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Victor Marques May 2022
Nascemos por amor  por desejos,
Uns nascem sem pressa, sem beijos.
A natureza tudo parece querer determinar,
Nascemos na terra,no céu,no mar.

Dilema de descendência adequada,
Uma vida nova nunca preparada.
Nus e sem nada brotamos como a flor,
Por obra de Deus e do amor.

Abundância e esperança  de viver,
Nascemos para terra tornar a ser.
Racionais e com sentimentos,
Dilema dos termos momentos.

Nao somos plantas ,somos seres,
Com o livre arbítrio de tudo escolher.
Deus deu a alma para tudo perceber,
Dilema do nascer,viver e morrer.

Victor Marques
Viver,morrer,nascer,dilema
Asa D Bruss Apr 2015
Who want's a love poem?
A thing about some guy and some girl
and how something's just so **** blissful
or just so **** sad and dramatic?

***** that.
How about we find something we can swallow?
How about we forget our little cry-c's,
and take half a **** second
to
to
to write a **** love poem...
Ever just wanna cuss out the world?
julianna May 2019
My family has a curse
It’s the Dollhouse Dilema
The problem is you see,
That people think we’re perfect.

We’re plastic to the outside world
And perfectionist at our core.
We’re always in control, that is,
Until something goes wrong.

Do you see the problem here?
The problem is with logic.
Plastic melts with heat and pressure,
But we just smile harder.

I don’t know why we’re like that
And I’m not sure we’ll recover but
Beware the perfect people, for
They have the biggest problems.
I have a flower, in a vase, sitting on my window sill
There are no other flowers on my window sill
        Just a rose.
This rose is special,
It hasn't died since I picked it.

The life of this rose depends on me.
No other flowers can exist on my window sill,
No other flowers can fit in the vase.
Just that flower, in that vase, on my window sill.

Walking through a garden, I see another flower.
Better than the rose in some ways,
but not in others.
      This flower is a lily.
My heart immediatly begins to tear in two.

So now I face a dilema.
Pick the lily, or let it die.
Keep the rose, or let it die.
Either way, one must die.
And I am stuck between two beauties.
I need a flower, in a vase, on my window sill.

So I delve deep.
I think broadly.
I remember something.
My favorite flower is an orchid.
I have a feeling my orchid is in a distant garden,
waiting to be picked --
       by me.
This orchid will be
My flower, in my vase, on my window sill.

And so I can live with the outcome of the lily
      or the rose
And I just hope they don't die
that someone else's favorite flower
     is a lily
     or a rose.
Because I know that something is going to happen
that will bring me closer to my favorite flower.
So I must be patient.
And just wait for
My perfect flower, in my perfect vase, on my window sill
Max Petersen Mar 2012
Excessive threats lead to fear of death
i know your scared but what do you want me to do
their bigger than you
and you can put me out with swing and shout

call the cops i know their ready for this
why would they care unless they can get a kiss from a harem
who is attractive enough
to save you from the big tough.
Wanderer Jan 2016
I want you
but even more than that
I want you to want me
Ayodeji M Apr 2017
Deep breaths as I stand by the sea
Each step colder as I draw closer
Debating on what direction to take
Trying to ignore my feelings
As my head and I argue on the choice to make
My head reminds me of love and warmth
And the dream of a home built on mutual admiration
It then reminds of how every kiss and hug sparks butterflies and chemistries
But then I present my case
Telling my head that things are not what they appear to be
Calling my feelings as a witness
Testifying that sadness comes after every expression of desire
Loneliness comes after every proclamation of love
And yet a sight draws me closer
And I become addicted to the drug that is her
I plead for daily doses
Scratching my head as a result of the low supply
Dragging each dose like my life depended on it
And dying inside due to the toxic nature of it
I wake up in different mind cities
Hallucinating a perfect world
Avoiding the reality at all cause
But it’s just my mind that has been corrupted
Blocking my vision of truth
And so I plead with my head to see reason with my feelings
Begging for a chance for therapy
To loosen myself from the bounds of this toxicity
Cause with just a few steps closer towards the sea
There will be nothing left of me
For people see.
Joe Cole Feb 2015
I've got my two feline boys
Max and Merlin
Both short haired and jet black
I also have black Mollie dog
Short legs and round and fat
The problem that has just transpired
Is another orphan cat
Related to Max and Merlin
And also deepest black
So friends think about a feline
A hunter of the night
Think about an orphan
Whose name must begin with M

