Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Neon Robinson Oct 2017
Is burrowing a web
weaving a collection,
accumulating an anthology

For a far gone day
Stash them away
set them aside with a
what, when, why

rather than right
now ambitious zeal

discoverable.
findability.

Its the nature of the undertaking.
My minds an unavoidable reciprocal
Gratified by wasting time,
It’s just there filling space

Tucked away for a rainy day
In every nook and cranny

Tickling the fancy.

Affording a kind of intellectual gusto
that's borderline deplorable
accumulatively downright trifling.

Nonetheless,
even if it's unnecessary
I'll never get my fill
paper to hand typing away
uncovering all of life's mysteries
AnnaMarie Jenema May 2014
Mom should’ve been here by now. I sat on my frilly blue and purple polka-dotted bed waiting for the knock on the door telling me mom found my dress. Finally, it raps on my door. “Mom! Did you find it?” My eyes widen as the silky blue sways in her arms, it’s beauty sings as a caged bird let free. I gasp in admiration. “I-It’s wonderful!” I pick it up and it glides down into a perfect fit.  “I’m glad you love it. Come down after you finish getting ready.” The door thuds after her. Looking across the room I note my honey brown hair that curls into pigtails. Restraining the squeal that is caught in my throat, I travel the length of my room to the mirror.

     The mirror sits on an antique dresser that my mom found at a garage sale. At first I didn’t care much for the ancient wooden junk that is at least half a century old. Now the gold-tinted metal gleams with pride once again. Rusty gems were in carved into an arc surrounding the mystic glass. “Lydia! Can you go upstairs and get that box down for me?” Mom’s request interfered with my thoughts. … Go in that dusty attic? “Sure mom!”

       Out the door and into the hallway stood a door like any other in our house. It squeaked open as eerily as what you’d expect in a haunted house. ‘A box, a box’ than out of the side of my vision I thought I saw motion. I shook it off as just being a spider or mouse. Soon my footsteps lead me to come across a dresser and mirror identical to the one in my room. It was cluttered with cobwebs and spiders. “Not very well taken care of, are you?” I muttered the joke. I looked into the mirror expecting to see a light blue dress covered in dust and sparkly silk material, but there was no reflection at all. I looked even closer at the mirror, before realizing, there was no mirror at all.

     I looked around until I found it behind the dresser, sitting on the ground. I touched one of the gems that surprisingly glowed despite the rust. Something shone until I was blinded. A tingle ran through the hand that brushed the mirror’s gem and flew through my arm until it encompassed me, racing into my every feeling until I couldn’t feel anything. My eyes shut and refused to open themselves.


     A gentle breeze grasped my hair, as music descended from the air. I could smell what seemed to be a banquet of some kind, mixed with perfume. Slowly my eyes lifted their veil to lock with waves pounding against a brick wall. I was looking down from a balcony into the erupting sea. The white brick-made balcony was large and lonely even with the brush of people walking by. I hid behind the rose-red curtains to look around. People danced and talked. Some ate. The music paved the trail for their feet to follow, all very gracefully. The men wore suits that tails drip to their knees. Their white shirts buried under sashes of gold, red, or blue. Sometimes holding medallions, some only dressed in ties. The woman wore Victorian dresses of every color and shade. Frilled hats with flowers were arranged on their heads.

     Wait, I’m not supposed to be here. I was in the attic, going to the café with mom. What was I doing? My head ached from the effort to recall my actions. Why can’t I remember? I stumble backward only to reach the balcony’s edge. Where is this anyway?

      I dive back into the curtain to search for my answer. The softness of the curtain was a rose pushed to my nose. I peeked through the small gap to find a page carting some clothes past my hiding spot. I sneaked next to the cart being wheeled into a doorway, planning to find a way out. I lost the page and walked around until I went through an archway door. The cool air spiraled against my silk-trapped skin. The scent of flowers bloomed around me. I found the garden labyrinth.

