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Ellie Elliott Mar 2014
There is a tear in my existence,
the gap between two milk teeth
breaking away from wide-mouthed childlike innocence
and falling out,
lost to ice cream cones and garden fences
teen dream dancing and cool pretenses
ignorant bliss, aimless goals
and the taste of near-empty Jack Daniels bottles
seems wiped from me
like a milk moustache.

Adulthood, what are you but a mistress who is cruel to be kind
curling and winding around me until I choke in your perfectly proper pencil skirt?
What are you but a greater knowledge of the world and a lesser understanding of it?
What are you but a greater understanding of the self and a lesser affinity with it?

Adulthood, what are you but broken dreams and disappointment?
What are you but bigger dreams with arms that reach beyond death itself?
What do you bring except shrivelled skin and nostalgia for once upon a times?
What but wisdom and a sense of sanguine satisfaction?
What are you but blood and cells and bells and *** and terrific notions and consequences and deckchairs and chinaware and despair?

Adulthood, what are you but glazed-over wasted days and self-loathing?
What are you but three hundred responsibilities taken care of all at once, caffeine eyes and welling pride?
What are you but the inevitable crash and getting smashed and suddenly remembering why I should do things one at a time?

What are you but change upon change upon change upon mistakes made again for the millionth time?
And my changes, now lifeless
cause an identity crisis
about whether I'm really any different in the end
the likes of which will no doubt be seen again
when Monday rolls around,
what are you but Mondays, endless Mondays
driving me into the ground?

Oh Adulthood,
what are you but a downsize of naivity, a self-belief redundancy, a vitamin D deficiency and a proper place for everything apart from me?
What are you but desperate faces smashing into one another, drowning lungs, curtains pulled down, curtains put up, curtains being suddenly important? Curtains ******* me up?
What are you but woodsmoke and patios, warm faces, good graces and the ceaselessly mounting cost of Freddos, buildings and building things and falling in love...

And falling in love, falling asleep, falling awake, falling apart, falling together, falling
falling
falling
down.

What are you, Adulthood, but always always getting back up again no matter what, and alarms and reminders and no bed times
but being so tired you start to admire
that even the sun must sleep sometimes,
even if it always comes back up, shining even brighter
until the timing is right until the living is right until the mind is right only then can we stop trying
only then can we die
no wonder the afterlife is idealised
and even then, will I see the light?
Can I stop now?
Is it really alright?

What are you Adulthood, but a long list of questions?
Because I have so much to ask, you see, but mostly

What are you here for, except to show me how good I had it before?

Adulthood, I don't know.
ellie elliott
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
prelimenary coordinates - a blindman playing chess.

well... you either drink, and write sparingly,
     or you don't drink, and you write
a novel...
    but who would have thought, that there
would be poetic odes involving coffee...
     it's staggering how many women write
poems and have to concern themselves with
coffee...
  i down a litre of whiskey a night, don't know
what a hangover is anymore,
        and i can beat out more words
than women, who use a stimulant and write
   crumbs... when i expect a loaf of bread...
if not this website, then another, and the scenario
is the same: the glorification of coffee...
           it just shows you how barricaded the human
narrative is, of the soul...
        poetry merely nibbles, and i know it's
flaws... write without paragraphs,
or care for punctuation marks... and it's immediately
a poem...
   or... oh god forbid! there's something profound
being said with a few words...
      and it has to be profound...
                      yes, i'm the Gargamel and those
are my smurfs...
                             strange that Freud didn't think up
the man-child complex...
                         which is the opposite of the madonna-*****
complex, which he actually did...
           Edward Hopper was also bemused by
these two mental pharmacologists...
                did a little sketch holding Freud as pillar 1,
and Jung as pillar 2.
    but coffee and poetry: i'd expect more from this
latitude...
        and it's still a case of:
                   people cling to the raft that's their
mental narrative mondus operandi...
                Kant tried to say something as concrete
with 5 + 7 = 13... and read any philosophy book...
    Kant isolates the ''i think'', and Hegel isolates
    the i = i, or i am i...
                              and these are serious thinkers...
but Descartes has said a limit...
                       thinking defines subjectivity...
      thinking the essential component of what's
   not thought about: the existential compromise of
   being per se...
                    and how i always seem to find philosophy
as a stumbling block concerning everything i write...
    it's almost as if i can't escape the world of
abstracts...          a degree in chemistry didn't help either...
     am i truly so un-realistic?
               not that i'm afraid of being drawn toward
the un-real...          it's that humanity seems only like
an infertile groundwork speeding toward a forgivable
promise...
    i just wanted to say: you drink and write poetry...
or you don't drink, and write a novel...
      and true to a heart's cause i will say:
that straitjacket of what poetry is...
                           whether rhyme... or other technique...
    hanging over it...
                           it can't do:
      i abhor Nietzsche for making poetry a science...
  and it is: too scientific...
              i'd never think so little can be deemed
so perplexing... or having that essence...
                    so yes... Kant
                         really does struggle to say something
profound, but he actually does...
                     over and over again... namely:
i'd never could think of so many faculties of my mind...
    not that's what i call a plastic saying...
      ****-licking brown-nosing, call it what you like...
it's just so terrible that philosophy cannot reach
toward being a humanism, like a novel always can...
     which is why i could eat a historical novel
        by Kraszewski in three weeks in between allocating
that time to the festive season,
                     and it took me 2 years to read Kant's
critique... until i let go of that post-scriptum necessity
of having to stop at every setence and do a rubick's cube...
     a bit like: well... aren't those electron-migration
   schematics they teach you in chemistry, a little bit pointless?
   who give's a badger's nut-sack about how electrons migrate
when a a cabron to oxygen bond forms?
                         but they do teach that...
           which is why you can take a novel to bed,
on the train... but so much focus is needed for that other novel,
the scientific one... the grandeur of... philosophy...
                and that's when i let go...
   the last part of the critique does allow you to read
piece of work... like a novel... unless of course that was my
need to do so...
                    so yes: transcendental methodology in Kant's
critique: does read like a novel... at some point
you just have to let go.

ii. ...