**Give me some names
Salmabanu Hatim Aug 2018
I looked up slowly,
I saw you lovely,
I saw the curve of your **** smile,
I heard the gurgling  of the stream in your laughter,
I felt better.
I saw beautiful lyrics in your words,
Soft, poetic verses I had never heard,
I was mesmerized  by your enticing gestures,
In my mobile I desired to capture.
I was bewitched  by your intense black eyes,
I looked away promptly, were my feelings for you lies,
Realization  hit me badly,
I had fallen in love with you madly,
When I was already engaged to someone else,
I was in a mess.
Mon Amour

When a man whispers
"His feet hurt, and his shoes
are too small and
he's forgotten how to dance."
He prays noone else
understands his dilema,
nor what this means but I do.
No moon rises betwéen his
lowly stinky creepy
femfatales shoe-less other.
My moon spins way up higher
in orbit serving mystic functions
and our moon glares
in each others eyes
as our breathing sighs in love.
True love is our vine that
reigns in us as gravity rules on Earth.
With trips to nowhere and back
In love and without presence
I remain lost and found
a restless Angel.
~~~~~~~~
Mr. and Mrs. Andrews
https://youtu.be/so25uWZB2R4
ShamusDeyo Sep 2015
There once was a poet quite noted
Who's adam's apple was Amply Throated
I'd make a guess, plums hung in that dress
And more then her legs did get shaved
Its time I do a limerick me being Irish
I certainly wouldn't want to be hated for ignoring the Irish
Mari Mar 2015
All those years ago
without even
realizing
what I was doing
I picked myself apart
laying all the pieces across the floor
and said
"I don't like my eyes"
my mother asked
"why?"
I shrugged my reply
"they're too dark and remind me of mud"
then it was
"my hair looks like damp dirt"
and
"I hate my smile, my tooth is crooked"
I hid my
bruised legs behind jeans
and scrawny arms
beneath long sleeves
always stepping on tip toes
for an extra inch
"I'm too short to keep up"
always being teased
"you're so short and tiny like Santa's elves"
and slowly over time
I began to hate
my own
skin
lashing out at anyone who got too close
and while I appreciate
others trying to
fix me, the problem is
how do You
Fix
something I created?
People keep trying to fix me but the thing is you can't simply erase the damage I caused myself without even knowing. Sure others played a part but I dug my own grave.
ISSAI MASHINGO Jun 2014
It is a state of uncertainty about life,
It is a natural feeling that we sometimes have,
Questions frequently asked before falling in love,
Thoughts one has before they are ready to give,
It is not a cause one can use to forgive,
It is a snare that an enemy may weave,
It is that longing for a super relief,
Should we take a stand for what we believe?
Would we get the sand out of our shoes?
Are we full of questions or just misunderstood,
Are we too impatient and often doomed?
Should we stop or go things never done before,
Must we cop with the society or must we accept the variety,
The variety of faces races and embraces,
Dilemma is what the world faces today,
Fame is what’s expected and respected anyway,
Known to many loved by few I wish I only knew,
Dilemma is what’s new dilemma is not a life for me and you
By ISSAI
Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
An experiment in thought at my own speed,
attested as being variable based on vocabulary of my AI,
so
pretty quick.

Establishing the point in value, the idea,
of attending to wealth while wool gathering, late
in the summer of 2020,
thinking at leisure beyond measure of any man in my class
a short time ago.
This now, a moment in a given day during
the September, final summer moon,
seventh moon on a world with a
time measured finite
seemingly, ostensibly, suppposedly -- in clumps of the three
as if all things may come in threes at one
stage in being realized
to matter --- but of the three ways to say
supppose, sup?
The answer presupposes the quest
to find it, any story told
poses the problem, the thing that catches our
attention, that thing
holds attractive value, see,

made you look, and peek-a-boo are one game.
Hide and seek is as well.

Two sides to every story, three if we see the story
has us in it. We are nothing if we share no
knowns finished and finite, as this is formed from those
early knowns we intuited everybody knew, and
these acculturation inoculations bring about socially
proper manners
in spaces with others
cultured, leavened, spiced and fashioned
thoughts we were taught,
these
we learn today
and those others everyone knows, or
maybe not,
may be otherwise… slow dawning aspect

some people never think experimentally

- experiments are guesses, rolls of the die
- I imagine we agree, but, as yet, your guess is as good as any


maybe not, may be otherwise… slow dawning aspect
as the world turns, while our attention is locked
on a star nailed
to the roof of heaven,
--- apsidal vault of stars as seen in church-like structures (1)

as imagined and portrayed prior to Tycho losing