     Walking through the maze’s hedges I arrive at a beautiful fountain displaying crystal clear pouring waters. Everywhere I gazed, flowers embraced the greenery. My breath deprived my lungs of air as I took in the sight. It was so magnificent under the light of the full moon. A few lamps lighted a sidewalk path maneuvering along the hedges. I circled the fountain, taking in the surroundings. My silk dress was shining in the dim glow. The sceneries beauty entranced me.






     I didn’t see a shadow before me, and almost fell to the ground. In a graceful swoop an arm latched around my waist to pull me to my feet. “Be careful to look where you’re going, please my lady.” He bowed his head while his slim rimmed glasses started to fall off of his face, suddenly he looked up at me; sliding them back on with a slight wave of a finger. “That garb isn’t from around here.” He noted my sky blue dress with interest. I’m not even sure where I am. “I seem a bit lost. Will you help me?” he stares at me closer, a deeper curiosity shines in his green eyes, daintily brushed by his dark hair. “My dear, if it brings you comfort to know, we are in London at the Buckingham palace.”

      I gasped; London was so far away from New York. It’s across seas. I gulped at my next question as sweat pricked the nape of my neck, “What’s todays date?” His eyes sparkled at the question. “Why, it is June 28, of 1838. The entire castle is bustling at these very words. It’s a day to remember. Now my dear, I must take my leave and see to the ballroom. Farewell.” He bowed, than turned to leave. His slow stride seemed like a dance all on it’s own. My gaze was caught on his figure following the foot trail until he had disappeared. I sighed at my first encounter with someone in this grand place. The Buckingham Palace, in 1838. …1838!! That can’t be right, it’s 2014. Then the shock hit me as if bricks fell from the castle onto my forehead; the clothes, the language, the pages, and royalty. This couldn’t be London in present Great Britain.

    I circle the garden once more before I decide to go back inside. The young noble had realized my clothes didn’t belong here, probably anyone who sees me would recognize this too. I start off towards the footpath. The melodic rhythm still swirled in the breeze. Than for a second I thought I heard a footstep. My head twists back only to see a shadow move. The cool air now seems icy. Multiple possible things to say to the night air gallop through my mind. “ Such a lovely night,” is the one I decide on. From behind me a few feet back I imagine a sigh. No, not imagined, but actually there. It’s too real. I turn on my heels just to catch a glimpse of a black cape caught in the wind, as it’s master floats into the open. “My, It is lovely. However, I didn’t realize such a strangely dressed commoner as you could enter this palace.” His smirk shows sarcasm as easily as his eyes. “I never intended to visit a palace, even less in London.” My honest answer only has him conceal his laugh.




     “I’m sure you didn’t. Yet, your dressed for a fine occasion.” His hand reaches for mine. I pull away from the willowy figured glove. “Why not allow me this dance in the garden?” I back away, aware that his voice is too prescient and I should be careful. “Are you going to be wary of me?” his gaze turned pained, his blue eyes that were once full of playfulness now melted into hurt. I unintentionally reach out for his gloved hand. His laugh echoes past the foliage. “Such a naïve girl.” Dread decided that this nobleman should be avoided at all costs. I ran towards the palace. “And so the chase begins.” He snickers and rushes after me.


     I pass through the archways, glancing back now and again to find the caped captor flying along my tracks. If only there was some way to lose him. I ducked into the nearest doorway. At the far end of the hall I could see a door with a sign saying, “Dressing room”. I flung myself under a table and tablecloth to hide myself as my pursuer rounded the corner into the hall. I tucked my head between my knees and waited for his footsteps to fade. The warm place that held me trapped was close and too easily discoverable. I held my breath and tried to sink into the darkness. I’m not here. No one can find me.

     After enough time flew by to ensure my safety, I crawled out from under the table. The cloth draped over my head. I looked back and forth, half expecting to see a smirking smile, and haughty eyes. A girl stares down at me. She’s at least ten years old. “Shhh.” I press my finger to my lips and gently smile at her as if we’re keeping a secret between us. She giggles, copies the motion to her own mouth, than delightfully skips away. I let out a sigh and stand up. I follow the hall to the dressing room. The door creaks open and I look around once more, startled by the sudden noise.

