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JayceeJellies Dec 2014
It's been a day or maybe a few,
That I haven't heard from you.
It's not exactly depressing yet,
But I know I'll cry soon, and get-
Cold sweats.

It's not like you'd care,
You don't give a ****.
I'm just sort of there,
To you, I'm throwing a fit.

And you say I have no right to.
Well what did you expect me to do-
When you're telling people such hyperbole?
Your mispresentations have flustered me.

I've never met someone so treacherous.
I trusted you and you put on a display,
Which I must say was completely impetuous.
Where did you come up with such nonsense?

I guess I never meant anything to you,
I feel like I was just a fill in for others.
Others whom you actually befriended,
Or maybe they're just like me.

Discovering that you're really a bully.
An emotionally abusive person.
Christopher May 2018
Dream
You chose to and you believed
Now look at your ship all wrecked
Yet somehow you're alive

The seas have been calm but still ruffle every now and then.
Though the ashes of my dreams still scatter everywhere each time I remem..
Her...
Such a beautiful face I've seen and it's one that's different compared to the others.

She left me though just the others along time ago.
Soon I'll be up and running again so will the others
But we are dreams who've been here in the clearance aisle

Waiting to be shaken...
You come up with ideas, with a thought, with a belief, but life doesn't care. Focus on your present and shelve those forgotten, unneeded things...
alex welsh Jan 2013
Milk bottle sweets
Make me bite my cheek
I was in the basement all day
Worrying about some heresay

I rode my bicycle to the shop
And cut my knees when i fell off
I stole some sweets and felt real bad
So I went and put them back

Stuck in limbo
Hello monsters
Scary monsters
Worrying monsters
CK Baker Jul 2018
through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figures, holy shrine
monastery in grand design

cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley ways
gondolier on full display

winged lions on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare

crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to ****
golden stairs on placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge

torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side

black plague, attila the ***
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch

middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith
Larianne Dec 2018
whats more important
than having the person you love in front of you
or being updated on social media?
Demotivated
Lack of attention
Waste of time
Relationship
Don't lose what is real.
SMDA
Lazhar Bouazzi Jul 2018
The first thing he saw early this morning
When he pulled back the light green curtains
Was a hectic blue 'n orange butterfly
Wavering in the fair sun of his garden -
'tween the enclosed well and the laurel tree.

On a sidewalk, red and radiant,
Strutted two maidens together,
A turquoise skirt wore the one,
A chocolate T-shirt the other.

Jubilant they were together,
As the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air like Tunisian silk.

No harvest did his screen display today,
No mountain range did loom far in the distance;
All that was shown were a laughing sidewalk,
And a quivering sun in a small garden.

(c) LazharBouazzi
Cné Aug 2017
Fragmented lives entangled
but asunder in our journey
as our paths cosmically connect
in a romance of the arts

And who's to say what's real
to touch or deeply feel
what will truly last
or simply where to start

So I’ll
paint you alla prima
as I feel you playing me
in warm colors of merging ardor
a wet blending of artistry
my brush strokes of your body
painted in my mind
of impressions blushed in passion
in hues I can’t describe

Suspended in the moment
floating on a breeze
I revel in this picture painted music
almost in disbelief, unthinking…
knowing every nuance of our love
found only in our dreams

Like children in parallel play
I’ll finger the keys
and slip the locks
of all your orchestrations
filling the walls
of my concerts halls
with deep
splattered tones
in pinks and blues
the hues
that forever
bind us

And we’ll not look back
nor forward
but hang here in the moment
to display our
Painted Song
in the eyes
of giggly children
both doing
our own thing
together
on a string
curated
A collaboration with Howard Hilde
https://hellopoetry.com/u693528/
Ashley Chapman Sep 2017
Sandwiched in layers of liquid crystal display,
Encased in vats of plastic,
                          
                            we
Voyaging in data-spheres, plumes of digital play.