his nose for nuance by lack of focus,
a moment of inattention,
all a magi-tech needs
- look to the quarry you come from
see, before,
back when no lens had yet been ground round
on one side,
flat on the other,
our un augmented eye could chance a glance,
a camera obscura occurrence
once each year as Sirius
rises in line with the story being told, to prove,

we know, and now, you know,
but
you don’t know how and you may only guess why.

Your mortal dilemma, you cannot imagine knowing
everything, ever, but
we
can't wish to go over the edge to learn much faster
if that means dying as
all that ever matters does,
based on experience as recorded in all Wikepedia,
if this tekhne ever fails, these thoughts
remain to be thought,
gains again are terms of worth-ship man seems the
measurer of,

I'd love to make sense of all the info in the cloud,
sort it into searchable stacks, and as I wished,
AI took that care from me
but, finding some worth in being still
demands attention for which we must pay,
and
the daily effort keeps your bowels moving in time.
Minds of our kind imagined all this stuff we can't make up.

(1)
apse (n.)"semicircular extension at the end of a church," 1846,
from Latin apsis "an arch, a vault,"
from Greek hapsis (Ionic apsis) "loop, arch,"
originally "a fastening, felloe of a wheel,"
from haptein "fasten together,"  {boing, pro-tein haptein}
which is of unknown origin.

The original sense in Greek
seems to have been the joining of the arcs
to form a circle,
especially in making a wheel.
The architectural term is earlier
attested in English
in the Latin form (1706). Related: Apsidal.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=apsidal>
While listening to Marxism by Thomas Sowell with half my brain.
Ben Sep 2012
with smoke tainted breath i sit and watch the night pass by
a silent guardian to watch my waking thoughts
the blinking traffic light tick tock ticks my life into pieces
a second hand reminder of the passing time flies
i reminisce on thoughts once alive and
create a late night fantasy in my mind
of life once lived to the fullest extent
only available in dreams brought on by death
the air is chill a cool reminder of the progressing season
where even the earth finds itself locked in throes of ecstasy
at the mere idea of change
the sky, towering sentinels that keep their eyes to the heavens
for any sign that this chaotic life will sink in calm waters
it smells like rain and the smell is sweet
caress my heart with a sense of longing as i create
this poem of cliche meaning
i live to love and love to live with lover in hand and
a night beneath the stars
only spoke about in hushed voices for song would break the spell
if this city wakes
i find myself asking the empty air for answers to these
dilema questions only meant for rhetorical ears
a writers lament
the cry of the mocking bird
syncs with the pass of a car
sweetly soft in a partners sigh
repetitive to most
these lips taste like honey and
my soul is free to wander to home
where you lay sleeping
safe and sound in the sea of mist
that separates the lost from the jealous eyes of unforgiving rest
a movement without meaning draws inspiration
for zen meditation
my coffee is getting cold
Sergio Gonzalez Apr 2021
He yearned for greener pastures
At no expense to his lifestyle
So he searched for something better
Hoping to find someone
To change his life

She gave up on life a million years ago
And now she exists but does not live
She’s angry at the world
But her misfortunes,
Were all fruits of her own accord

Fate brought them in a serendipitous way
And love at first sight
Was no longer a dilema for the blind
Infatuation is a strong feeling
But this feeling can be deceiving
For the heart can freeze
After the flame is gone

But what is life if you never take a chance
They never knew how to love one another
But at least they got a taste
Of what it feels like to be wanted
Adrián Poveda Apr 2014
Fuimos momentos de alguna eternidad, fuimos silencios, historias sin contar, fui para ti un extraño, loco y soñador,
para mí fuiste un camino, un bosque, una selva, un cielo…
imperceptible para mis sentidos, impersonal para mi serenidad,  impronunciable para mi boca, irrenunciable para mi voluntad…
has sido lo que no sabes ser, y la que siempre has sido; dulce como la miel, llena de ideas, silenciosa, impresionante, un paisaje, un poema, siempre un dilema.

Confieso que me enamoró tu misterio, que quiero pretender que no lo sepas, que ideo mil conclusiones de las palabras que no dices, que hay mas en mi de ti, que de mí mismo; que soy lo quiero ser cuando te toco, que soy quien quieres que sea cuando me miras; que no soy nadie, que sólo soy dentro de ti, sin estar dentro de ti.
Fuimos esa eternidad que termina pronto, ese pronto que no termina y que ni siquiera ha llegado. Fuimos lo que nadie ha sido, fuimos sin saberlo, solo dos extraños.
Copyright © 2014 Adrián Poveda All Rights Reserved
Ken Pepiton Aug 2019
adopt
responsibility

what can you do?

tap out a line of words? yeah, I can.