     I sneak inside hoping find that the room is abandoned. In the darkly lit room, only my footsteps sound. As far as I can tell, no one has entered lately. I walk over to the carts of clothes and run my hand over the first one on the stack. It’s a ruby-red dress with fine material and some gems similar to those in the mirror. … The mirror. Not in my room, but the attic. My head hurts again, but I know I touched its gem before winding up here. How? I look through the dresses until I find a light blue and white one. The bowed sleeves come down to my elbow with frills encasing the bottom. The neckline forms a squared area of similar white frills. A small white sash acts as a belt that drops into the skirt of the dress. Two similar white ones come down each side. I pick up the light material and set it near my feet.
      My old silk dress easily slips overhead, making way for the new clothing. After tugging tight sleeves and bodices into place the light dress swoops over my feet. I spin through the dark room only to stop at catching someone’s eye. I immediately turn towards the frozen face. It is my own reflection in a mirror. I face myself as my sight settles on the dress I wear. My honey brown hair curled over the dress from my pigtails. My eyes sparkled it’s matching blue to the dress. In the corner of the room, next to the mirror, sat a large wooden box. I looked through it to find that it was full of jewelry and accessories. I prodded its contents until I found sky blue bows to wrap in my pigtails.

     I walked into the open hallway, now littered with people going to and fro. Anyone from passerby’s, young nobility, servants, and pages. Once the hall emptied I fled the room, hurrying through the corridors until I met with the room that created the harmonious trance. At the ends of the great ballroom sat crowds eating and laughing. Clusters of on-goers danced and chatted. In the middle of the farthest side of the room sat a throne that was embroidered with metal marks from centuries of legends. On the throne sat a woman at least eighteen of age. Her regal crown shone despite other attractions surrounding the dance room. A page strode over to her as she flourished her hand for his service. He stood and listened intently to her whispers. Finally, he stood and roared for the room’s attention. From his mouth spilled cheer and wistfulness, as he demanded the crowd’s ear. “Our young Queen Victoria’s coronation has completed. Now starts a new era! Let the celebration proceed.” The room reverberated with hope, love, and admiration for their new ruler.

     ‘Queen Victoria has been crowned’ having no clue how to find a way home, I disconsolately decide to join in the festivities. The crowd moves into a larger room. I stagger after them; the mass pushing everyone forward. We pass the kitchens. The aroma of cakes and deserts of every kind rises into the cool night air. The only smell more perceptible than delicate delights is the perfume penetrating the entire castle. We enter a by far more spacious ballroom. Empty amphitheater seats loom overhead, tied into the walls for onlookers to watch the ball unravel. Once again I glance at these to notice black material hangs over the edge. A head moves as people fill the seats. A nobleman with a black cape and familiar blue eyes takes their seat next to men and woman of high status. I walk into the mop to hide myself, while watching him. He laughs and chats with them as if he’s known them all his life.


      Unable to watch where I’m going, I trip. The harsh, solid ground hits my knee as if I’ve met a tornado. I wince at the pain as I strain myself to stand. A firm, but careful hand grabs mine. I look up into green eyes shaded by recognizable glasses. “My dear, you are very clumsy.” He smiles at me as I pat my dress back into place. “I see we’ve met again.” My response comes weakly as the sore from my knee makes me flinch. “I don’t think you’ve told me your name.” I inquire. “You have not requested my name, so I haven’t told it. However, if you do me the honor of a dance, my secret may be leaked.”  He bowed and offered me his arm, as I timidly accept it.

     A new song disrupts the last, as new pairs take the stage. He walks me onto the floor, and diligently starts to dance. I watch my feet, not wanting to mistake my pace. “Lift your chin, my dear. You don’t seem to but much of a church-bell.” I looked up at him puzzled. “Church-bell?” As he tried to conceal a grin, his glasses couldn’t suppress the laughter in his eyes. “Your rather quiet. And most likely not from around London, are you?” I looked to the ground once more. Should I tell him or not? Will it start problems, or will I be okay? “It’s fine, I shall not expect you to answer a question you wish not to.” I looked up at him, solemnly. “I promised to introduce myself, correct?” I nodded, as the music that echoed around us faded into the next song.