and you do... try saying philosophy without saying
something pretentious....
               and i dare say: as long as the fewest number
of people concern themselves with it:
  the more chances we have for electricity,
plumbing, food on the table...
               but by now there's this talk of a curse...
premature Socratic antics... mind you: he was an old man...
but Plato be ******, he wrote down what the old man
spoke: and a clear number of them succumbed to
      the tumble-**** effect...
                      no real prospects for life...
        and, evidently, the dead gods philosophised,
while the rest remained: prone to throwing a show of
macho, and worshipped the body...
Olympus shone...  
   by now you should know that i don't know what
i'm doing...
                  give me the killer-switch to launch a nuclear
strike and i'd probably say: maracas!
shake shake shake...     fidgety in the brothel...
shake shake shake...
             that's the weird thing, every time i went to
a brothel i became over-heated...
      i sat there, the whole **** place always reminded me
of a perfume... jack daniels...
   and i could feel myself over-heating...
  i don't known if that was the angel conscience talking
to me... but i always felt those eyes of scrutiny...
       mind you, once the whole "naughty'' escapade
took off... i forgot those relationships where
                    an impotence was crowned...
   don't know: maybe prostitutes just know my pin-number
and hold to say to little richard: off to the crusades with you!
     phenomenal...
                                         well... thank god for
the north african imports! i'd start thinking all european
women are bound to be: neglected.
               and was it ever, not only about ***?
    it's nice to doubt it...
                           next time i'll woodpecker a grave.
but hey! the promised land!
                           at least you'll have someone to cry
over your grave...
   and did i tell you how there's this cult of the grave
in Poland? yep, that's not a personal reality,
it's a populist manifesto... i'm starting to see it
as a hell where people sort of forgot to state their emotion
to the people, now lying in those tombs...
         give me a Hindu wedding with fire!
  i wanna become elemental!
and look, libido on fire... a billion vishnu-******* in
Bangladesh...   it's this thirst for fame in western
societies that's going to be a downsize...
                                 over there that's like a **** in
a tornado...              ha ha! it really is!
   but then again, here i am, a graveyard hyenna...
walking in Liberace's talk of style...
  most of these graves, really are: tacky...
    just like Liberace, the greatest showbiz conman of
the 20st century... i love the fact that he fooled so many
women... i mean... that guy was almost as good
as ****** when it came to mesmerising people...
but Liberace had a nieche audience... so...
                 no khaki for the ss...
                                           and i dare to hold
an ethnicity? in tune with bob marley: one love, one people...
it has never been so painful to strategise globalisation...
         it's this ethnic cleansing that everyone agreed to
provided they received a smart-phone...
                   or a McDonald's fetish... and that's saying it cheap...
but that's how it feels on the periphery of H'america...
little ol' England boycots Europe...
                     and it's like: huh?
                                           presto! dum-dum.
    sometimes i start thinking that i have a hydra for a tongue...
and the more i drink, the more i start to see
       it splintering up into a polyphony construct,
but more a case of: polyphony of subjects...
   and yes, aren't we all those internet losers...
when the most powerful man in the world...
     uses twitter. bastions of respectable comment!
yes, i.e. newspapers... we're riding this meteor to the end...
          does anyone still consider newspapers to be
the pledges of a free society? i must have been asleep for
the past 20 years then...
                      someone switched on this chaos-turbine,
and we're all shoving our two cents of opnions'-worth into it...
and it's not stopping...
            and yet you still read in newspapers, this underlining
feeling of being condescended... as if they are the sole
authority... they have to behave like little despots...
                           social media's power is invested in its
shock reverberation... think: Marx in the 21st century...
           but can you? is this some pseudo Marxism?
             i might have bypassed all the king-makers and
walls... but i have no leverage... my opinions are
     as cheap as chips... well: we got ourselves a unison converson...
   i still don't see how the television zeitgeist still thinks
that the internet zeitgeist is no connected with ''real life''...
i mean... **** me! where's the highstreet with all the shops?
on the internet. where is the frontline of wars? on the internet.
  where do suicides take place? on the internet,
from all the cyber bugs that people start to represent...
    if this isn't real life... then i guess i must be sitting,
and writing this in some medieval castle in transylvania,
    and my computer is powered by a legion of
hamsters on exercise-wheels, in a damp room, lit by a candle.

iii.

for me, this is how reading a philosophy book looks like:

| | |
     fig. 1
                                          /   \
                                            _
                 ­                                 fig. 2
    Δ
       fig. 3
                                           A
                                               fig. 4

it's like i want to see something with some clarity;
there is clear movement
      concerning a book like that,
              but unlike a standard novel:
there is clearly nothing concerning the: any given
  hope to disperse the mist.
                you're given the blunt truth:
the use of language...
                     again, it would be easier to call forward
a use of a tomahawk... or a guillotine...
            philosophy books never establish civilisations,
they break them.
                and do i think that the crucifix is a profanity
of the tetragrammaton? yes.
                do i feel Spinoza's anguish? probably.
when you read philosophy to start to waver,
it's almost necessary to unlearn language, and with
each philosophy book: learn it over again.
     you can't remain strapped to this culture
of emphasis of singled-out words...
              we can't find a constructive basis if we're
about to start any mechanism from such a dynamic,
isolating certain words and weighing them
                       obstructs language...
                 i can't even begin to fathom a pledge
to using a language, if there are these plebian obstructions...
i did write some notes when i spent these past 3 weeks
in Poland, but i'm scared of rewriting them...
                    i can claim to have understood
their content at the time,
but the context disparity is too much for me...
                 i'm rereading them in England
and i can only see England as a nightmarish construct
of such grandeour... that i might only be seen
speaking truth in the north of it...
                nor do i like the tri-tier categorisation
of man... if you read Kant, you'd be afraid of
man's laconic approach to the mind, stating
the three boundaries, and literally no faculty interactions...
  consciousness (the artist), denoting the overly-sensitive,
the subconscious (the worker), denoting the athletic construct
   and liberation from the daily toils of pure physical
    disposition...
and the unconscious (the zombie)...
   if you read Kant and explore the faculties...
and then turn toward the Freudian populism:
   there's enough reason to be concerned...
                  i can't be saying someone anti-vogue:
and that was my proper concern, that i might be saying
someone not recountable in any sort of realism...
          that mine is an isolated case...
         ditto alongside: why are we juggling the tri-tiers,
and so bombastic and even celebratory in huddling
toward these safety-nets of being human?
    thus said: the reflective man has died...
       in his place came the reflexive man...
                             and if there really is a worthwhile
stance to be a: **** sapiens...
   then all hope for a bewildered man is gone...
                 when the potency of robotics escaped science
fiction, and all trodden paths of orthodox science were
      fed to science fiction, humanity could begin
the process of discarding the offshoots...
          
iv.

the new testament... a book riddled with metaphors...
no wonder the greeks exploited the hebrew literalism...
and yes, plato the precursor made this very real...
by testifying that poetry had no place in the republic,
the new testament had to become solely poetic...
   the new testament is a rebellion against plato's republic...
it's a book wholly compromised on metaphor...
culminating in a book that's founded on imagery...
the gosepls are, once again, arithmetically speaking,
resembling the crucifix... which damns the concept
of the tetragrammaton...
                      as a book: it's only gibberish in
its final circumstance of revelation as a book of imagery...
   and in its preceding case: a book of metaphors...
who wouldn't be apprehensive to be born human
with such a thing being rampant?!
                    imagery is gibberish, given that we
have compentent painters out there...
and metaphor is metaphysics, given that we have
competent magicians out there...
   so how far apart are the words: qua             and
                   quo?
   as good a question as: how far apart are the words
                          phor               and phren?
       φoρ                       &                            φρην?
        so in the congregation of μετα, how are they
so apart?  looking at language from an alphabetical
perspective... it's hard to see anything inspirational...
    nor the tangens divergence of words
that are nonetheless so proximate in their construct...
a bit like the genetic proximity of man and ape,
or man and a banana...
   φoρ (the bearer of the beyond) -
                φρην (a mind concerned with things
under the curtain) -
                        and so: the futility of looking for
        a soul... became translated as the new found feudalism
of looking for a mind:
  given the common consensus: we're all mad....
so too looking at mythology could be revised:
  that myth of narcissus and echo...
or narcissus and psyche...
                         or φρην & πσιχη -
                we already know that there's an aesthetic
in Greek, at least they showed us
      that it can be σimple, when acknowledged
  and practised -
which means transcribing the ease of handwriting
   into a digital format, can be seen as an unnecessary
complexity - as if me currently looking for a word
that ends, and showcases the most obvious Grecian
aesthetic (without mention ο, ε, ω, η, œ)...
but with due mention: so where the second variant
of α, given there's æ?
                           it really is hard to find coherency
in human language... i'm still trying to conjure up
the second sigma... unless i hit the plural noteς...
there... i hit them... as simple as that.
  and yes: the father of the french hooked c
in garçon, came from this: the sigma used at the end
of wordς... i suspect that how things were denoted
to be possessed in english, also came from it.
once again: handwritting is bewildering on this digital canvas.