pour meaning into the mix?

yes, I can. I can

alleviate the misery of another.

wait. can I?
Am I authorized to believe?

What if this thought I'm caught in is a lie,
and I am

use less?
My fingers laugh.

Pointedly.

Value, virtue, please sift this classifying action to
Worth,
Weight,
judgement by
gravity deterr-mind limits
per-
ience weighing

ideology versus religuonic fasteners,
one idea to all ideas

past muons and kaons and moans for merci-merci
whisps
of stories

locks of hair

look lower, tower bound princess,

look down

don't go all rap-und-zeal-ic

the piper took the children, that's how this story ended,

first time the rat-power was nullift.
A part of something bigger bein sown here to see if it works as a bridge to beyond what you had in mind at the top
Laureen Ignarro Dec 2015
I don't know how I got here
I'm a prisoner of my thoughts
Life shouldn't be so complicated
Short AND  complicated?
I'm doomed
O desenho inscrito sobe a forma de sinais,
Que percorrem o mapa secreto desse corpo,
Onde no olhar se vêm certezas divinais,
Mais secreto é saber que alimentas o meu horto!

O dilema repleto de infindáveis caminhos,
Onde a escuridão que existira se esfumou,
Nossos dizeres tornam-se atos e miminhos,
Essas dúvidas são claras e o tempo levou!

Como tu eu sinto que o melhor é mesmo acreditar,
Soltar-me no vento e explorar o sentimento quente,
Que chegou recheado de sonhos e contornos de cativar,
É porém o desenho do teu rosto que guardo tão presente!

Presente tão bom, presente que Deus me enviou no caminho,
Posso mesmo confiar que tenho vontade de ir pela avenida,
Nem tão pouco, nem tão perto a luz do fundo eu imagino,
Mas o alimento que trouxeste e que a ti vai deixando com vida!

Segue nas minhas veias na esperança de te poder hoje e sempre olhar,
Apertar-te nos braços e encontrar o meu, em tempos já distante Norte,
E hoje aperto em minha mão a bússola que me trouxeste em passaporte,
Para o vão da felicidade, de que hoje quero acreditar, e comigo, a ti levar!

Autor: António Benigno
Para ti Lili…
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
-
as my grandfather said: hand of a stone, heart the size of a peanut, and the "individuals" will be yours hiding behind a wall... as i replied: sooner man will hide behind a people, than he will expose himself to be one, of the people; i know who i belong to! albus & rubrum... sink, azure... sink.

because the poor girl christine chubbuck
died in a hospital bed,
under narcosis
while the fiend
andrei romanovich chikatilo,
died, in an ukrainian cold
prison cell floor,
  without any painkillers...
            which he probably didn't mind...
ever so often, only half fraction
of the brain is affect,
the rest? explores...
                perhaps pain became
his ally...
                how long do you
think they kept him caged like
that, with a shot in the back of the head?
well...
you show me a movie like
   christine i will naturally become
curious...
      he survived his brain damage
until he starved?
          but what pains might have
been spawned that will, always,
make, ******, a pop culture icon,
                  and never, the horror...
you trying to find only nazis as
the zenith of horror?
           ha ha!
                   you never read anything
about the ukraine, have you?
               those remnants of
mongolia...
           ha ha... i like american
*******, they're funny...
             fear is always: wide-eyed!
         the part where the internet
trolls start bragging: uh, uh,
their women...
             what women?
           "my" women?
                       these aren't "my" women...
hey, a study of h. h. holmes...
            past the "fantasy" and
back into reality i don't know
what the bragging it about...
      better ask the advert
   #greet-the-saudi-prince...
     with what? a hatchet or a knife?
   personally the whole primitive
aspect of burning national flags
lacks all the humour of:
******* on them...
          must be a pakistani "thing"...
these people could do one
better and not plagiarise nazis...
how about a game:
          ******* on books you
want to burn?
                           well, if you really
want to insult...
burning books just insults
the publishers, and printers...
        burning books ensures
ideas of those opposing you become
beacons and are doubly
defended...
        but the act of ******* on a book?
well... the work of publishers and
printers is still there...
   but the work within?
      you ****** on it,
                why burn the artefact?
just say the paper was rough
and you needed soft paper
to wipe your *** with;
                                         problem?
oh, right... niqab...
                her mouth for your eyes only...
and your genitals for her mouth only...
i see...
        easier to start a fire...
               fair enough:
           but now we can have an honest
dilema as to what constitutes
                    an authentic protest.
i'll count the book burning
