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Advent Oct 2014
coffees are my one-way ticket to contemplation–
to realizations and dramas
it shapes my eyes
to view life like a panorama

coffee makes me think
about the world,
the people
and both combined

coffee connects me to the crowd
to their lives,
mishaps
sometimes shared with mine

coffee gates to different events and realities
it awakens wishful thinking
and kicks curiosities

coffee, summed up
is a friend
of all those who've got their heads in their *****

it is a guru of life
love,
and other life experiences


                                                   ­       a.t.
Face after face after face,
they stare out at me.
I look into eyes
full of hope and pain,
fear and courage,
longing and loneliness,

and the faces,
the voices,
the yearning
are all my own.

How are we to find
the one who is looking
for us,
with that unique blend
of terror and anticipation
that makes us
their "perfect match?"

We each want to
change our subscription
to the romance channel.
No more docu-dramas,
please!

So much history,
so many angry
silent nights
The full moon mocking,
cold and distant.

Please care.
Talk to me.
Hold my hand--
Dance with me!
Be fun!
Make me laugh--
Don't hurt me.
Please,
don't hurt me!

We smile bravely for the camera,
affecting a nonchalance
that is gone forever,
and we show our friends that
we have recovered--
the surgery was completely successful!
See?

The scar is barely visible,
true.
But tell me honestly,
can you really feel life Now,
through the scar tissue of
Then?
Written 2005
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson.
Tin Mar 2018
Her vision becomes blur
She sees grievous from fuzzy departure
She keeps her eyes dry
And her feelings shut
She lived with fulfillment
And waggish moment that brings glee
She despises loathful dramas and griefs
She rests her calm sight
Until her river oozes
The anguish gently flows down from its depth
And its core trembles that keeps her melting
Her notion was unlocked
When she set into a tragic retention picture.

-KM

~03-16-18
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
The first main character did not last over the final solo.
the self-assured, quick-witted, skilled and passionate
The earliest appearances were the famous story
the secret organization belongs to an old school
An early American market liked the rugged agent
the stereotypical English gentleman designed the first season
The hidden steel plate concealed in the Bowler hat
An old world sophistication came to the traditional Englishman
the post production scenes were filmed in the studio
The awkward verbal shorthand gave rise to the character's name.
A fourth transmission was to the dead chessboard;
the lighter comic touch had a harder tone,
the serious espionage dramas disappeared
the fantasy elements known as The killer robots
an elaborate leather uniform becomes her signature outfit
a softer new wardrobe was bought
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. - source https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Avengers_(TV_series)
Steve Page Mar 2018
Stories are who we are:
mysteries
dramas
tragedies
comedies.
Each has their own cliff hangers,
their twists and subplots
and the occasional well timed reveal.
They include story arcs that don't seem to add much to the overall narrative, but later
once we get to the next chapter
they begin to make sense.
Heroes, heroines and the occasional bad guy,
characters that pass through and are never heard of again
and some who stay to become integral to the final act.
And then there's book marks -
Giving us pause
for breath
for thought
before we plough on
to the next chapter.

Stories are who we are
and almost as if we collaborate
our stories together become richer
- they become epic
and they will be retold by those who follow.

Stories are who we are
and Jacqui's story is a best seller.
Today we celebrated the life of Jacqui Catcheside.  We heard stories that captured her life and loves.  This poem was prompted by a quote from Jacqui: "Stories are who we are."  And her's was epic.
Ormond Dec 2018
.
Scurrilous birds fly by,
To nest in the little painted
Houses left clear for them,
In awkward circles they romp
Their peculiar dramas
With ****** wings.

Do they even witness
The skies revolving canvas,
New masterpieces each day,
How the light shimmers
In the sparkle rays of sun,
How the golden fields,
Of vales in sighted sweep
And dance, airy etudes,
By the windfall gusts
So suddenly arising?

These visions are marks
For but few, who hear time
As it plays in stepped quartets
Of the spiraling seasons song,
For the lone mercies, gifts,
To ones most gentle, merest,
Spirited eyes who gaze deftly,
Deep in sacred days,
From a window.
.
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
I would imagine my shoes full of broken wineglass
     and I would bicker, shoot, hum, wring
     carefully take them all out,
     with my godcrazed sweaty hands
I would see hallucinatory men in love, all destroyed with jarring
     scars on their arms because of the Great War,
     wrestle each other to steaks in the dead beach
     moaning with their twenty year old cigars
     still in their tortured mouths
I would see children playing at Dawn,
     They never grow older, always the age of eight
     They all played games with me, especially
     In those Westfield overblown supermarkets
I would dream of a pure Strawberry Field's kingdom,
     With John Lennon’s flannel shirts and a picture
     of some artist’s wife wanting to jump off the Brooklyn bridge
     Thinking I’m related to Napoleon
     who I forgotten about, ever since we left Chinatown that day.