v.*

i don't have an atheistic argument, or a theistic argument,
i'v
Fish The Pig Jun 2015
I didn't eat for three days
so I could be lovely
like Yolandi Visser who's above me
if I don't eat meat
will there be extra room on my seat?
for adventures- oh
I wanna live like louis
cause you're so aw
and I'm so ew
should be the other way around
but I'm bowin on the ground
you a she-ra
he-ra
no ska
hip-hop double dutch
south paw
fighting like a gang from the hood
grew up on the rough streets
of GV
oh Jeez
so tough
smoke ****
post a pic of my blunt
love to hunt
'cause I'm so cool
be jealous of me
and my shirt that say skee
****** with the fuckbois
guys,
I think I need to grow up
haha
jk
messin with the sub
tellin my mom to shut up
I smell like shtub
ugh
I'm so oppressed right now
white privelage is hard
I'm a smart teen
marred
as an ignorant delinquent
teeth clinquant-
I can be eloquent
but I'm treated like an infant
so frequent
I act like a miscreant
nobody seems to understand
I don't even think I do
get that lotion 'way from me
gotta get tanned-
uh
dya see my abbs
dya see me ***
I'm a piece of meat
rare and raw
with seasoning
dress code
don't tell me otherwise
underneath american skies
it's all about your size
supersize the food
downsize your weight
keep it down
keep it low
till gravity
brings you crashing down
in a geneva gown
close-rubbin-
gap thighs
'cause it's
mcm
wcw
tbt
to when I did fbf
anacronyms
I don't even know how to spell it
what a ****
bathroom wall vandalism
"fat *****"
haha
so gangsta
so tough
I have it so rough
middle class white kid
you've got to be kidding me
praise cthulu
giant squid.
meme
2k15
ah
Nico Reznick Jan 2017
The Culture twists and shrieks, wracked by
violent spasms of regression, recoiling in
pain and terror, contracting inwards
like some giant spider god dying.

Maybe snake oil will
offer a cure.
Perhaps we can
purge the demons
by drilling the right
holes in the right
skulls.  We could try
electro-shocking our way
back to 'normal'.  We
might even rediscover
the benefits
of leeches.  

We're building walls
and burning bridges.
We're forgetting the
lessons we never quite
learned.  We're watching
ourselves watching ourselves
watching ourselves on
an endlessly repeating loop
of tiny glowing screens.  We
willingly downsize our
worlds until we have to make
ourselves smaller, just
so we can still fit.

The future is closer
than we realise.  It's just
not as big as we
thought it would be.
Antony Glaser Jan 2014
Down Edgbaston I forgot how to feel.
Perhaps the cumulus clouds
could downsize my anger;
envy would  pulsate into ebony,
under my rubicund smile
inherited from yesterday
judy smith Mar 2017
WHEN Jayson Brunsdon learnt he had to muster the strength to fight cancer as his fashion empire crumbled around him, he was at breaking point.

Luckily for him and husband Aaron, a saviour was on the way — in the form of a beautiful brown-eyed angel — their son, Roman.

In a heartfelt interview with Wentworth Courier ahead of the March 30 launch of their book, Designer Baby, the couple shared their tumultuous journey to bring Roman home to Australia after he was born to a surrogate in Thailand.

Watching their faces light up as the now two-year-old Roman gleefully dives under a mountain of pillows on the couch at their Elizabeth Bay apartment, it is easy to see why they describe him as “the light at the end of the tunnel” after what they have been through.

And the couple has held nothing back in telling their amazing story of survival, hope and determination in the face of unbelievable adversity.

Their world came crashing down in 2008 when the global financial crisis delivered a devastating blow to their Jayson Brunsdon label, a darling of the fashion world, worn by Crown Princess Mary of Denmark and Jennifer Hawkins.

“Most of our business was international, in America and England … and we lost all that business overnight,” said Jayson, 52.

“It was around the same time that I was diagnosed with (testicular) cancer.”

He faced a three-year battle, including four months of intense chemotherapy, after surgery had failed to stop the disease spreading.

“It’s very difficult to be creative when you can barely get out of bed and you’re deliriously ill and you feel like you’re dying,” he said.

“It was a really hard time and it went on for a long time so we had to downsize and we had to get rid of our stores.”

Aaron, 44, said the cancer made it impossible to keep the business afloat.

“Jayson was the creator of the brand but my time had to be devoted to his care as well and so … everything started to suffer and it kept going down and down until we reached rock-bottom,” he said.

“It was the GFC, it was the cancer, it was everything and one day we woke up and lost everything, we lost the entire business.”

Rather than give up, Jayson fought the cancer and won — a process which caused him to reflect on his life to the point where he questioned whether he even wanted to be part of the fashion world.

“Cancer was life-changing because after you’ve been through it, you just can’t deal with ******* and there’s so much of it in the fashion world, it kind of revolves around it and I thought; ‘I don’t know if I can do this any more’,” Jayson said.

“But what else was I going to do? We had the business and … when we downsized, I could kind of get away from it all.”

The couple has since rebuilt the business and the Jayson Brunsdon black label is in 40 Myer stores.

When Jayson went into remission, the couple of 18 years could finally pursue their dream of having a family together.

“We had wanted it for a long time but (the cancer) meant we had to put the whole thing on hold,” Jayson said.

“At that time we started to realise there was a lot more to life than working seven days a week and struggling every day,” Aaron said.

“We wanted something more and I think one of the most important things in our lives was having a family.”

After doing a mountain of research, the couple began eight months of preparation work with the All IVF Center in Bangkok and they were matched with their Thai surrogate ****.

They were over the moon when she fell pregnant with Roman, using Aaron’s cousin Rebecca’s egg, donated altruistically, and Jayson’s *****.

But their excitement turned to panic when the Thai Government announced it was going to outlaw surrogacy in the wake of the Baby Gammy scandal, when an Australian couple left their son with his surrogate mother because he had Down syndrome.

The couple was told the chances of bringing Roman home were “almost impossible”.

“At the time, it was the worst news any parent could face — we were five-and-a-half months pregnant and at that point we knew there was going to be a fight and we just didn’t know how long the fight was going to be,” Aaron said.

“It was one of the most tumultuous times in our lives because we had gone through so much to get to this point and we’d had so many challenges.

“When we finally got pregnant, we thought there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

“And then for the bombshell to drop on us to say that ‘you can’t bring him home’, that was the most frightening thing that had ever happened to us.”

In the wake of Gammy, the Thai Government ordered an audit into IVF clinics.

This led to the forced closure of the All IVF Center after authorities allegedly discovered links to the human trafficking of surrogate babies.

The fate of about 50 Australian couples — including the Brunsdons — was thrown into limbo.

After much political wrangling, Foreign Minister Julie Bishop arranged a pact with the Thai Government who agreed to grant a grace period for pregnancies already in progress.

Jayson finds it difficult to articulate the relief he felt.

“It was just sheer joy, it was like, ‘thank God’, it’s difficult to describe really because it’s about our child and if you can’t get him home, you don’t know what to do,” he said.

“When it was all clear, we were just ecstatic and we could get on with living again. We were just on hold, we were holding our breaths.”

But they were not out of the woods yet.

Despite being assured they would have not issues leaving Thailand after Roman was born on January 5, 2015, they were detained at the airport for human trafficking.

“Initially they said, ‘we are not going to let you go until we see the surrogate mother’ and they asked us all these questions and they were screaming at us,” said Aaron.

“It was awful, we were so terrified.”

Eventually they were allowed on the plane — Roman had an Australian passport and Jayson’s name was on the birth certificate.

Jayson has spoken out for the first time in response to accusations that he saw Roman as a commodity akin to a buying a fashion accessory.

“That’s kind of pathetic really. Who has a child so they can have them as an accessory that they can dress up?” Jayson said.

“I just think it’s just really bigoted, discriminatory, really ill-informed and it’s unacceptable.

“Some people are just really ignorant people and they don’t understand that when you’re gay, you’re born gay. It’s like being born black … you can’t help it.

“So if you want to have a child, why shouldn’t you have a child?

“If we got him as just an accessory, we would have been over him by now wouldn’t we?

“It’s part of the joy of being a new parent, to buy the cot and decorate the bedroom and all that kind of stuff.”

Jayson said Roman had “enriched” their lives.

“He makes us so much more responsible, patient, caring and loving and we are very lucky because he is just a gorgeous little angel,” he said.