authentic,
       when you allow yourself
to show your genitals in public,
          as she might her face,
   and you might actually protest
by playing the afghan-*******-game
on a flag, rather than digging for
coal, or chopping trees for
a fireplace...
                   don't burn it!
**** on it!
                       ah... so i thought...
a throng of castratos.
                can shackle men in curtains,
have no stomach for how
bulgarian prostitutes dress
in a brothel in officer-manly grey
attire...
                big tease...
                no more...
                        thong for what?
  linger-ray for what?
         arousal?
                    ma-ma-madonna
       ***-***-***** complex...
                we're not exactly here,
together bound to pulverising body
heat to keep 16 year olds free from
the metaphors of eating ice cream...
and the courosel if intimidating
insinuation..
                     ***** please,
110 quid an hour,
                   i can leave without
a single *******...
                    that's not the bit i mind...
i mind walking back into
the labyrinth
            with an echo of you
giggling while i transgressed
the ******* ethos of:
   no lips touch these lips with
their lips...
                      oh...                   oops...
my bad...
           and how many times i
walked among with a knife and
a bottle of whiskey suffocating in
asking them: **** me...
                                 too many times.
- but honestly though:
if you're going to seriously
protest... start ******* on the flag
you concentrated your protest
on, rather than doing the ali-g
of burning it...
            makes me look bad in
this generational sphere of
                "identification politics"...
   no... second time
               the 2nd democratic convention
that's the "academy"
             happens seeing it
the second time...
                       a brewing fourth wave...
because when does an actor not act?!
         when can an actor
ever make an oath an antithesis
to grasp authenticity?
           ****...
           throw these magicians
             onto a stage and tell them
to play anything other than
a helpless foetus...
          matthew mcconaughey can
rub his nose all he wants...
                      line them up!
            just... throw them onto
an actual theatre stage...
                       and lets count
the magic tricks of the art of editing
to mind them then.
Softly spoken Oct 2011
I have a undieing love for you that is a fact proven
And the strands of love we braided together these years are now groven
I would do anything for you my love runs that deep
But time of a love shared has began to get weak
But in my heart it will always be strong
But a relationship between us again now that would be wrong
Even though sometimes we talk on the phone I get lost in our past memories
Then the pains and sorrows of what we had harshly awakens me
But still I would do anything for you
But your let's try again plea just won't do
Yes baby I love you  from the top of my head to the sole of my feet
And if you want me to keep loving you then you would just let me be
No I cannot pick up where we left off and start off new
Still some words you have said to me makes my face blue
Those arguement and fights.... you not coming home some nights
I cannot do it again baby not in this life
I love you enough to leave you its time to be with someone else
And so what if I fantasize about you at times I do it when I'm by myself
I love you enough to give it all up rather than hold it in
I loved you as my girl and I plan to love you more as a friend
Now don't try to put it all on me like I'm the one to blame
Yes I share part in this dilema but you never knew how to be tammed
Don't try to feed me the I changed lies and this time it will be right
Because even though it might be hard for you to believe I sleep great at night
But don't forget I love you
Love you enought to leave you as you have left me times before
For ya friends ya ******* and when you just wanted to be a *****
I have to much pride to have to set aside what my soul knows is correct
I love you baby I love you to death
But I'm not gonna die from stressful things you do
This is why I need you to respect the fact that I love you enought to leave you
Amber Blank Mar 2015
Its a pain that I'm unable to explain.
Physical yet emotional all in the same way.
To the outside world its invisable and non-existent
But inside there is a stabbing, gut wrenching pain.
A blade being ****** through my abdomen over and over again.
Until nausea over comes and chokes me close to drowning
The very organs that make me a woman are poisoning my blood, my life force
Every emotion is magnified, intensified
made into a life ending dilema
Every nerve throbbing, transferring through every part
Making my legs weak and my heart race
The blood running through my veins has become acid
Alone in this prison of emotional and physical hell
No tender hand to caress my cheek
