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Amanda Jean Oct 2016
JB was on my mind
Too many times
Everything he ever talked about
Became my walk my talk
My singing and shouts

I knew from the start that it would have an end.
I can't ever seem to get used to these new beginnings.

I fell into manipulation
I'm recovering
Trying and recycling...
Recovering

My old and new beliefs
The old and new me
Trying to become
What I've always
Been
Seeker of light
Prayer of health
Child of God
Teacher
People pleaser

_


He she won't be ANY GOD TO ME
I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING ANYMORE
HELP ME
LORD HELP ME
LORD HELP ME
Father Father help me
Greetings, it is merely I,
   He who breathes despite the lack of air,
   Gasping at a tenuous breeze.

I'd call this breath of redundant utterings,
   A practice of utter futility.

The breadth of my wonderment at the crushing silence graced upon my deafened ears,
   I stand fast as the verbal stone is cast upon my fragile being,
   Your callousness resounds within my vacancy,
   Occupied by none other,
   Confined within my ceaseless selflessness,
   Even if it is imperfect.

I am merely a soul.
   Cast 'pon the mercifully unforgiving earth.
   Borne brazenly to those who are willing to listen,
   At the risk of those who won't.

******'d herein I lye,
   Gazing 'pon the relentless monochrome.
   Searching for any guiding light.

I am merely a man,
   Searching for a home.
   I am merely the mind within which I reside,
   I am,
   Merely,
   Who I am.

~Robert van Lingen
Que
Que mañana lluevan rosas,
que te bese un ángel en el pecho
y no se me pase el tiempo,
que me alimente tu recuerdo,
y que sepas
que aún te pienso....
MJL Feb 24
Which version did you see
Was it improved
Did you see both
Could you notice a change

Should have just picked Draft
Wait 24 hours
Then Publish
Hmm, maybe a mistake

****
I’ll change it back
No
This is good

Perfections not possible
Different for each person
For each moment
Go with the gut

Wait
This would be better
Edit
****

Step away from the poem
neha Nov 2016
The typical 2 a.m. poem is messy
because middle of the night thoughts have no structure

The typical 2 a.m. poem is deep
because darkness is perfect for existentialism

The typical 2 a.m. poem is raw
because it's hard to edit when you're tired

This 2 a.m. poem is just another 2 a.m. poem
desperately trying to be unique
annh Mar 17
We are all dictionaries;
Collections of words,
Defined by our commonality,
Refined by our uniqueness.

We edit and omit,
Abbreviate and compound,
Expanding our vocabulary,
In the hope of rewriting our yesterdays
Into a best-selling tomorrow.
‘The greatest masterpiece in literature is only a dictionary out of order.’
- Jean Cocteau
laura Jul 2018
baby I got hours of green
to edit, mondays goes dumb hard
like kicking kittens like footballs

leg day to finish myself off
to seal my confidence into the night
i hate days like these, rocky roads

and nowhere to hide from the sun
and the ****, being assimilated into
the lifeless machine in a lifestyle-less queue
Mark Edwards Jr Apr 2013
Time is ever fleeting, by the minute, by the day
It seems no matter what I try my life just slips away

Birth was only yesterday, tomorrow feels like death
This ride is almost over and I cannot catch my breath

The more I think, the more I try, the more it slips away
This **** little paradox ends only in dismay

It can’t be stopped, can’t be slowed, don’t know why I try
They're telling me to savor it, but instead
I wonder,
"Why?"

03/24/2012

Edit:  03/27/2012

Edit:  04/20/2012

Edit:  06/11/2012
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
October 2013

for Maria and Logan...

you need two hands, one foot.
count my years.
each finger, worth a decade.
each toe, well, a century...

birthdays.

point of inflection,
point of opportunity,
presents itself,
to rewrite history.

a second coat of paint,
gift-wrapped in weak excuses.
how I lied, how I ain't,
grimm-fated fairy tales
somebody created.

invisible suits of gold-cloth
worn to my party of
past rewrit and
future foretold.

one single thought,
memory,
seizes my heart,
as I fall to my knees.
cracks my temperate ease,
renders open the
woof and weave
of recycled deceptions,
causing all to be revealed
and ask,

what if the poetry ceases?

you know prostrate?
you taste grief?

have you not but
one pain,
one act,
one deed,
one memorization,
act of cowardice,
act of desertion,
mistake maden, taken,
for which
forgiveness
can never
be given,
be taken,
attained?

do, does, did.

let me then
win the birthday lottery,
let floods of relief from
daily chores, not drown me,
chauffeurs to drive,
masseurs to massage,
cooks to cook,
les delicious treats,
keep theologians, logicians
on retainer, if need
explanations.

none know, can provide,
still and yet, a
priestly sacred chord,
grants relief,
absolution,
song of hallelujah
the ache of
perpetuity worry,
that ancient pain,
grows fresher daily,
the loss of one,
of my body,
my primal knot
unreasonable,
everything should be
permitted to be untied,
on my birthday, no?

this day, these days
breathe through words,
molecules of vowels,
stem cells of consonants,
the fabric, the tissues of life,
veins are a dictionary
of corpuscles,
red blood cells are
nouns of nutrients.

this day, these days,
the infection of my soul
is tempered, kept at bay,
tamped down from the
full flowering
of white blood cells
of rhyme, verse.

what if the poetry ceases?