“(Parenthood) is such a fantastic experience. It’s the hardest thing you ever do, but it’s the best thing you ever do.

“It’s the best thing we ever did, it’s better than showing in New York Fashion Week or anything, it’s a much more heart filling experience than anything you’ve ever done.”

Aaron said they would ensure Roman was not deprived of anything.

**** said she would do it all over again if they ever wanted a sibling for their son Roman.

“One day in the future if you want to have a sister or brother for Roman, if she can help and do again, she is happy to do,” said an interpreter responding to questions.

The mother, who had never been a surrogate before, said she discussed her decision with her husband and family, including her two children Jonus, 16, and Nicky, 6, “so everyone knew and agreed”.

Her motivation was to help the Australians, “fulfil a family that would be the most wonderful gift to them that they can never forget”.

“She also believed this is a very good thing she did, to give life,” the interpreter said.

“She look after someone’s baby for them. She want to make that couple also very happy.

“She loves and talk to baby and let her kids and family touch and talk to a little boy inside. “Because she believe her love and care will be the best vaccine for baby to grow well.”

When she met Aaron and Jayson, she understood how they felt.

“You two very good people. She knew you are super fathers who will raise a little boy surrounding with love, good education and all good things,” the interpreter said.

“Buddha teach her to be good people, to help other people and bring happiness to people.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Olivia Rae Feb 2015
His lips move but the monsters words of evil are heard
His mouth shapes "I love you" but hatred is echoed
He reaches for a hug but the beast lunges to attack
There's a monster on his back

He searches for the colors of day but is shut in a cave 
He seeks for the limelight but is stuck in the shadows
He forces a smile but the hurt is pulling a frown
There's a monster that slipped inside

He searches for knowledge but the monster hid the books
He attempts navigation but the map is ripped to shreds 
He wants to blossom but the beast chains him down
There's a monster deep within

He's found and yet he's lost
His happiness is hidden
He's full of life but wants it to end
There's a monster who's made a home

The monster has him on a leash 
A never ending round of "simon says"
He's a puppet with claws up his shirt
A marionette with strings pulled tout 

The monster disguises but unintentionally reveals 
Brutality is uncovered but strength shines through
Controversy is displayed but persistence can be found
Anger takes over but intensity refuses to hide

The monster is battled with bravery
The monster is fought with passion
The tables turn
The untouchables are touched

After years of war the monster does not budge
He is frustrated and trapped but does not give up hope 
He gathers an army to fight on and fight hard
There's a very persistent monster

The end can be touched it appears so near
The dispute however does not come to a close
The fight has no intention of ending
The monster does not wish to leave

The monster lives with an ignored eviction notice 
The beast refuses to leave but agrees to downsize
From giant to large to small to smaller
The beast is tamed and not exiled

His strings are extended but never cut
His voice quiet but can be heard
His hugs are gentle but welcomed and received
He lives in peace as a landlord to a monster
he calls you
paperclip
not because you hold everyone together
when the wind tries so hard
to scatter souls
or because your eyes flash hints of silver
when you talk about your favorite song
or because your lip ring taints your kisses
metallic.

paperclip
because he can downsize you in an instant
replacing you with a version of yourself
that doesn’t weigh his pockets down
your body now too small to hold your essence
and a mouth that will only open wide enough
to swallow.
you are easily forgotten
but somehow always end up
attached to his keychain.

paperclip
because he can bend you to his will
and you don’t even notice
until everything else
begins falling out of your grasp.
every time he snaps you back into place
the world has only changed
but a fraction of a centimeter
and you’re used to measuring your life in kilometers.

paperclip
because he is a staple
leaving puncture wounds in everything he touches
a few drops of blood in every corner of your mind
and when you learn how to extract him from your heart
no goodbye is successful enough to patch
permanent holes you fold yourself in upon
and pretend not to notice.
to this day,
that chapter of your life remains dog-eared
and you wonder
why you still have trouble
picking locks.
Nigel Morgan Dec 2014
******* a Boat

Not everyone’s idea of bliss
Emptying the toilet every week.
If you are the kind of person
Who likes creature comforts
It is definitely not for you . .

They say it’s where you go
When things go wrong,
The close friend dies,
The relationship comes apart
And living alone in a shoebox
in Hoxton at £800 a week
Just can’t be faced.

On your daily run beside the canal
You suddenly thought:
Why not? It’s peaceful here
By the water, away from the streets,
Cold in winter, damp in spring,
But summer and autumn will be a joy!

You have to downsize of course:
Most of those books will have to go,
Just one guitar and be sensible
About those shoes and clothes,
A good pair of boots and Rohan frock,
Lots of warm tights, a wok,
And you can leave the Internet at work,
Come home on your bicycle to a novel
and your cat, put the wok on the stove,
and hear the sound of your breath,
as the boat trembles under your feet.



Night Thoughts by Li Bo (16C)


So bright on our bed this moon,
just like frost its light is spread.
If I raise my head to see it shine,
when I turn away I'll think of home.


Reading Variously

How patterns and connections emerged during the progress a letter, a letter in this case begun with only the slightest plan, whose intention was partly to hold his daughter in his thoughts for an hour. It was a one-way conversation, and he would imagine her patiently listening to him. She was an attentive listener with a ferocious memory.

The book on his lap halted this reverie. It was a collection of essays by a woman writer known for a severe collection of novels, creative writing in which one realised how essential and rich the imagination can be in this form. In one essay she had been forthright in defence of the novel, that form that has to accept the ‘nuts and bolts of temporal reality’, that ‘from time to time a character has to walk through a door and close it behind him, the creatures of imagination have to eat and sleep, as all other creatures do.’  He had been whelmed over with such writing, and this book had travelled with him during the week so he could read and reread, opening on train journeys, in the minutes before a meal. It had been a gift he had so nearly lost. He remembered first opening the book and thinking this is all too difficult and intense just now, and then realising it was, in fact, just what was required by the ebb and flow of circumstance. He was troubled in so many things, but he knew he needed to remain hopeful. He had completed a composition during the week, the result of a fortnight’s intense thought, preparation and the teasing out of note to note, which is the stuff of writing for voices. He had been stretched by his own creativity, and now was being stretched by someone else’s, a woman of deep faith (in hope) and understanding of that small world so many of us live in, but perhaps so seldom are able to acknowledge its various riches.

This writer had also charmed him with words about music. ‘I tell my students,’ she had written, ‘language is music. Written words are musical notation. The music of a piece of fiction establishes the way in which it is to be read, and in the largest sense, what it means. It is essential to remember that characters have a music as well, a pitch and tempo, just as real people do. To make them believable, you must always be aware of what they would or would not say, where stresses would or would not fall.’ And he thought about his summer school students to whom he had said ‘music is language, the saying and meaning of words, the lift and fall of their inflection, the flow and rhythm of phrase and sentence. You have to read books and to listen to books being read, and poetry of course, the dear sister of music’.

There was more of course. Much history and philosophy sitting alongside spiritual meditation and the homespun observation of an academic, who wrote novels and taught ‘writing novels’, of a mother of four sons, of someone in love with small town life in Iowa and the possibilities of living a good and true life.

And so, the sun rose and lit up the barks of the chestnut trees across the road, in the park beyond. And as the camellia in the garden continued to explode with pink flowers, and the daffodils swayed and nodded, he picked up this vital book and opened its pages to the chapter titled Wondrous Love. Here the author writes about the importance of ‘elderly and old American hymns’. ‘They can move me so deeply’, she writes, ‘that I have difficulty even speaking about them.’ Yes, he knew the way such things moved him. Just the night previously he’d listened to a piano piece by Charles Ives, The Alcotts, with its haunting hymn-like melody and distant echoes of Beethoven’s Fifth, and thought of holding her hand in that university concert hall where he had shared with her this extraordinary work, music that had taken him him to America as a teenager, even to Concord Massachusetts where it had been composed, that he would listen to over and over and wonder at, a music so distant from his roots in the English Choral tradition, but so close to the heart, a music bound to a simplicity of culture that existed once on a different shore, and to which he continued to feel a deep association and love.