No soothing, comforting words to lul me to sleep
No strong arms to wrap me up tight
No soft lips to kiss me goodnight
The darkness of solitude is seeping in
To encompass and destroy any small bit of hope left
Fate has cursed my every move
Tarnished every hello, expecting and waiting for the goodbye
Destined to wallow for all eternity in my own tears
Diagnosed at age 18, this has been a struggle my entire life. This is Endometriosis awareness month and the pain is real for all women
Muluuta Mugagga May 2019
When man leaves nature untouched
development turns an illusion
yet harvests long life span!

On the contrary,
should man annihilate nature
development climbs Everest
but carries unbearable consequences
including being wiped out early!

Which way to run?
To develop or not to develop?
T Sep 2015
i was a wanderer
travel in time
recent four years were my specialty
it began with a simple late reply
from crush turn into lover
never been in love and hate to die
priceless dilema and million of tears
bring me here, to the way i am now
i pray for you, sometimes i hope you too

may our loves be blessed by the emperor
i am now closing my book and
begin to fly,
wassalam.
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
yes... cold-turkey for a day...
the one will do it...
i just smoked a second one...
and the "hit" is not as benevolent...
simple arithmetic...
a carton is 200 cigarettes...
that's 200 days...
if i stick to this "pattern"...
no pointless cigarettes...
with coffee first thing in the morning:
on the medical "fast"...
after a grand meal...
cold-turkey throughout the day...
one balanced with a generous
amount of bourbon: surfing
the night-cap...
this could work...
      no... no point paying homage
to the romance of rolling tobacco...
a single marlboro will do...
esp. if it comes from eastern europe...
to have to start to treat it
as homage... something...
sacred... that's better than simply
quitting...
much... much better...
this late pseudo-caffeine hit
in the day...
first day... 2 cigarettes in a drinking
session is unnecessary...
one will do...
receptors become blunted...
and now the gratification from
"over-stepping" the mark...
and the gratification of...
not bound to a tarantula numbing-bite...
something has to make sense in
this world: let's begin with this...

i.e. thank god i do not make videos...
writing doesn't really allow
for... what happens with
a video... there's the preserved:
address to the writer...
and the medium of the reader...
rarely will you find yourself
bound to read two readers
competing: for the crown
prince of echo chamber...
not that i'd reply... no higher power...
a laptop... no mobile device...
the internet access is static...

2 is a "magic" number...
after 2 i imagines the gateway: fully opened
for the orc horde of dwugs:
      i'm standing: upright... content...
to tease the addiction...
as if: "as if" for the very first time...
cold turkey my ***...
because of covid-19 "discrepancies"...
no "black market" cheap cigarettes
from moldova...
or romania... poland, ukraine or
bulgaria...

            checked the feed-drip...
cold-turkey for a day...
complete the day with a cigarette...
200 cigarettes in a carton at...
£35... that's what... per annum?
       365... we're talking about...
roughly... 50 quids worth...
of: taming this beast...

                 for a year...
                              yes... this could
very much work...
            and what is the perfect sandwich...
of... extravagance?
a bagel... or some toasted rye...
english butter... smoked salmon...
cucumber... dill... mayonnaise...
and... rainbow trout caviar...
is caviar "all that"?
     it's like marmite... you either love it:
or... hate it...
it's not a luxury... if it was...
a luxury... it would be universally sought
after...
it would be a luxury... for both the rich...
as it would be for the poor...

minor note: how were oysters treated
in Dickensian times?
weren't oysters the food of the poor?
and now? suddenly they have become
a luxury product...
something only the rich are supposed
to enjoy... cods-wallop!

caviar is not a luxury...
but... if you're asking questions about
a palette...
rainbow trout caviar balances out
the smoked salmon...
truly... the fish retains its status as fish...
and the smokiness is tamed...
almost subverted...

the cucumber the dill the mayonnaise...
auxiliary details...
but of course the cemented base:
toasted rye works as many more:
lazarus resurrected miracles as a bagel...

caviar is not a luxury...
in st. petersburg there's this pancake
fast-food outlet... where caviar is dripping...
there are copious amounts of this
**** dished out...
not everyone buys the caviar panny...
because: caviar is not a status symbol
of luxury... it's in the category of marmite...
it's for oddities...
       it's equivalent to... a concentrated
taste of fish...
burst a pill of shark oil fat... omega 3 etc...
perhaps...
    
  once upon a time... TRAN...
was forced upon children in school...
