survive

He will not leave his prey
Though she has lost his interest
He will not leave to cause pain
To cause guilt

Responsibility squarely on her shoulders
A burden she could never understand
So he pushes
And she goes...broken

And the child cries
Unseen within himself
Unrecognizeable
Unfamiliar

He carries no blame
Feels no guilt
For it is she that turned her back
And the walls remain

The man with rules in bold
Burned darker with each failure to comply
Tantalized by a lady much like himself
Black lines in a white world

She challenged him
He taught her freedom
In giving him everything
He was afraid to return

He pushed, She tried harder
She pushed, He ran
He pushed, She faltered
She pushed, He attacked

They paused for a moment
Her broken and him afraid
Shards shaking as  he fights to maintain control
Loosening bit by bit

This child
Longing to believe all he chose to forget
Fredom in love
Trust in another
Welcoming the truth about love

Which is simply:
When you love someone
You get out what you put in
Your only concern is their happiness

He looks like a man this youngling
Devouring the innocent
Unwaverng in his vision
Of truth and self-granduer

Soon, he will learn
That a real man nurishes that banished child
And shares himself openly
With the one his soul adores

Yes, this child resembles a man
31014
Helen Sep 2014
I have a neighbour, he's going on 98
I don't really know him but I don't hate
how he gets up every morning at 6am
and rambles in his garden even when
I'm trying to sleep late
I walk my dog around my neighbourhood
and people nod and say hello
but I'm no more interested in their lives
then a passing glance and smile
as I walk towards my humble home
I live amongst many lives
that fracture against themselves
they may be semi religious, or zealots
but I could never tell
Just as I walk these streets
uncaring of a Diety
I couldn't give a single thought
to if you went to church this morning
I couldn't care less if your knees are bruised
from going down in prayer several times
I don't give a passing flippancy
If you woke this morning at 10am
and your first drink was Wine
I don't particularly know my neighbours
except for passing smiles and nods
I don't particularly care for religion
and I don't care to know God
I should write a note here...
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
b.** she’s in love with kierkegaard, i borrowed a quote by him
about poets...
i was going to end the poem with sarcasm...
the poem got deleted without being saved...
now to remember:
the missing diacritic in english of phoneticism
gives chaos to how english is punctuated:
bewildering that there are two types of quotation in english
rather than the polish / joycean irish
use of quote / dialogue,
in the latter instances we have the use of thye hyphen,
in the latter
the problem of what freedom of speech invokes:
how was it said if it wasn’t said?
  “      “    “   “   “  “      “        “    at all?
the english language has moved away from the classical
sense of the ditto...
it has moved into the confusing territory aking to its excessive spelling:
- i said you could have said it better.
- you thought that prior though?
- i did indeed.
this is the polish / joycean example of how dialogues flow.
but in english there’s a disparity of the usage of the dialogue “brackets”
that are “ “ and ‘ ‘...
in philosophy the ditto brackets are ambiguity stressors...
the mis-understood words in servitude of specified usages...
but there’s no contentment in applying
such notation to stress ambiguity when the mathematical
symbol modelling is already apparent - approximately:
i.e. instead of noting the ambiguity of meaning of a word like
truth via “truth” is no better than the notation ~truth:
since the former only revels in the negation of the meaning of the word
truth... that there’s a meaning & and an ambiguity of using such a word...
rather than the mathematical observance that there is an approximate truth:
the one that’s experienced / the one that’s related to / the one that’s
neither as a mere historical interpretation.
i detest being tested by a diety in the platonic sense...
i know what i'm writing about...
i can remember it and explain it - but of course poetry's
verbiose and sometimes ivory extravagence is self-explanatory,
poets know what metaphors are...
poets know what imagery is... but i hardly expect
there's a need to itemise which words fit the terminology
of identification for an essay... there would be
not creative fluidity if that was the sole intention behind poetry.
Reshnia crimson Jun 2023
My sister has curly hair
From day one
She has cut and burned it at every chance

Her hair is dark and thick
Like our fathers
I wish I had his hair instead

I wish the follicles on my head
Wernt thin and brittle
And quick to fall

Would that make me a man?

My sister has a flat chest,
My ******* have been called the best
My family and friends alike

She calls her own chest, childlike
If we traded, and my breath was unstressed
If they fell from my body

Would that make me a man?

What an unjust God
Who would give us bodies
That did not fit our souls

What cruel diety
Would leave us feeling
So cramped
SøułSurvivør Jul 2015
---

there was an equine artist
who cut herself while in art class

she blended the blood
into the paint and
used it to render the horses mane

she was put in an insane asylum

many gifted people
are "insane"

are their minds designed differently
to show us the hell inside
so we could come to terms with
our own hearts and minds
and their deepest dungeons
of angst and emotions?
our own poetic expression
and voice?
our most profound space of fear?

Plath was a diety
Sexton a goddess
Van Gogh an icon

he cut off his own ear

an artist also bleeds
"If you ***** me,  do I not bleed?"
- Shakespeare -

---

— The End —