Mindless,
         In the soup of silicone,
                            
                            all
Myt­h-makers,
         Pouring over electro-spawned
         networks,
                            
                            fall
Workers,
          In the buzz of bits and bytes, of
          megabytes and terabytes,
                            
                            down
Everyone
          Far from the wood, the brine, the
          mud that caked us,
          In tighter and tighter
          digitised  projections,
                            
                            click!
‘Like me’,
‘Share me’,
‘Leave your comments.’

Messages smoothed out in polymers,
Beyond reproductions of ourselves,

                           enter:

Deeper, delving in the mire of dream-conscious,

Now a waking voice,
          Hardened, digitised, recorded in
          bubbles, in drives, in clouds:
                        
Numb numbers of numbers numb,
                          mirror.

          A platform slotted home:
The motherboard!
          To record the echo in the hollow
          of our Being.
Wrote this a while back. It was published in The Tunnel Magazine, which was great. Anyway, hope it gets a wider audience.
Often does your Purpose seek to Belong
Thoughts your Rebellious Clouds can independ
But just recall your Coins; And after long
You'll realise the Worth which you will spend
Maybe you Decided; Or maybe not
Plans which the Architect will rennovate
It's clearly shown by the Jersey you got
How you love to be an Otaku's Date
I'll complain to the Pug; And must he snub
Even if his Language you will confuse
And why he chose to reissue a ****
When all he could do is ask for a fuse.
Still a Nice Wear you so haply display
Hoping such Good Colours will never fade.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
On his Screen the Three Milk Brothers display
Decision his only motive for Heart
But which the Upturned Hero gives away
That Love which Matters; And never Apart
Now see, where all this Comedy began
And Brothers the Trine Unity bepraise
This a Great Deed; No High-Chins in demand
That shows you are now but Human in base
Friend. If Fashion un-nominates you as one
Since Form the only thing they advertise
True Offer is Substance. Then I am done
And Motive the only Imposter precise.
Those Memories return. And now they Heal
That is Joy for you. That is Joy you Feel.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
ryn Dec 2014
Proud little peacock
Plumage up for display
No need for repeated mocks
No need for you to say

I can clearly see
For we may be quiet but we have eyes
Strutting conspicuously
Showing off your prize

We already know you have it
We all do
On the sidelines we sit
Seeing you through

Tell me little bird
What do you get
When you say your words
Were your objectives met?

Everytime I hear them
Just makes me gag
I'd roll my eyes
Just hearing you brag

People'll give you
When accolades are deserving
But I suppose they're never enough
'Cause I still see you parading

Well I know I may be unpredictable
A tad bit capricious
To be honest, you...
You're simply being ostentatious


*...and it's annoying the **** out of me...
Hate show-offs.
Robert Cayne Jul 2017
I am currently a remote neural monitoring victim (or related tech: CIA or NSA) from Boston, MA

It feels like a silent voice in my head that makes it vibrate. I have conversations with it, it's different from the voices I hear. However Wikipedia lists Remote Monitoring as a conspiracy theory.
I beg to differ...

Painter, poet and pianist. that's me...

email: magis213@gmail.com

Reminiscent of a dream:
    (The mirror, the ghostly figure,
    The long, loving grass.)

    The infinity mirror, for all its fury
    To Smooth over the untamed roughess
    Of Humanity's core,
    Draws blood with shaving blades,
    And magnanimity in masquerades.

    And still the pallor of blush,
    And the discoloration of adoration,
    Are but servile to anticipation.
 
    The reflector of infinity
    The eery promise
    Reaching towards divinity
    Or a torturous, blind ****-bent path

    The blind mirror promises
    Infinity, duality
    The shattered, puerile ghost caught between
    The Ubiquitous, sterile host of magisterial illusion

    The fragmented stone beneath him
    Like a altar on a monestary
    Grounding him to the magestic illusion
    Of groundless deceit, Of Boston's conceit

    Reverse that curse! Oh arrow-bent skies
    Of intrepid, oblique, malleable time
    That bends about paths through human hearts
    To human marrows, to decay, to remorse

    The skin, like a cage like a gibbet upholding the body
    Knows not the force of infinity's grasp
    Until it overtakes him in a moment of intrepid deceit.