Lochan

a poem after  Bai Juyi  (772 -846)



There should be a temple here,

a pavilion on the eastern shore.

Easy to imagine oneself in Jiating, 

but this is Wester Ross.

Instead of orioles fighting in the warm trees, 

crows pick over the summer mud.

Disordered flowers confuse the eye,

bright grass hides the fisherman’s footprints.

I love this lochan,

but cannot stay for long by its bank.

One tree grows out of a reflection, 

on its island home.


Portrait**

You sat for my camera
just the once
in a Mediterranean garden.
It was a haven of green
above a sunned-blue bay.

Unplanned it was.
We’d eaten lunch
watching butterflies
flicker-perch and hover.

You’d tied your hair with a scarf
to keep the midday heat from your head,
a sun that brought your freckles to the fore
on bare arms, on your golden cheek.

Then, for a little while
you left your public self elsewhere,
and my zoomed lens travelled close
as a lover’s kiss when waking.

And as you gazed at the daisied grass
a gentleness and grace descended
on your sun-shadowed face.
I took two pictures, only two.

These portraits I’ve kept
far apart  from other ‘snaps’,
as they seem close
to a painter’s art
as I will ever get.

The portrait-call goes out
and I hesitate, I’m reticent, afraid
to share them with the public gaze.
They say so much, you see,  

of what I know you now to be:
the woman I’m privileged
to touch, to hold dear and close
to this unmanageable heart.
This is collection of new and previous verse and prose gathered together as a gift for Christmas 2014 and New Year 2015. Each poem was accompanied by a photograph or painting. Sadly the wonderful Hello Poetry has yet to allow such pairings. The poem constructed from the words of J.M.W.Turner makes a good case I think for bringing image and word together - at least occasionally.
Kelly Weaver Aug 2017
We were young when we built our first house
Each brick was a dream of ours
And though the house was supported
We built it too big.
Too many empty halls,
Too many empty rooms,
So secrets began to check into them.
And when these house guests gathered for breakfast
Their welcome was outgrown.
So our big house emptied, one by one
And it seemed to be the end.

But of course, we could always downsize.

So we were still young when we built our second house
This time, being much smaller
But, unsurprisingly,
This home didn't last long either.
A huge storm arrived,
And tore the boards apart
Yet each gust was oh so tender,
It was as if they came from your hands.

And though I loved to be right,
I hated being right about this.
Jay Bryant Jul 2013
I'm delighted to see
That my generation
is different.
They're devotion to the arts
Astounds me,
And directs me to joy.

They do not dilute or water down
The words that leave them.
They know what I did not.

I was once devilish.
My words were slanderous,
With intent to destroy.
Now I direct my knowledge
To downsize the dismay
Of my friends and family.

The distraught way
Of thinking
That once devoured
My life and,
Set me on a path
of destruction
Has vanished,
And I have found
Tranquility.
samasati Sep 2013
time 2 pack
time 2 downsize
time 2 feel your heartbeat
time 2 lick the chocolate frosting off the plate;
indulge,
enjoy;
and always always always appreciate

time 2 give hugs
time 2 dance
time 2 nurse a hangover
time 2 pick apples off the tree in the backyard
while you still can;
time 2 breathe, don't forget to breathe
always make time
to breathe

time to go
time to grow
I'm moving to New Zealand tomorrow. What even is life.
What say you on the matter?

For,
To say the Pilgrims were not of the Americas,
Or thereby American,
Is False.

For,
To say the life force is not moving, pulsing,
Or thereby alive,
Is Wrong.

For,
To vocalize a sonnet as written,
And not vary tone or infliction from line to line,
Or to sing the Song of Madness.
But not feel the grimy groove,
Is flat out and most indescribably improper and in dire need of revision.

But to break off from the meter,
In travels that lead on out,
Progressing into a voyage of the vastly uncharted,

Is to paint a magnificent beauty,
Or write a tale with uncanny comparatives to a Huck.

And to forthwith stand from the bow of the vessel, not the stern, to say when they say, “Nay.”

From the start, on the breaking dawn of this episode, a new life seemed only natural to resurrect;
A chapter to rewrite that had too long needed a rewrite.
And so perceived and attempted it was.

Then, from the inner yearnings, came a need to profess what so vividly troubled.
But in unsure footings, the tongue could not confess.
But in undone attire, the feet would not uphold.
Repressed.
Halt!

The body comes to rest.
Lain upon the threshing block, to gather.
And preface a proclamation of the more just cause.
Ideals certain to be less casually fit than their predecessors’.
An ultimate theory of outlook.

Thus, this is my prelude, to the coming of age battle, and my constitution.
With most sincerity, this is what I proclaim.

The Right of Understanding.
—The act that in any case, every account and depiction of any story and thereby situation, should be heard, allotted, marked, and understood in full. It should stand, unbiased, before all, prior to any fore coming or hasty decision: the act of listening without interpretation by a lonely mind; of not intruding upon or giving up immoral ground in adherence to a person; of not spreading hell, nor involving the uninvolved in personal matters; of letting people share both the tangible and intangible, without hesitation, or living in fear being persecuted and/or misrepresented; and the understanding of every individual soul.—
The Right of Understanding.

The Right of Albatross.
—The act of grieving over loses, and accepting that things will not be the same. The act that time is so deathly important in revival that the absence of its constant equilibrium will cause damage; of stability in the face of fear, whatever that may be, or the fear that is eminent and sure to catch us all in its foot snares; of compassion to the suffering and those who have lost it all but continue to rise again and prove the statistics, kept and known only by the creator, wrong; and of being unsettled in the grey areas. For no one soul can truly ever make it alone.—
The Right of Albatross.

The Right of Acerbity.
—The act of saying what’s on your mind, no matter how pugnacious or acrid it may come out to be. The act of bluntness in dealings, without further discretion, but only after retched hate has built and anger tormented past its due date; of civility towards others in the postmortem; of biting your tongue until absolutely necessary, and only through well founded intent, however deluded the intent may be to ascertain such conclusive foundation, and of arrogance in expression and language for the betterment of others. The act of ripping out the orthodox for a radical reckoning of souls.—
The Right of Acerbity.

The Right of Escape.
—The act of fleeing tragic misunderstandings, for the sake of saving face, and to make great hast. The act of thinking contrary to the proof, setting a pricey wage on your personal beliefs, dissolving unknown barriers and outward influence, and claiming your stake; of being alone to the mind in hopes of evaporating the exorbitant data; of basking in the glory that swift feet have brought; of turning the corner, and establishing new peace of mind to comfort the once boxed in soul.—
The Right of Escape.

The Right of Pursuit.
—The act of allowance to a pursuit in anything, with the freedom of beliefs, and articulation. The knowledge and acceptance that not all pursuits end, nor will they ever on the intended terms. End may or may not be reached, but the communion of trial, even if failed, is all that is needed. No hatred should come of a man’s choice in their personal pursuit; merely the acknowledgment and appreciation.—
The Right of Pursuit.

The Right of Assertion.
—The act which is commonly referenced, and includes great similarity to, the speeches given on the basis of freedom, with the truth that prior most follow up to the same base rule. The acts that no tyrant or thereby abusive parent should, or has the right to, downsize or ignore the declared speech of his child. Nor should one be angered by the truth that so passively flows through their ears. The right to free a man’s mind without a show of emotions becoming of us; just the listening of and rock like appearance of the stern look upon agreement.—
The Right of Assertion.