      His movements were so fluid; he was a wave at the end of the day, flowing into the sunset. “Miss, I am known by most as William Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He procured my sweaty palm into his, tenderly swiping his mouth to my fingers. I let my hand be brought back into the dance as I searched for words to speak. Once the dance ended a few moments later, I curtsey and murmur, “It’s nice to meet you. I am Lydia Olsen.” At my gesture he bows, and requests once more, “Am I trustworthy enough to understand why you are in a mysterious place you don’t understand?” My answer had been decided and started to splatter from my mouth. “Y…”









     The next sound bounces along the room, it’s symphony starting. My words mix into the noise. In my vision of the seats above, snowy dots shoot arrows in my direction. Blue eyes gaze down at me, their iciness piercing me as icicles prickle my skin. I exchange a glance with William, nod and answer, “You are. I’ll explain.” My discomfort is surely recognizable. I often peek over my shoulder above as we dance. The shadow with a glare starts his voyage through the seats to reach the stairs that pillar into the wall. He descends from the tower, only adding to my panic. My hand seizes Williams, as I give him an apologetic smile. We hurry from the room, stumbling over each other’s feet. His graceful prance, now a faltering wreak.

     Once we are outside the ballroom, I turn towards him. “I trust you, so please understand, I live In the USA in 2014. Not London, not Even in the 1800’s.” His expression is masked, but I’m sure that I’ve confused him. “I went back into time, from the future.” The simple words struck a chord with him, his glasses tilted off his nose as he listens intently. “The future? How?” even I don’t know how to answer such questions. “I’m not sure. I was in the attic with a mirror, than … ****! I’m here.” Confusion once again wonders onto his face. “I went into a storage room with old things, and found a mirror, touched a gem, now I was here.”

     “I see, but why did we run away from the celebration? I was looking forward to another dance with you.” His casual smile does nothing to conceal unasked questions. I’m not sure how to answer them ei
Sayer Sep 2013
He looks like an eternal night, but I have seen the rising sun of glory ascend over the hills of grace. I have watched as it vanishes like a sigh in a gentle clap of a storm. My time is up. My body aches. I am not who I am.
I have travelled far to take revenge on myself. I drift through dreams and reality. I’m here to take what’s mine and mine alone. If I could I would I’d rip all the wallpaper down, strip the room, stare at nothingness. It will remind me of the empty fields I look upon now. You are the one I see. I am nature, you are fate, he is creeping up on me. I am coming for both of you.
I have allowed myself to shake my arms and let my knees collapse. He whispers to me. He controls me. I cannot shake him, but I do not surrender.
I know I know my place, your face, his eyes in the dark. I can feel him move like rapid flashing photographs. We’re all here.
I can be a holy trinity too, an uncontrollable time bomb.
My chair rocks back and forth as my body aches. I am needy. I am meek, but I will not be week. I will look at myself in the mirror until he appears on the other side and grabs my head and smashes it against the mirror. I could confess, but confess nothing.
Once upon a time I was told about the Two. The Two sides, to every story, to every man, woman, and child. The discoverable entity, synchronicity, iontegrity...
Give your love to me.
I sigh because I vanish, I pine away because I echo.
My place in life is controlled by something some kind of someone, someone inside of me, some kind of force, the Two, the one, the other, oh God...I can not crawl into myself to scratch him out.
My Two lives, my iontegrity, control me. I live in both reality, and dreams, but which one is which when they’re are always red eyes behind your back that pat your shoulder, sending you into that inevitable shake.
If I could I would I’d tear myself away, starting over tomorrow, with or without you. But he will always haunt me. I may not win this battle with myself. I am not afraid, somewhere deep inside me how wants me to win, and I can’t give him what he wants, or else he does win.
I can slam doors and smash my hands against run-down desks. Fate is fate. Lock me away to deal with my insanity, my iontegrity, the entity that holds me...my time is up.
What’s best is best. I can still feel him tearing away, black glue seeping out….some kind of joke...this has to be some kind of joke…
I only wish, but still as I descend into my broken memories he’s still there.