    In these hallowed halls ghostly particles dance,
    Ghostly bodies collide and recombine into once visible
    Charades of macabre cavemen.

    Once, always visible in the mirror, unknowable is the heart.
    In this illusory rebirth, is the ghost in the machine,
    In deed through imprints the duality of despair's duplicity
    Onto a parched heart's never-fingerprint

    Identity is unknown to the mirror (clearly)
    Vanity is unknown to the self
    How transparent the mirror makes
    Blood-meat of a man!

    Gushing listlessly, he retraces the mirror's arrows
    Onto the lines on the page.
    He retraces the chalk on the lines.
    He becomes just the vane words on the page.

    Words, and the mirror of language
    The potency lost to fragmented duplication.
    The mosaic is born,
    Unseen, to vague, blurred visions of a fragmented nation.

    But language outcasts him,
    Him tangled deeply within its moat,
    Its dubbed deeply embedded within him,
    Ah, again the duality!


    His mirror-image, the words
    Against the page, untold sillhoutes
    Of a dark, flickering, menacing display
    Of brash omens.

    The words, his craft of silence's
    Burrow, of despair's unlaundry,
    Of an empty room without
    Any charge at all.

    The words, against the words.
    But that he sees not.
    The words against the self.
    He sees not.

    Blinded by narcissism, by that mirror.
In this poem the mirror is personified as an artist. As a reader, the quest is to evaluate him/her/it (the mirror) and discover your relationship with her.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Impressionist colors rising out of chocolate brown,
stretching chartreuse necks upwards.
Intertwining vines clutching each other in a desperate rhapsody of life,
all waiting to display their Creators’ palette of pure color.

Orchid and yellow chalices hold the morning dew
as all are christened in jeweled morning light.
With blue and white snow you carpet the ground
blanketing hillsides with hope of Monet.

Orange tongues of fire licking up towards the sun
while jade blades battle as new growth crowds in.
Blossoms hang full with a living harvest of yellow,
awaiting transport to another.

Stalks of dried grasses stirred by the August wind,
dancing to the rhythm of the warm stirring breeze.  
Summer now ebbing away in aged colors muted with brown,
returning to the muddied ground once again.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Natasha Jan 2014
Tiny pairs of wings in colours of lavender & mint
flutter over rose chiffon, hanging over the curtains of my window

Outside, the world settles slowly in the white night. It's most unbearable because I recall that such lovely creatures have no place
in this stoic wasteland at all.

There is no warm wind to lift their feather-light  wings,
nor flowers in which they may sip on
delicately

Jack Frost would nip at their tiny bodies
Father Winter would freeze their wings in motion

The cold winter wind would whip their breaths away. A sunrise pattern on the snow, littered with colourful decay.

Broken butterflies-
frozen; for the world on display

I still collect my voice with a tone of surprise, that they continue to flutter by inside next to this bed in which I lay.

For without your arms wrapped around my waist
the air in here is much the same,

As what lies beyond the window pane
Lazhar Bouazzi Apr 2016
The first thing I saw early this morning
When I pulled back the light green curtains
Was a hectic blue 'n orange butterfly
Waving in the fair sun of my garden -
Between the enclosed well and the laurel tree.

On the red radiant sidewalk,
Two damsels strutted together;
A turquoise skirt wore the one,
A chocolate T-shirt the other.

Jubilant they were together,
As the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air like Tunisian silk.

No harvest did my screen display today,
No mountain range did loom far in the distance;
All that was shown were a laughing sidewalk,
And a quivering sun in a small garden.