The Right of Compliance.
—The idea that man-kind can fit in with man-kind; the ideal template that brother and sister is known and used universally, not just selectively, as a label of people; that an atheist can walk into a church of any religion and fit in among the plenty to find a new assurance and home; that no restrictions are made to shun or cross out those unwanted in group, club, education system, religious aspect, or government area in question; that all of man-kind fits in anywhere they so choose when they are there under the prefaced agreement of good and strong intent. After all, intent is nine-tenths of the law. Lastly, that people can never feel out of place or lost in life.—
The Right of Compliance.

The Right of Deception.
—The knowing that man-kind can easily be duped by the specious mind; that promises aren't always kept, and that some stories aren't always true. Often times, there even a change in maxim just when we all become accustom to order; the idea of flowing emotion from one betrayal subsequently falling and spilling into right into line: next in life; that man could plainly be trying to be grandiloquent and fascinate rather than honestly working to be even with other men; that imagination can take over, yet leave a trail of crumbs leading toward reality, and remain in such a constant comatose state until life seems to become better; the mere acknowledgment that the mind can fully overpower the body.—
The Right of Deception.

It was that long ago that we were invincible,
Or too long ago to remember the good ol’ days,
Or too long ago to remember how past, present, or future,

We would always be friends.

No rivals could break us,
No terror could render fear,
No mountain was too big to climb,

We would always be untenable.

Every time we thought that,
Every time we felt safe,
Every time we leaned closer,

We grew older,
Time set in,
Tearing us apart.

As we fell apart,
Thoughts got the better,
Days turned as years past,
And our minds now seem to confess,

So here we are,
Once more staggered in unity,
And for the last time linking arms,

To exalt a power high above our reign,
And sign the final treaty,
Forever binding our humble beginnings,
Before the long journey,
That will, in retrospect, be a mistake…

But at least they will know exactly what We have to say.
A Co-Written Piece with a very good friend and poet Adam Gresham on June 24th, 2009
louis rams Oct 2011
( story  03/14/11)

I saw a man coming down the road
Head held high, eyes were strong.
He stopped and asked of me
If he could have a bite to eat.

His clothes were all torn and tattered
I asked him what was the matter.
He looked at me and his eyes turned down
His face changed from a smile to a frown.

Hard times I have come across
I was let go by my boss
He said the times was making him downsize
And he had to let go of people to survive.
Everyone was doing the same
People losing their jobs was quite a shame.

Being a farmer who had hard times too
I knew exactly what he was going thru.
So I invited him inside to sit for a spell
For traveling these roads could really be hell.

He was given some soup to take
the chill out of his bones
And was told by the farmer that he wasn’t alone.
He was then given some dinner to eat
To this man it was quite a treat.

The farmer told him he could bathe and
stay the night - and if he wanted to leave
He could leave at first light.
He laid out some pajamas for him to wear
Even gave him some clean underwear.
The bed in the spare room was “ oh so nice”
And he slept peacefully throughout the night.
When he awoke there was breakfast on the table
Coffee, ham and eggs, and cream cheese on a bagel.
After having breakfast he felt like a new man
He looked for the farmer to shake his hand.
He thanked the farmer and asked him his name
He pointed to a wooden nameplate which said:
J. CHRISTHISSON- but some call me J.C.
He then told him he put a fresh set of clothes
On his backpack, turned around and didn’t look back.
So he put on his new clothes and out the door he went
Thinking that this man was heaven sent.
As he walked  a mile down the road
He felt guilty that he didn’t thank him properly
For being so kind to a man in need.
He ran back to the farm house and knocked at the door
To be greeted by someone he had never saw.
“I am looking for the farmer who owns this place!”
That would be me ! What can I do for you?
He said : no ! that can not be ! It was a younger
Man, not as elderly with a beard and shoulder length hair.
He gave me dinner and invited me in, let me bathe
And to have a good nights sleep, then gave
Me these clothes and breakfast to eat.
I don’t see how here you could have stayed
When my wife and I were in another county far away.
But there has been stories going around
About someone helping people when their luck was down.
As he said that - the strangers back pack fell
to the ground ,and he heard a clatter.
The man looked at him and asked what was the matter.
He opened his backpack and a wooden name plate fell to the ground
And broke in three- when he looked he could not believe what he saw.
The three parts said : J.CHRIST-HIS-SON
And a cross and rosary laid alongside with a note with one word.
                         HOPE
Now who could this man have been ?
Lorenzo Soldera May 2014
There is a path.
Its rickety bridges dangle you over the jaws of despair;
I welcome the jagged teeth with pursed lips.
A planet does not choose its sun.
This diminutive island orbits obediently, tracing an oblong avenue
Around a heavenly beacon which burns at close range,
But protects from the uncharted perils of a frozen infinity
Beyond the horizons of our understanding.

Books.
Here they are seemingly as plentiful as stars in the great expanse.
For every one I read, there are a thousand more
That could pour out of my fingertips without warning.
Here on these shelves (and in my hands) are words –
Legions of ideas, cries for help, and declarations of the self –
Collecting dust to pass the time.
Bound by a spine, each page is a painting,
Or a singular brush stroke;
It depends where on the museum’s crisscrossing paths
We place it.
I am allowed to manipulate
These likenesses with my own unkempt paws.
I sift through each layer with great care.
Poised above my isolated figure is a cloud of silence.
Luridly dark, it threatens to immerse every shelf in its corrupting solitude.
My fascination decays into sorrow.
Curators grow weary.
Thick lenses become damp with labored breath.
A tomb of these words encases the regenerative key
Our depleted cityscape so desperately needs.
But the museum has not received enough submissions; funding is being cut.
Fingers spanning a soiled palm have grown tired of the dirt.
Limp breezes are now strong
Enough to disconnect them
Permanently
From the words that burn at close range.
They allow themselves to drift, because it’s easier.
It is cleaner, more “cost-efficient”.
Straying from the museums, we drift from realization (from reality, even)
Into delusions of creation and achievement.
Lo! How accomplished we are!
We, the Cash-Rich People of the Thought-Poor States,
In order to form a more synergized union,
Do downsize the words that disseminate from our digits,
Dutifully drowning them out with more rambunctious
Gurgles from our gullets.


Curators warned and a generation of disobedient phalanges paid no mind.
My feeble hands mold a clay cadaver, grooving oily prints into its hull.
This incoherent signature will fall perpetually unnoticed between the cracks.
No one is looking.
6 May 2014.

the fourth poem from the "Disclaimer" series.

© 2014 by Lorenzo Soldera. All rights reserved.
LylexRose Jun 2018
Listen, everyone who out in crowd, the people who heard me sing so loud, playing it out loud, my life is one with no shroud...

We start off without our cheques, but like I love to say "that's just life I reckon"!, Now I'm on a whole other spectrum, they don't see it coming, coming through looking like the A team, so don't waste your life, choose what you wanna be, and guess that happens when you go and handle business yeah, I've switched from style to style until I have no style left, work for this to work out, love with no theft, chasing the feelings until there's nothing left, ParCellio's my name, it's how I'm to be addressed, spend my days, my ways are blessed, and I'll move to the west so my words can't be suppressed and I'll float with the waves, I'm so immunosuppressive...

This is how I'll spend my days...
Ride my thoughts like these waves...
Life onto the west coast ways...
And now seen it all...
Before I hit my grave...

A paradise, to be realised, and be with my kind, up all night to see the sunrise, lead a life of surprise, days gone by with no lies, everyone who lives put hands to the sky, everybody just go with the flow, no need to analyse, you know my ego could do with a downsize, you know I'm **** at singing but ya'll know I can harmonise, had a pretty ****** life but there's no need to sympathise, put my soul into this music it's something I prioritise...

This is how I'll spend my days...
Ride my thoughts like these waves...
Life onto the west coast ways...
And now seen it all...
Before I hit my grave..