So I called the twenty four hour hotline, where all the suicidal people call in the middle of the night,
      groaning in my bathtub, thinking of my visions,
      knowing one thing, I cried,
      “ I don’t want to turn into a cockroach like Gregor did!”
Instead I turned into a Shakespearean agony girl in two days,
     and wrote dramas in my room at midnight
     hissing of the mistreatment of slaves back in 1821.

After, I wept of the romances of the guiltless terraces in the tiny
     exhaustible corners of the street, in the abandoned libraries,
     and went back to school half-insane filled with gibberish stanzas
     and academics that sounded like more gibberish.

Then, I was I crowned with pinnacle ‘Madness of Thou Brain and Sick Oblivion, with auditory hallucinations’

I gave my one synapse yell to my only friend in town, and they all
     sent me to some institution where I felt more belonging than I
     did in eight years.

I met a girl who was planning to read To **** A Mockingbird in an hour,

I met a boy from Juvie who smoked too much and took too many pills

I met a boy who was just as sick as me, we played Twister in the
     dark until the nurses caught us holding hands,
     I never saw him again after that.

I met a girl who completed her suicide two days before her
     discharge.

Can you see it yet? In the tiny inexhaustible corners of the streets?
     In the abandoned libraries?

In little time, my generation will beat their visions to the streets,
     their innovation will rise to daring freshness.
A poem that reflects the society of modern times, a hallucinogenic mess of questions, but still somehow surviving and standing firm in its ideas.
In sweet water
we fish and swim
When we are finished
We give it back
To Pachamama
This music is good
And hunger is our attitude
Diagonal winds
Further our stories
Hundreds of copies
Are made each day
Before we've awakened
Cities taste like fried rice
And we wait on lines
For cokes and coffees
Relativity tries to explain
What it can't deny
That we are unstable and often high
You are gullible like the night sky
As single women
Drift along your incision
It's a mission to not hunt them all at once
Juggle the waterfall and pay for her dinner
Gifts are abundant
And some are seeking you too
Kindred spirits kindle our fire
As tired hands hug their mother
Love is burning with desire
Cool down and we can begin to dig
Listen to the sounds that are far away
Beyond your mansions
Into the woods
We drove for days
And still no one
Understood our need for silence
And sometimes our dramas
We were in need of laughter
So i attached a pair
Of jumper cables
To the inside of your pajamas
Nous sommes
Que c'est que? appelez vous? oui
agreable de amis
comme ça va possédez sapplez vous décrié liberté
War and
Other enemies
There is an anthem of the old son
Called Jesus Chirst
Some proximities
I know you have made a magnificent design
For your home and your soon gone
I've missed you and your talk
You're an old friend and we are just laughing about
Talking about the dreams
There were dramas yes I know
But enough eloquent speeches improptu just as a superiority symbol
Every word you say is used against
Think
What you're gonna see and sometimes in the midst of dusty storm of equivalence
We can't the see the balance the show of power
The jam and slow on down
Take it on
Tempers rising and building a hearing
A limb out here
This is my slam
Check it out
Somewhere in the real fuming summer of my neighbourhood
Rwanda
I was attacke4d by the soldiers of the government
With the truths
And the footsteps of reality
With the presence of temper
I am angry and you shouldn't get me mad
**** it son, you care for a hype
You live to fight
And are stuck in a part of your heart
What's part of an act?
Whatchu talkin about?
SOme rhyme some real reason
Some global phenomenon
Engaging with every prison
Social change is a game and tis for winners
Lets breed and change a grip on remembrance
CHange of scenery ona forever trip of sometime
Yesterday
Here's a resonance
OF bright sunshine
There's the daybreak
And the surprise twist
And the gripping waves of the summer breeze
As they channel through your feelings under your skin
Loving touch
And each hungered one
Sometime's a tribute is killing me in the name of the Lord
Sometime's a tribute is killing me in the name of the Lord
Some time's the name of a God is enough
In the name of;
In the name of;
Strength
French.
Yenson Mar 2
It's So Simple
It's so simple
yet it all goes over their heads
like the blue skies above
like the unseen winds that lingers

You see me
notice me and I freely occupy your mind
I roam in your thoughts
and sometimes I rush in your veins
hot or cold depending your moods