In the end you’re so different that you’re completely the same.

I will go one, with or without your love, or support. I hope you understand, I really do. You must believe me, your breath soothes my soul. No crucifixion can repent me from this. I will not be treated as the vessel that holds the universe. For I have seen the rising sun of grace...I will go on. If I could I would tell this to you out loud and dream of an upstream morning to visit and get to the top of those hills. I will not sigh.
And so the temple crumbles down.
How beautiful this is, so darkly beautiful to be controlled by a shadow. He’s everything. Yet I can feel myself sinking in, oh God, I must go on. You must believe me...your breath….your hair...the sunrise...whisper to me, I find it comforting to know you’re near me. I am not an ambiguity. I am not empty. If I could I would I’d give this all away…

I am not ambiguous, even if iontegrity tells me so. I will be who I am, and take revenge on myself. I will not let myself be beaten down by the powers of the godly waves. For I may walk amongst a shadow, but to cast a shadow, there must be some kind of light.
I guess this is more "prosey" (that's a word now), but I felt like it was worth posting.
The Pioneer Jan 2015
We have no choice in our birth
Or the time we are brought into this earth
Henceforth tis only by a want
A choice not to be flaunt
It's a fight that will only put on delay
The day when we kiss this world away
Destined for a date unfathomable
But to some the beauty is discoverable
Each soul lives by self a self goal
Wonderful wants tucked into a unique skull
To some the end is a terrible fear
Others becon it near
"Love thy neighbor"
They may be poor
Or
Shut you out with the slam of a door
But, if you love you can do no more
We will all face the hooded reaper
It can end in a gentle whisper
Or a terrible fight of terror
For many including i
We don't wish to die
But there are those who suffer
Whose choice to live is to worse than the other
We all wish to save eachother
And yet must discover
Dieing is a salvation
To a burdened soul without any hope of a collection
Of their deserved happy memories
Denied to them since infancies
As awful truths as these
Death is no disease
I love you
And no matter what may be
That is true
Noel Irion May 2011
that below you,
your feet,
your soul..
something stirs from the ancients
awakening this new oblivion..
you ask how, never.
could it be just,
simple
hunger..
the fright with no recover
for no means lay discoverable here..
land frozen, bitter.
and may i add,
succinct,
short, sweet..
do not falter, new directions
create the life you've grown to know quite well..
suffer, yet prevail.
though still and still,
that empty
fills up..
void full of fallacies like
what you see is what you get, where's the faith..
in the world, yourself.
you must go search,
you can't
let go..
for that which hides is worth finding
in both the journey and the resolution..
let your ship set sail.
be the captain,
guide that
helm through..
endure whatever comes forth
to misguide you, deceive you, taunt, block you..
crush the ice, bring hope.
numb to the bone,
but wait,
the warmth..
euphoria, achievement's
best reward when such struggles, outperformed.
you've reached the goal,
now make two more.
failure comes, and
failure goes, but
success is worth more than a thousand stones.
port, bow, starboard, stern, compass unbeknown,
never hesitate in changing your course..
follow the north wind,
let it take you home.
aubrey sochacki Jun 2018
one in ten women they say
that’s a hell of a lot of women

but still i’m here
at twenty years of age
speaking with the doctor
about infertility
and pain only manageable by
hormones and narcotics