Our waves, our breathing, our time, our cheating, this life, my dreaming, our lies, your thieving, now just imagine you caught your wife cheating, and stop thinking, look after that feeling, all you gotta do is trust me, you knew her actions were misleading, but you can't stop breathing, these thoughts are appeasing, one to one I'm believing, sleeping for long you almost left your dreams, these are the lessons I'm teaching, these are the hymns I'm preaching, the followers I'm feeding, this music keeps my heart beating, and my body keep bleeding, giving my life meaning, it's the stars receiving, and it's all I want, help me...
Essen Dossev Feb 2018
I have left the Earth,
no longer entranced by the contours
of his maps.

He thought he alone needed to be Atlas

so that when he trembled
the world shook,
and when he trembled
oceans swallowed coastal villages,
and when he trembled
mountains buried lone wanderers,
and how he trembled
that the very core of the earth
did erupt in molten rage.

“Baby,” I said, “you need to downsize."
Jenie Sep 2020
Existing unrest exacerbated or
change in climate lowering the cloud cover
surrounding the mountain peaks For once
visible the centuries of suffering
now leading us into violence The
tables upturned by an invention spreading
like wildfire across dry meadows
or storm rivers under the seas
Bewildering Frankenstein monster
a stage for
the flowers of the brains to radiate
in strands of light above the lands
Connecting
discoveries and creations
Shared
passion and truth and
kindness valued in
a world in transit An echo
of upheavals from ninety five theses
when the rolling waves of knowledge open
for children to follow their drive
where it takes them
A transfer to learn
without belonging pains while
we downsize our upkeep
and upsize our bonds
our unfettered feet buried in the sand and our
heads held where the wind blows and the
sun shines We dance
We sing to a tune freed
on our way to be and to become
and together
in time
maybe
save what can be
                                     or end with beauty
Myself reading it on soundcloud, a first try despite my accent! https://soundcloud.com/jennifer-poussin/internet-hope-by-jenie-mp3

Ice melting, political upheavals, positives of social media, impact of printing press and Martin Luther's ninety five theses, knowledge available, alternative schooling, minimalism, mindfulness, music accessible. This is a kind of reverse follow up on 'Social media - A modern coliseum'

Limited by the limitless
Shouldn’t be limiting at all
Limited by limitations
Can be limiting at times
Upgrading the limitations
Can downsize a good chance
A limitation lost
To the limitless possibilities
Limitless one can be
“stretch your capabilities to the limit, they might surprise you”
Joseph Sinclair Jan 2017
Moving in one’s lifetime tends to follow a distinctive pattern.
First we start accumulating: family, friends and treasured possessions,
and with that vast accumulation comes the need
for an expanded premises within which they be housed.

Finally with family gone and friends sorely decimated,
comes the time to massively downsize
and all that treasured furniture and bric-à-brac
needs to be discarded and persist only in memory.

I have to ask myself, when the time comes
for me to move to my last resting place,
who will then remain
to guard those precious memories?
Big Virge Sep 2021
What A Crazy Time...
To Now Be... Alive... !!!

As Corona Vibes...
And POVERTY’S RISE...
Are Now Causing Lives...
To Quickly Downsize...
In Ways NOT So Nice...
As People... DIE... !!!

It’s A Time Where Minds...
Are Being PRESSURISED... !!!

By New Guidelines...
From Political Tribes...
Who Are Known To LIE...
Pretty Much ALL The Time... !!!

But The LOSS of LIFE...
Suffering And Strife's...
Creating Blind Eyes...
To What Could Be Contrived... ?!?

In Times Like These...
Arguments Are Seen...
Because Some BELIEVE...
That This Disease...

Is A Very Real Threat...
To.... HUMANITY.... !!!!!

And Has CREDIBILITY...
Because of News Feeds...
And Death Tolls Reached...
That Have NEVER Been Seen...

In The World Before... !!!

Well I’m NOT So Sure... !?!
As This Subject's Forced...
A Lot of DEEP Thought...
And... Verbal Wars... !!!

For Those Who REFUSE...
To Believe That It’s True... !!!

And Those Who Wear Masks...
As If They Will Be...
What Will Save Peoples Hearts...
From Dealing With Grief... !?!

These Days Are CRAZY... !!!
And Have Left Some Deceased...
And UNABLE To Breathe...
Through Their Masks Easily... !!!

Because of... Policies...
That Are Those That Are Driven...
By Political Breeds...
And Medics Submitting...

All Kinds of THEORIES...
So Now It's... VACCINES...
That They’re Saying We Need...
To SAVE... HUMANITY...

Well The Timing of These...
Seems A Little Off Key...
To A Guy Like ME... !!!

No UTOPIAN Dreams... !!!

Because What They're Saying...
Is That Corona’s MUTATING... !?!
While People Are Taking...

The Very FIRST Doses...
of Injections Quoted...
As Being... READY...
To Make This Thing CEASE.

From Being A Problem...
Past... TWENTY TWENTY... !!!

But How Can This Be...
If This Thing Is Changing...
So... REGULARLY... ?!?

So Now Folks Are Zooming...
To Keep Money Moving...
Through Technology...
4G... Or... 5G...

These Times Are Indeed...
INCREASING Issues...
For... Mentalities...
In Those Individuals...
Where Depression Creeps...
And Constantly Feeds...
Like Vampiric Breeds... !!!

... ******* The LIFE...
Out of Minds LOSING Sight...
of A Future That’s Bright... !!!

So The Future Looks BLEAK...
For People Like Me...
Who Are Artistically Driven...
To Now Use Things Written...
To... Maintain A Living...

UNLESS Your Positioned...
BEYOND Social Distance... !!!

And Levels of Thinking...
That Are Now RESTRICTED... !!!

Because They’re Conditioned...
To Use Lyricism That Deals In REALISM... !!!

And Rhymes Just Like These...
That Use... Poetry...
For FREEDOM of SPEECH...

And FREEDOM To Be...
FREE of... THIS DISEASE...
That’s Now Become Part...
of... TWENTY TWENTY... !?!

That Has BROKEN Hearts...
And Changed Life’s Design...
For Bodies And Minds...

In Ways That DEFINE...
That We Are Now Living...

In....

..... “ CRAZY Times “..... !!!
Each day nowadays, seems to be becoming, more and more crazy
Big Virge Sep 2021
It’s TRUE That I’m A Guy...
Who Writes The Type of Rhymes...

That Take A HARD LINE...
Or Stance... If You Like... !!!

On Everything From Race...
To Things That Equate...
To Being... INHUMANE... !!!

In Ways That Dish Out PAIN...
And NOT USING Our Brains...

So HARD LINES That I Take...
Are NOT Made For GAIN... !!!
Or To Join... MONEY Trains... !!!

They Deal In Something MORE...
Like... HIGH Levels of Thought... !!!

So AREN'T Those That Are BOUGHT...
Like *** Acts From A *****... !!!

My HARD LINES Are RAW...
And What Some Call *******... !!!

Just Like The Musical Score...
That's Now Heard By Those...
Who Recognise My Flows...

That INDEED Are HARD... !!!

Like The Musical Tones...
That Flow With What’s Shown...
When I Drop Spoken Words...
of HARD LINES That DISTURB...
Those With Brittle Nerves... !!!!!

When It Comes To The Cards I MARK... !!!
of Those Who LACK The HEART...
To Take Hard Lines And Stance...
That DON'T Submit To Chants...
of IGNORANCE That HARMS... !!!!

Like Those Who Wear The Garms...
of... Parisian Gendarmes... !!!

Who Seem To Want To BEAT...
Black People That They Meet...
Because of Racist Vibes...
That Clearly Rule Their Minds... !!!

These Days HARD LINES Invite...
A Load of Different Crimes...
According To The Tribes...
Who Like To... Politicise...

As If They Are ALL WISE... !?!

In Preserving Peoples’ Lives...
In Ways That Don’t Downsize...
And Limit The Good Times...
That Good Living Provides...

Well My...
HARD LINES CRITICISE... !!!

Those Who Still DENY...
Equality And Status...
For Lives That...
... APPARENTLY Matter... !!!