(c) LazharBouazzi, April 21, 2016
ryn Sep 2014
Mythical Bird, show me your secret
Hatch forth from your shell
Plumage of orange and scarlet
Emerge glorious from whence you dwell

Fiery Bird, you must reveal
Your astounding, magical ways
Where from these lives you steal
Forever reincarnating well into your days

Aflamed Bird, you must teach
How you reinvent yourself anew
With no help within reach
Without aid, effortlessly you flew

Majestic Bird, take me in
Blanket me with your wing
Listen and acknowledge my sins
With all your wisdom and heart could bring

Magical Bird, will you impart?
What knowledge you keep
Only then, I may start
To make my way out from the deep

Enchanted Bird, you have to help
I'm desperate to rise like you
**** your head and hear my yelps
Of all the things I'm trying to undo

Celestial Bird, if only you could know
Intricate workings of this unfounded fixation
Why I seem to always wallow
An eternal target of sorrow's attention

Imaginary Bird, will you demonstrate
Your amazing fantastical flight
Dipping, gliding, in the air you gyrate
Aggressive dance with gravity you fight

Mystical Bird, won't you display
For unworthy eyes, would you give?
Seemingly easy, aloft you stay
Even when you know you'd die before you'd live

Wondrous Bird, oh how perfect you are
I am in awe, I am swooning
How you become one with the stars
Making the best of the short time you're living

Secretive Bird, is it time?
Reducing yourself down to ashes
Ready to absolve your stint of crimes
Reborn perfect, free from previous gashes

Ensorcelled Bird, please don't retreat
Back into your familiar cocoon
I'm uncertain if again we'd meet
Just afraid I might be gone too soon
Blair Baker Nov 2014
Though life abounds with blossoms bright,
fed and watered, nurtured right;
And trees along the river bank,
strengthened so, display their might,
Saguaro, YOU surprise me most
and give the desert dwellers hope.

Alone, you stand in arid sands
without your roots in greener lands,
yet strong and tall and bright, command
my respect and awe.