we talk of a diagnosis
only discoverable by surgery
there has to be a better way
there has to be
endometriosis.
Claire Ellen Sep 2013
Stop. your taking my breath away.
Things about you memorize me,
and I'm stuck thinking about you all day,
I still hope, your the one, holding the key
Unlock my heart, and open up yours.
All these nights away from you,
Could be opening new discoverable doors,
But with you, I feel like I can do,
anything.
Feeling light and free,
You may never realize,
You helped me.
Dacy Maly Dec 2015
I am woman
I radiate
I am strength and depth
I am flawed
I grow
I exist
I am an enigma wrapped in secrets
I am undiscovered
I am discoverable
I want
I need
I am matter
I am protons and neutrons
I am love
I am dust
I am mortal
I hope
I breathe
I am
on the Earth, some need a heaven and hell above,
which suits the powered up reigning status quo rulers,
promising that by being just and docile,
one will earn frequent flyer life miles
to a destination ticketed & named,
but not by actual visitation,
a return confirmation, never

some take your self-love as their own idea,
reselling it over and over again back to you
but know that when you sing your own song,
the discoverable truth is we all
get to go to sort of a sanctuary,
especially if you record-keep your flaws,
in order to constantly reinvent yourself
in order to

reach some kind of agreement with yourself

human gravity is hard enough to escape so travel light,
shed those skins over and over again,
each a modest  improvement sequentially,
leave your exited charred speech behind,
knockoff the blackened flaking edges, a discarded cutaway,
this way to transcend phony notion redemption requirements,
redemption
is a toxic emblem, a symbol unrequited and a sucker’s play

I am the spirit of another’s name, who, here to teach,
this being today’s lesson;
how to reach your unique
truth sanctuary,
where the stronghold of who you yet-to-be, can-be awaits,
the reinventing ones, successful, some call poets,
they do not confuse redemption requests
with sanctuary
only provisioned
by yourself,
for yourself
lmn
𝐕𝐕 Oct 2020
I fled to the sea to find the living,
drowning in dyslexia of libraries.
Have we forgotten how to breathe?
Illiteracy was discoverable amongst
the feeble beckoning hope

Dance to peace unbeknownst death,
requested by an idyllic spokesperson 
My fear for these gentle beings
ventured into an alarming fantasy
Ignorance to fully expressing
their brains taste nauseating

Frightened of touch,
Cautious of aroma,
Cowardice of expression 

Fear has evolved drastically
into feelings rather than sight

Never lose yourself
midst the crowd of the sheep
For they walk unknowingly
to death swooning them
kindly than ever

Find yourself and your mind
You may win or lose delightfully

Cowardice is idleness,
fright is reversible,
& caution is granted.
avoid the trio, take each one with a grain of salt, and you live to see another day.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2017
oh! woe is me and woe is thee,

this noble, royal but blighted line,
this now benighted House of York,
its reign hath ended,
its famous, familiar format felled by an
enhancing, advancing Tudor technology blade,
and now lays bloodied in Bosworth Field,
both Richard III and
his Boswell biographer,
Sir Eliot of York,
no more,
unto history's flocculent dust of bones and
lost manuscripts
now forever
consigned

the lathe of mocking shouts of
"Long Live the King,"
cut the fingertips still searching too many
pull down menus,
all penned in a modern
faint hearted font

these guides,
some above and some below,
their exact location discoverable
only by the pain of new childbirth,
not worthy Maestro,
of the indignity
of trial and error

'pon my soul, these menus,
alas, give no guidance intuitive on
how to save this, my newest folio,
in the lady-in-waiting status of
draft

history is a usurping, scheming Mother Queen,
seeking power advantageous for her own issue,
but new bloodlines gain ascendancy inevitable,
but this focal turning point,
came upon us yeoman folk unannounced,
like a medieval black plague slaughtering
our poetic composure -
why were we not consulted?

hath England not taught us plainer folks,
the singular lesson of tradition,
the value immense of retaining
what has gone before,
that all hallowed must be kept,
and some changes
turned aside,
another cheek of change,
must be refused!
  