It because, like it or not
I am unique, memorable, outstanding
Quietly Charismatic, now larger than life
A David amongst men
just not like anybody else
because of this, I have made an impression
on you and become an invitee into your selves
a tenant in your minds, a sitting thought edifice
that pillars a saloon in your willing minds

With me though, it's not the same
Why would I see you in my thoughts and mind
there's nothing charismatic or remarkable
edifying, impressionable or admirable here
a bunch of fooled acolytes, some serving staffs
some unengaging neighbourhood trawls
some outsiders grateful for inclusions
some anodyne trolls, some nutcases looking to vent
a mish-mash of brain-washed strangers

All these don't impact my consciousness
I know them not, they know the clone sold to them
They utter *******, it stays *******
they act their dramas, I ain't got a clue
people I give real attention to, don't behave stupid
You sit to watch me leave to bang a door
Good for you, you got the time and a door to bang
thank God I'm not reduced to being you
the trolls write their fantasies, I think Plato, Descartes,
Kant, Nietzsche and a host of others, God stays always

Anchoring my mind to mediocrity is pointless
what gains do I get from immaturity being immaturity
what interest are fooled adult males displaying ignorance
who dances with fools and then complain they are limbless
how can the drivel from scums give me sleepless nights
or be moved by the scripted lies of a double-bluff scripted lies
or play the game of hearts when my heart is not in it
They believe they are playing Checkmate on a King
There is no King, just an ordinary man that THIEVES want
you to harass, intimidate and drive away, so their guilts
and fears stops burning them

If I am fractured mentally, spiritually or physically
I would not be here, I have another home to go to
If I was any of what they say I am or was, I would not stay to
weather a crazy, unjust and unfair storm
If I was a greedy leech, why was I working twelve hour nights
while the Thieves next door where drinking and stealing
If I was some chauvinistic pig why was this only known after
eighteen years of marriage, when my wife was threatened and bullied
How many others have claimed I was this bad tempered Ogre
until I forcefully gave racist and bullying criminals a piece of my mind
If I had done anything wrong I would have gone a long long time ago
Criminals want to drive me OUT to justify their lies and cover their disgraceful crime and shame
I am me, I am here and I stay for I am not afraid of the truth, They are...........
King Tutankhamun Oct 2018
From cold wickedness and sly pack more magnums
Than PI Infamous wise guy see the world's cry
From a Thousand yard stare light year glare none can compare
My flows a magnet hard not to get attracted
Thoughts subtracted from the rhymes abstracted
This ain't an act or a tactics my southpaw be raw
Outlaw living out dramas with out laws
Invoke perdition from the hidden commissions
Y'all still wishin'
Upon a star snake bezel shinin' cane like Jafar
Yo I wonder if they know who we are
Braced into my race now they getting a taste
Of an intellectual toxic waste get sprayed like mase
Ya loosin' sight tryna fight the might
As my cells excite off of a dope write soon to snipe
All the hype got more mack skills than Dolemite
Bringin' back down from the Htown we ******* up
Without the driver I'm
liver
Learn from my past mistakes cuz I grew wiser
Dimitris Sarris Nov 2018
Run the full gamut of emotions
feels like demon's motions.
Great drama
great trauma
that happens everyday.
Don't make light of the great dramas
don't make sense of the great traumas
for within ordinary people lie
demons lie
and love cries.
Love that is older from titans
and gods of old.
Love that is sang by angels
and ancient folk of elven fey.
Love that gave power to
immortal and mortal alike.
Love.
Chloe Oct 2018
BPD
Sometimes I have nothing to write
and I wait for months and months
to pass only to find within time--
I'm still lonely.

Lonely can be so cruel
like solitary confinement
right behind your eyelids
and the sleep you can't awake
rests upon your fate,
you better wake the **** up
before it's too late.

Wake up.
Wake up. Wake up.
My therapist said
something is wrong with my head.
He found a word to describe me,
I never knew I wasn't like me.
Just a piece in a text book...
To describe my whole life.
All the series of traumas,
the abuse and dramas,
patterns and thoughts,
just to be boxed up...

I am not special.
I am nothing great.
But I dont care,
I refuse to ******* cave
into my demise.
Frans Apr 28
I am not okay, and I will never be
You made me like this
Do you even know that?
I didn't try to reach out to you
I am enough with rejection
But I realized, rejection can turn into redirection
From the things that make me a sober I don't wanna go back
But then  you came, and everything became unpredictable
I was okay back then
I was free from unwanted dramas
I was content with my family and friends
I was a girl with unscarred past

— The End —