When They’ve Got Skin...
That’s... BLACKER... !!!

Than Crude Oil In Tankers...
That's EMBROILED With Bankers... !!!!!!

Whose Cashflow’s HiGH...
Like Those Who Fly...
And APPARENTLY Supply...
*** Acts For A PRICE... !!!

And Garments Like...
Their... UNDERWEAR... !!!
As Well As Invites...
To Share Their Beds...
If The Price Is Right... !!!

It’s A CRAZY TIME... !!!
Where Hard Lines Now Find...

Green Miles That RISE...
Just Like Dark Knights... !!!

Who Now Have JOKERS...
... In Their Sights...
For Being BAD Brokers...
Who DESTROY Lives... !!!

Just Like The Movie...
BELIEVE... That’s RIGHT... !!!

WITHOUT Bram Stokers...
Or... IGNORANT P.O.T.U.S... !!!

But Leaders Focussed...
On... CORONA Vibes...
That Are Causing Fights...
And PROTEST Lines...
Where Policeman Try...
To Play TOUGH Guys... !!!

Because of The Spread...
of... CORONA DEATHS... !!!

While Government Heads...
Leave Freedoms DEAD...
Until Monetary Funds...
Start To Cause PROBLEMS... !!!

For Economies SHUT...
Due To This Virus... !!!

That Has Now UPSET...
A Lot of Businesses... !!!

Because of Lines Drawn...
That Have Shut Their Doors...
That Of Course Has Caused...
Jobs To Be... FORLORN... !!!!!

I’ve Never Been One...
To Follow Governments...
Or... Political Crews...
Whose Feuds Make News... !!!

Because In Them I See...
A CORRUPTED Breed...
of... Humanity... !!!!!

Who Much Like THOSE...
Who TAKE AWAY Folks Hopes...
And Deal In Hate...
VANITY And Displays...
That Are... INHUMANE... !!!

That TRULY DISGRACE...
Our... Human Race... !!!

When It Comes To The Rhymes...
That I Sit And Write About Their Kind...

The Rhymes That I Find...
That Define What I See...
In The Ways That They Be...

Are Those That Are Inclined...
To Take A VERY....

...... “ HARD Line “...... !!!
It's not always popular, but it's always straight, just like me !
Jason Theodoroff Sep 2020
It’s getting colder as the months go by
Figuring where I’m going is quite a surprise
The days are shorter and long nights only incise
That the end of the year is coming so we need to arise
And move forward with purpose so we don’t chastise
Any sorrows of our past can’t prevent the apprise
Greatness is coming so we can’t afford to downsize
Our beliefs about our achievement are already authorized
Changing weather and times are here to lionize
That we are survivors as my poem helps symbolize
Big Virge Oct 2020
I'm A NEXT LEVEL Writer... !!!
When My Mental INSPIRES...
...... " Lyrical Pictures "......
In My Written Scriptures... !!!

OLYMPIC Type Levels...
of Thinking That REVELS...
In EARNING Itself...
A String of GOLD MEDALS... !!!!

My Mental IS One...
That Hurdles And Jumps...

Like... OWENS and MOSES... !!!!!!!!

When It Comes To These CHUMPS...
Who Be DISSING My Poems... !!!!!!!!

NEXT LEVEL... They KNOW THIS... !!!
When My Words Start FLOWING.....................

THROWING Like Newton...
And Lyrically BRUISING... !!!

A Panther Whose Movements...
Are... NEXT LEVEL Suited... !!!

BESPOKE Like My Clothing...
And Words I Be QUOTING...

So YES I'm Like... HUEY... !!!
When I'm Called For DUTY... !!!
... Tunefully LOONIE... !!!
Done Hong Kong Like Phooey...

YES... This Flow Is SCREWY...
WITHOUT Bugs Or CHEWY... !!!!!!!
Cos' I'm The Black ***...
Who Shoots Star Wars Movies... !!!

... ONE of A KIND...
UNIQUE When I Rhyme...
Cos' My Mind LEVELS Flights...
When... TURBULENT Minds...
Attempt To Take Heights...
RESERVED For MADE GUYS... !!!!!

NEXT LEVEL Type Crime...
Gangsters CAN'T SUPPLY... !!!!!

Designed To... " downsize "...
This System INSISTENT.....
On LIMITING Thinking...

NEXT LEVEL Type Wisdom...
You Folks NEED To Listen... !!!!!!!
or Read These Words Written...

Cos' I Level Like SPIRITS...
With... Heavenly Lyrics...
Prepared To Bring SICKNESS...
To Those In The... " BUSINESS "...
Whose Levels NEED LIMITS... !!!!!

Like Tests Go With LITMUS... !!!!!!

My Levels Bear Witness...
To... DEITY Fitness... !!!

IMMORTAL So Witches...
Are Hunted And FINISHED... !!!
And Devils Are... LEVELLED...
And Left ALL DISHEVELLED... !!!

Do I Get A... " MEDAL "... ?
GOLDEN Or... Metal... ?!?

My Mental Now REVELS...
On... Lyrical Planes...
BEYOND The Lame Brains... !!!!

Could I Be INSANE... !?!
A Level... "CONTAINED"...
Because I Choose BALANCE...
AHEAD of PURE MADNESS... !!!!!

The Levels of Sadness And BADNESS...
I...................... BANISH....................... !!!!!

Because They Are VANQUISHED... !!!!!
To Levels That... VANISH...
From WITHIN My Sight... !!!!!

Visually BLIND... !!!
But That Level's FINE...
Because It's My Guide...
To... POSITIVE Vibes...

Levels of SMILES Where Living This Life...
Brings FREEDOM From... STRIFE... !!!!!

Like... Rays of SUNSHINE...
On... Bajan' Coastlines... !!!!!

Such Levels Are WHY...
I Sit Down and Write...

Because It's Like Wine...

FERMENTED And PRIZED...
By Tastebuds... REFINED...
For VINTAGE Type Lines...
Prepared Over TIME............................... .......

The Levels I Find...
Indeed Are SUBLIME... !!!

HOWEVER My Mental...
Is NOT Prone To MEDDLE...
Where ARROGANCE Settles... !!!

I Try To STAY... Humble...
To AVOID Finding TROUBLE... !!!

Where... JEALOUSY Lies... !!!

So... Levels of Rhymes...
I Write of This Kind...
Are Written For Minds...
Whose Levels Are HIGH... !!!

So They're NOT For WISE GUYS...
Or... SMART Alleck Types...
Who CLEARLY AREN'T Wise... !!!!!

They Seem To RESIDE...
In A World Full of PRIDE...
And IGNORANT Levels...
That KEEP Them uNSettLed... !!!!!

DON'T Be One Who REVELS...
Where Devils WILL MEDDLE... !!!!!

Let Your Brain Take Your Game...
To The... HIGHEST of PLANES... !!!!!!

And THUS You Can ******...

Up To...

... " The NEXT LEVEL "...
It's all about levels ... !!!
Abdalla Mar 2021
wonder whats up next
wonder why you upset
have you not had lunch yet
did you watch the sun set
did you see the moon rise
at nightfall do you not get rest?
maybe its best
that you downsize
and prioritize
yourself
Ryan O'Leary Feb 2020
Due to austerity as a result
of Fianna Fail steering the
Irish economy over a cliff,
Sean Henry, also known as
elder Elve, was forced to
downsize and move into a
smaller abode in the forest.

Overcrowding was a problem
for his family, especially their
sleeping arrangements.

One day, while he was in the
chicken coup, a flash of lateral
genius came to him when he saw
the hens cheek by jowl a perch.

Why not make them wider, he
thought and so he filed for a patent
using his initials and surname.

It was from this that today's bedroom
shortages in Ireland for Pixies, Sprites,
Fairy's, Dwarfs, Imps. Goblin's, Gnomes,
Pucks and leprechauns are solved by Shelves.

— The End —