'tis no accident of fate
that the Crown Jewels
in the Tower
do reside,
the selfsame place many other
Kings and Queens
were Tudor dispatched to meet a ****** end

the smiling, soothing sayers
gentle the troubled masses,
with whimsy and whimpers of
"this too shall pass,"
and promises that the contempt of familiarity,
shall soon enroll and enfold
all untended and now untenured objections

but my memories yet mourn the loss of
simpler times and a simple place that welcomed an Ameddican
back in nought '13, and where he has placed his trust
in its servers and its Yorkshire servant to keep his
thousand plus poems pillowed safe

so no more changes,
by your leave,
do not forget the no longer mighty Tudors,
were themselves felled by times childless ravages,
no more emendations,
if you please,
lest these hoary hairs mine yet turn,
a whiter shade of pale

surely undesired,
yet one more revolution
from these formerly
English shores to come arising,
haunting thine
venerated palaces of poetry!
seriously, I like the new format though I must say finding my way around on a small iPhone is not trial and error, but trial by fire!
Adult Alternative Poem

not for the young, reserved just for the young, just at heart,
your skin, face, crinkled, for smiling is you resting face positivity,
you daily existence free of punctuation, no separation,
your body tilted, falling forward, only direction the chest understands

your words sewn on tapestry of silence, yet voices never stilled,
fingertips spark on command when touch is earnest, casual, fierce,
Bublé, Sting, Daughtry, Allison and Adele, ****** tears commingling,
read her your love poetry & her chest breathing, your oxygen tube

easy to be an adult when the alternatives are all
proximity discoverable, nearness constant, distance an irrelevancy,
age just another construct and love, an ageless deconstruction+
unfinished reconstruction, adult alternative channel, our only playlist
JAIA Jul 2017
I was told of a wonderful opportunity.
There exists a location,
reachable only by the hopeful,
discoverable only by the kind-hearted,
enterable only by the undefilied,
delicately designed by the nonpareil,
divinely crafted by the most deft.
So I organized my thoughts for years,
how does any human remain unsullied, kind-hearted and hopeful?
The only solution I could come to,
was that this awe-inspiring place,
is not designed for someone like me.
Any feedback, negative or positive, would be greatly appreciated!
Reflected smile Sep 2019
Isn't she lovely ??
She's so............
adorable
She's always at the front of my
Smile
She sparkles everytime I'm
Accessible
She is so messed up some times but easily adjustable
To fit in the conference of the
irremediable
She's so fragile and she is
InDivisible
Still she makes me discoverable and
Visible
In the dark because my Youthful Life
Sparkles
What have you paid for this nothingness,
This refusal you have made your own,
Wearing discontent like shamefulness,
To be greatest at being alone?

What satisfaction your martyrdom,
Your stubborn turning the other cheek,
The Queen of the loneliest kingdom,
Self-loathingly bragging she is weak?

What appreciation have you earned,
Playing the role of unlovable,
Who knows more than the lessons she learned,
Too scared to be discoverable?

What’s worth being unworthy of love,
Flaunting beauty as only a tease,
Fallen from that pedestal above,
If you smiled once you’d find love with ease.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
When people say
“I know you”
what does that mean?
Do they have a concept of you
in their mind
which they have reified
as their reality?
Does the real you
exist only in the minds of others?
Or, are you something
which precedes the concepts of others?
Is the authentic you
only discoverable by you
by introspective self-awareness
and self-discovery?
PEARL PSYNATCH Jul 2019
Heard Doc Watson once.
Got a used banjo but the fingers just couldn't cut it
Got the music in me but ****** if I can get it out
Don't like crowds or audiences anyway.

Sometime even fear my close friends.
Don't stand up to their Atheism when it comes.
Science don't get faith and faith seeking proof dissipates.

But these atheist friends don't seem to contemplate the horror within
the mechanistic, physical progression from Big Bang to the end.

One can admire the astute, patient discoveries
about the mechanical; this still discoverable physical world.
Pizo electric charges allow interaction with
this transparent screen smart phone
laid on fingertips miracle

Me?
I get more excited by
The actions of mind upon matter.
I can get lost in the shape of a hammer
As I retrace from its form to conception.