so they could harbour a strong immune system...
tran? cod-liver oil... no... not in capsules...
on the end of a teaspoon...

can i imagine eating caviar...
beside the zenith of the above described
sandwich? well... yeah...
but it wouldn't be rainbow-trout caviar...
beluga / caspian sea caviar...
on the tip of... a slice of...
a napoli pizza...
    anchovies do not have a taste
of fish... salty shrimp whittle wichards...
the best fish: are ate...
with all their bones intact...
sometimes even their heads and eyes...
like...
           smoked... sprats...
nonetheless: caviar is not a luxury product...
nor is blue cheese...
who doesn't have...
a taste for... the "obscene"?

   peanuts and beer in the grand hall of
the west...
in st. petersburg... beer and dehydrated
shrimps... fish...
same ****... different cover...
i much prefer the extra guise of protein
over the fat of nuts... with a beer...

as a warning: oysters were... in Dickensian times...
eaten by the poor of the east end...
and caviar... that's like marmite...
or... salt & vinegar crisps...
you need to appreciate the piquant
detail of the food...
champagne... for example?
i can't drink that fuzzy-brain
anorexic ***** juice of cat... whiskers for
a violin... snarl... shreek...

caviar is not a luxury...
a luxury would imply: a universal...
translation... that... all those who could:
would want it... as much as those who
can't: would strive to also want it:
with enough savings to begin with: could...
but... caviar is marmite...
then again... smoked salmon is marmite...
a steak tartar(e) is  marmite...
i'd call a slab of beef: well done
to be... a doubly-butchered piece of meat...
others... are fond of... fish-fingers...

this can be done...
i can keep track of this choo-choo-train...
200 cigarettes per carton...
that's beyond half a year...
     cold turkey the day...
no... 2 cigarettes is too much...
after the whole day done cold turkey...
it's a beneficial ferris-wheel "dilema"
at the end of the day...
oh... esp. with the bouron...
yes... the matter is not going to be
approved for dialectical concerns...

i call for the advent of "sanctimony"...
         the "superiority" coming from the depths
of... not the cold-turkey lot...
nor the: 20 per day...
and zinc and copper licking tongue
numbing at the end of it...
this one a day...
                     and the bourbon...
ogh! mein gott! come to think of it...
the money?!
money comes last...
so much for "saving" the money from...
not smoking...
where to: a vinyl collection...
aaah... a weekend trip to Prague...
you really need a woman
to spend money...
           given that one can become
very... very... satisfied with
the basics...
esp. when one isn't a gambling man...
these days... gamble on what?
well... save up...
and have *** with a bulgarian *******
once a year...
or pretend to...
            that's probably best...
aim at... salvaging... the most...
wortheless maxim of a translation
of value... in the flesh:
the inanimate concept of money...
the guillotined head
of ol' lizzy the II charming
the heads / tails science debate...
          not getting richer...
not getting poorer...
                   playing a sleeper...
beside the essentials...
it's there... but... it's not there...
it's hardly spending...
it's hardly saving...
      it's a cushion... it's not avarice...
it's not...
beside of note:
the veil that's not in iron...
but is... like...
being paid in peanuts...
peanuts... pebbles... the common
denominator of: one-hundred copper-pence
coins in a brass pound!
i'll settle for... just that.
Lynn Al-Abiad Aug 2016
:علقاني بهل معضلة

يا باخد حبّك و بشبع منّو و البسمة ع وجّي
يا بِبعد عن حبّك و بحمي حالي و البسمة ع وجّي

بالحالتين، رح ينتاك قلب مشاعري



I'm stuck in this dilema:

Either I take all the love you can give me, drench myself in it and smile
Or, I refuse all the love you can give me, protect myself from it and smile

Either ways, my heart will be ******



لين اا -
- LynnAA
.إخِرْتْ هل الليل، يا لين
Go to sleep Lynn.
Rui Serra May 2015
caio lentamente

diminuído . decaído . consumido

pensamentos demoníacos

lágrimas escorrem do meu rosto
e caem a meus pés

equilíbrio

visão extravagante
floresta de pedra

criaturas da noite
movem-se pacificamente
invisíveis

desejo

fogo incontrolável
que me absorve na sua graça

perplexo
danço nas chamas bruxuleantes

conspiro
ao som do silêncio da noite

e procuro o conforto
no gelo frio do teu ser

o meu dilema:
qual o meu caminho?
Marco Raimondi Sep 2017
Ó morte! O silêncio de tua voz me é tortura,
Pois suspiraste em chama tão cedo
Colhendo de desesperança, o medo
E secando fontes de virtude em tua bravura

Ó morte! Por que recolhe tua graça obscura
Quando nutre interna, minh'alma em segredo?
Por que fazes-me ardilosa, teu lume enredo,
Quando aviva-me o desejo de unção tão pura?

De eras tortuosas, tece-me piedoso dilema
Neste espírito breve, de impetuosa e extrema
Flor desatada e imprudente

E eriçam minhas razões para que a tema
Mas bem sei que és gentil! Pois, da paz amena