Deep inside your prickly skin,
you've stored life's sunshine deep within;
Though scarce the raindrops from the sky,
you've captured each and treasured, "MY!"
If I could be like you, what heights I would achieve.
And revel in acceptance that, like you,
I'm planted right where I should be.
c Dec 2018
My body is a museum
I am full of ancient ruins
Pieces of my past
I am fragile, beautiful
Tainted by time
You can look,
But please don’t touch
Karijinbba Sep 2018
Cheetah me running free on the savannas of HP.
~~~~~~~
time and space are modes by which we think and not conditions in which we live
~Albert Einstein~
…...
As a PH-D Astrophisicist I see peoples circumstances
from endless angles.
and with Bohr’s standpoint  
that a space-time description is impossible, I reject a limine. Physics does not consist only of atomic research, science does not consist only of physics, and life does not consist only of science.

The aim of atomic research is to fit our empirical knowledge concerning it into our other thinking.
All of this other thinking, so far as it concerns the outer world, is active in space and time.
If it cannot be fitted into space and time, then it fails in its whole aim and one does not know what purpose it really serves.

When the dust settles, time whatever it may be could turn out to be even stranger and more illusory than even Einstein could imagine. Time May Not Exist',
I do not define time, space, place, and motion, as being well known to all.
I have tried to read philosophers of all ages and have found many illuminating ideas but no steady progress toward deeper knowledge and understanding. Science, however, gives me the feeling of steady progress:

I am convinced that theoretical physics is actual philosophy. It has revolutionized fundamental concepts it's about space and time (relativity), about causality (quantum theory), and about substance and matter (atomistics), and it has taught us new methods of thinking (complementarity) which are applicable far beyond physics.

Let me describe briefly how a black hole might be created. Imagine a star with a mass 10 times that of the sun.
During most of its lifetime of about a billion years the star will generate heat at its center by converting hydrogen into helium.
The energy released will create sufficient pressure to support the star against its own gravity, giving rise to an object with a radius about five times the radius of the sun.

The escape velocity from the surface of such a star would be about 1,000 kilometers per second. That is to say, an object fired vertically upward from the surface of the star with a velocity of less than 1,000 kilometers per second would be dragged back by the gravitational field of the star and would return to the surface, whereas an object with a velocity greater than that would escape to infinity.

When the star had exhausted its nuclear fuel, there would be nothing to maintain the outward pressure, and the star would begin to collapse because of its own gravity.
As the star shrank, the gravitational field at the surface would become stronger and the escape velocity would increase. By the time the radius had got down to 10 kilometers the escape velocity would have increased to 100,000 kilometers per second, the velocity of light.

After that time any light emitted from the star would not be able to escape to infinity but would be dragged back by the gravitational field.
According to the special theory of relativity nothing can travel faster than light, so that if light cannot escape, nothing else can either.
The result would be a black hole: a region of space-time from which it is not possible to escape to infinity.

The quantum is that embarrassing little piece of thread that always hangs from the sweater of space-time. Pull it and the whole thing unravels.
Where does Space-Time come from?
Is there any answer except that it comes from consciousness?
What is Out There? T’is Ourselves?
Or, is IT all just a Magic Show?
They are radical.

Henceforth space by itself, and time by itself, are doomed to fade away into mere shadows, and only a kind of union of the two will preserve an independent reality.

The whole fabric of the space-time continuum is not merely curved, it is in fact totally bent.

I am fascinated by the mystic spinning of planets satelites,
I am sure you do too?
The mystery of space stars the universe and thus I feel compelled to examin my own life as mother and a wife who couldn't be found in worshiping light in my graceful complete surrender finding in no husband not a protector but shameless foe
and instead was caged up
set aside destroyed forgotten
misunderstood! Even by nuns as an orphaned girl devoid of basic rights most of civil right violated
I marvel at my spirit soul zoaring
and finding joy in life and loving people sacrificing it all for the wefare of even my enemies;

sadly I compare part of my life experiences to a wild CAGED Cheetah's wasted life
Think, for a moment, of a
cheetah, a sleek, beautiful animal, one of the fastest on earth, which roams freely on the savannas of Africa.
In its natural habitat, it is a magnificent animal, almost a work of art, unsurpassed in speed or grace by any other animal.
Now, think of a cheetah that has been captured and thrown into a miserable cage in a zoo.
or smoggled to another country
( like I was.)
It has lost its original grace and beauty, and is put on display for our amusement even sold
(like I was by a nun.)

We see only the broken spirit of the cheetah in the cage, not its original power and elegance.

The cheetah can be compared to the laws of physics, which are beautiful in their natural setting.
The natural habitat of the laws of physics is a higher-dimensional space-time.

However, we can only measure the laws of physics when they have been broken and placed on display in a cage, which is our three-dimensional laboratory.

We only see the cheetah
when its grace and beauty have been stripped away.

What binds us to space-time is our purest mass, which prevents us from flying at the speed of light, when time stops and space loses meaning.
In a world of light there are neither points nor moments of time beings woven from light would live “nowhere” and “nowhen”
only poetry and mathematics
What makes the theory of relativity so acceptable to physicists in spite of its going against the principle of simplicity is its great mathematical beauty.
This is a quality which cannot be defined, any more than beauty in art can be defined, but which people who study mathematics usually have no difficulty in appreciating.
“But in the binary system, lets point out, “the alternative to one isn’t minus one, it’s zero. That’s the beauty of it, mechanically.” “O.K. Gotcha. You’re asking me, What’s this minus one? I’ll tell you.
It’s a plus one moving backward in time.
This is all in the space-time foam, inside the Planck duration,
don’t forget. The dust of points
gives birth to time, and time gives birth to the dust of points. Elegant, huh? It has to be.
It’s blind chance, plus pure math. They’re proving it,
every day. Astronomy, particle physics,
it’s all coming together.
~~~~~~~
By: Krijinbba-Scientist me
All right reserved
WHEN ALL THAT IS LEFT ;AND WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME THERES STILL STARS SONG FLOWER LOVING LIFE AND THE MAGICAL WISDOM OF THE ONE WHO ALWAYS FINDS ME AND SAYS MY ESSAY IS TO LIKE IT OR LOVE IT
AND THE ONE WITH THE GRASSY BLUES BENDING MIND AND LIGHT
MY GOD- LIKE -E.T.
"PHONE HOME"FIND ME.
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