An ancestor of mine once imagined
A tool of simplicity and force.
Created an extension that reached from the mind to the hand to the nail.
And when I heft my hammer in my hand and lift it to strike
The complete marriage of mind, human, tool, and history
Comes to bear on the head
Of that nail
(Whose story entwines with that ancient hammer).
Alarming heart wrenching
     (stabbing non-abating
with genuine appall
     ling brutality) zing
across screen, or
     in print exacerbating
forcing, imposing viewer,
     and/or reader to revisit

     atavistic primal past activating
21st century **** sapien
     to experience (albeit vicariously)
     quotidian tragic news,
     which relentlessly doth wring
realistic sadness, sans psychic sting
     eventually admitting figurative
     (sic) **** your hammer

     blows deaden public
     emotional trust, thwarting
the ability to feel,
     which subsequent empathy
     decreases to abba
     solute zero sensitivity,
     whereat comfortable numbskull state
     of mind turbo-charges,

     quickens, and nudges
callousness, via onslaught of killings,
     viz where plethora multi
     media platforms air
     (twenty four seven)
(far more horrible, reprehensible,
     unconscionable, et cetera
     egregious violence -

     splashed across front page, which
     grim stories lack shock value,
     and with flying blood red
     colors surpass fictionalized
     made for television macabre
     nuanced crime stories),
     way beyond the outer limits
     of the twilight zone of credulity

     visa vis not even discoverable
     tapping into the unimaginable realm,
     where ***** deeds
     done dirt cheap by
some contemptible person,
     who contemplates (premeditates)
deliberately inflicting
     maximum human suffering

which ignominious atrocity
     (interestingly enough) affects
     a portion of the
     population to wring
hands, while unbeknownst

     non relations (i.e. strangers) fling
arms around each other
     such as yours
     truly reckon eyes,
     the existence power of consolation
despite the lack oven available antidote.
Norbert Tasev Apr 2020
Half of My Friend! If you are asked a good few years later: After sixty or enough twenty years, what did you do to Tet? Or did you act on your desk? What do you say? You can't say: I worked, I worked, I tickled my family twelve a day, the only piece of my universe. "I'm complaining, but I'm not even more pessimistic." I know! What I could do today I easily missed the next day!
Should we forget? You may be right: To leave the former, proud shores of our memories with a sublime head like a swift Léthe stream — and as an eraser I would erase, clear my head of negative, inappropriate, enough things. So perhaps I could still be greeted by my undisturbed peace, my joyful serenity - I could not lack a forbidden seal-

as me, self-confidence is not the remaining spark-dare. - You see: Thirty years of exiled loneliness, soul-voluntary emigration, tutyimutyis mafla, molasses-squeezed whole; trampled to the ground! I couldn’t find my long-coveted, discoverable happiness! "Yet, foolishly and foolishly, I dared to believe,

that there might be something else from yew-flower-like acquaintances, running flirtation-glances: Perhaps it would have been better to grind in a barren wire-free animal without pains, tribulations without barbed-wire bushes? "It would have been better forever, to sleep a single dream in the creation flower of my only true mother, than to

humorous genie, chubby ghost? Then I wouldn’t sound like he’s constantly looking wolfish at the end, he’d push me to a ban list if he knew for sure:

 ,, I'm not recovering enough! Not a brave, fellow guy! ” - when taken out of the heat of host parents' homes, - merely vulnerable, smiling with tears of blood, a tried-and-true clown
John Destalo Oct 2020
if we are open

each day is
a new world

nothing is
predictable

everything is
discoverable

waiting for
our experiments

to tease out
their little secrets

that make us
giggle with

surprise

if we are
not careful

we close our minds

so we only
see what

we saw
Jack R Fehlmann Aug 2020
Drawn out
and discoverable
Witness's
admit being Led
left to right
And If as when
Is read
does create as
written
A growing distance
As eyes take in words
word by line
By line leading yet
To a line's
Ending
To find
a love's ending
Therein
Nearly always
ends
in periods.

Rarely
if ever
questions?

See.

— The End —