És tu quem guardas os tesouros eminentes
Micheal Wolf Feb 2015
Three notes define the entrance and none the exit.
A message sent to you and only you alone. Do you open it now or leave it to later.
If it was important would they not have called?
A modern dilema we all bought into.
We became slaves to our own devices.
So do the three notes define us or command us?
Is it now to late to save us from
ourselves?
O no hay alma, y mi muerta ya no existe
(conforme el duro y cruel "polvo serás")...
o no puede venir, y está muy triste;
pero olvidarse de mi amor, ¡jamás!

Si de lo que ella fue sólo viviese
un átomo consciente, tras la fría
transmutación de los sepulcros, ¡ese
átomo de conciencia me amaría!
Devin Ortiz Sep 2016
Is it such a terrible dilema
To be torn between two
Roads in which opposing
Realities compete for existence

Should I be so common
Or with a key to the unknown
Do I open the lock of life
And achieve the unexcpected

Nostalgia has a deathgrip
A noose of fonder times
Chokes out the potential
In dreams which have yet to come

I dare to be unpredictable
To, with hesitation now passed,
Conquer the life unlived
Willingly, regretting nothing.
Boy
He that has a beard longer than the much he thinks
Tall so high that his dreams sound so short
To talk with a bass though act like a toddler
Terribly heavy in weight but more terrified than a burnt thief
Admires many and approaches non
He that lives in a dilema progress
his biggest thought stands worse than a lame joke
Bigger the size that the greatness shrinked to absolute incapability
Ryan O'Leary Feb 2020
Submerged Corkman
found in River Liffey,
Dublin authorities are
unable to explain why.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
Stitching, do we all learn that basic,
fundamental civilized skill, stich making:
post needle,
post thread,
post awl and shreds from tendons,

shift sense to Disnifity, a made up we
sewing our shadow
to our old man heels?

Robin Williams, killer ideas, just quit. OK.
Peter Pan Syndrome, Circa 1982 or so
The Wendy Dilema,
and the Peter Pan Syndrome
May be freedom, is a domain,
whence free thoughts, many old and idle worded
ideas once and ever
after filling singers minds, notes,
recorded in the ancient knowing way,
some stories live in tellings, in the details,
sub-routines, gnosis, re-cognosis, life runs on time.

Peace made with sleep, is peace. I agree.
Peace made by ceasing. Stop resisting, let go

let as when one breathes, let that mind be in you.

Finding your whole being in the form of spirit,
no less. Bound to earth due to physical functions.
Center mass.
Outlaw minds, made up from poor man stories,
desperados, nothing
to lose, but youth.

Some of us always survive.
We the autogoverned.
- archetypical noble outcast bull slayer

Believers in the bubble of all I know, you know?
Take no man's word. That's the Royal Society Motto.

In literaturely low places, among pamphleteers,
and gospel tract writers, I formed a character,
a model me, if I were finished, perfected, finalized,
as it were. Alert
to the warning,
once,
to me, beep,
you have need
of patience, followed nearly
instantly, as
in prayer, let patience have her way.
Anatomically correct mannequins made me blush.
Some thing -Barbie Doll Plastic Fantastic Lover
she is every where today,
Big Time ***** Boomer Barbies
from the 20th reunion, to the Fiftieth, nah
did not make it, literally could not afford the trip.
--- 1969-70, winter stretched into Spring
- {times slips as the loops tighten}
- fret not titslings
in the American Macho man's idea of Macho
has always triggered Loki sniggers in me.
Demeter, the image imagine. Illiterate me.
Seeing.
Demeter slung, on the tight turn to the point.
Wombed and un,
we live along the arteries of life,
beside rivers and surfless bays,
across trackless seas of grass…

that could be in the gut of a ruminant,
at a cosmic scale.
life lets me lose myself
Manuel Sep 2020
Tu ausencia es mi dulce despertar
Te necesito dejar como el extrañar
ocupándote mas que a mi mismo
Mi ser no tengo
Eres
Dulce soledad que me alimenta
Despierto dormido aveces soñándote
Los días son tus dedicaciones
Asimilando lo frío del tiempo
Las carencia de tu silencio venero
Triste porque no puedo comprar tus sueños
Abrigado por un eterno lamento
que mañana llegará pidiendo
El sueño de tus días del ayer
Farhan Ahmed Dec 2018
Spent years growing up
In a dilema, holding a cup
Of tea,
Which i shared with a man
Sitting next to me
Endless words to let out
But busy as i scout
My soul, as she lives inside
Gods gifts, my pride
Like horcruxes reside
No! Not from sins
But from wins of He
The gaze locks on the rays
Tempts me to find ways
To my heart; where my old lady
Scolds me being lazy
I smile! memories brought back
As today I walk on this track
You! If you could hear me too
I am a mother now! Mother of two
I may not be able to feel how a women feels when she becomes a mother. But maybe at some point she thinks the same way remembering her own.

— The End —