Though the bones creak,
the body they carry. resurrect
for morning, afternoon
and evening prayers.

thrice daily poetry I recite,
roses red, violets blue,
my marrow transfused.

though my prayers refused,
the poetry act immolates
the fringes of my disease,
for which the common cure
is not currently invented....

what if the poetry ceases?

but be assured, told
scientists hard at work,
on the
forgive n' forget drug.

meantime,
take a bubble bath in
rosemary and mint
trap some words,
tap some words into
your cell phone bone,
the poetry heat that
provides aspirin relief.

through this poem,
on one day annual,
I am relieved, relived
the muse is feted, sated,

gone for few moments
concerns, worries of
exposure today,
agnostic's foxhole of hell
is dis-remembered,
the gloss returns,
the faux dispatched,

ain't birthdays grand?

what if the poetry ceases?

what rhymes with
Sorrow?
mmmmm,
could it be
Morrow?

bath drains, rosemary and mint
odors dismissed, the  Argentine disparu,
the Spanish Medievalists,
the Neo-Raphaelites,
all gone,
didn't they have birthdays too?

didn't know
the Renaissance come
and go,
and nobody
tole ya?

please recall t'is the day
after my sweet city recorded my
naissance in the
Hospital of the Flowers
on Fifth Avenue.

the 'crats put the datum
in the bureau with the
night creams and
the statistics
as follows:

on this day + a few,
six or twenty decades ago +
a few centuries,
a question was born,
and an ache that is
sometimes relieved,
by a poem song.

though do not celebrate,
t'is a day to calibrate,
review, edit, tinker,
rewrite, often a stinker.

always one thought recycles:

what if the poetry ceases?

(how will I breathe?)
Notes: my birthday was a few weeks ago. One of a number poems I've written about birthdays.  This one was modified, but only slightly for Maria and Logan.
Katie Miller Apr 5
I see pictures of places I can only dream of traveling to
Of the milky way across the mountains
Slanted purple blue rings that run across the stars like rivers
The stars like rocks intermediately scattered between the colors
Of pink sunrises with gold flecks of sunshine
And dark blue sunsets with silver reminders of the stars
Mountain cut-outs of a silhouetted journey
The complete silence of our own universe
My whispers muted by your chest as you hold me
And just as no one knows how many stars are in the sky,
I can never quite express how much I love you
I count the colors within your eyes but get lost every time
The invisible rings of Jupiter that dance along your pupils
There are too many layers of jagged lines to keep track of
The footprints on the moon will be there for 100 million years
But your hand print on my cheek will linger longer
We wrote our own adventures between the constellations
Connect the stars and even the big dipper cannot contain my heart
Wandering through the astrological maps of us within your eyes
Your palms hold the moon and the earth
Your eyes have the fiery dance of the sun
Your words have the gravity of a black hole
That I fall into without a stumbling doubt
We whisper true nothings into the night
And our breath clouds into our own nebulas
That form the stars we point at in the dark sky
And dream of being part of them as we laugh into the air
And yours shines brighter than the moon above us
And as the sun lifts and the moon sinks down
We tell each other the secrets we only speak in our dreams
The orange blue colors lift in a smooth pallet
As we reach our hands towards the velvet sky
The jet streams scar the morning with white lines
And we trace our fingers along where the colors meet
Holding each others hands and hearts
As the night melts into the day
And I have discovered a new planet called "Happiness"
Within the universe called "Us"
My boyfriend is the president of the astronomy club at our school, and I really love him, so I wrote this. I'm gonna show it to him someday... someday I will, just maybe not today.
For Aimee's birthday the plan was to get her first tattoo. She was a blond hair lady with a wide bust, huge hips and big *****. Her ***** were one of her best assets she loved to see her body as her canvas her  piece of art; she got her  mind set on getting a rose and heart near her ***** and chest.

She went online booked an appointment in the nearest tattoo parlour to book her consultation to meet the tattoo artist who will be working on this project with her and this was where she met MR Pain.

MR Pain was an  average built man with some muscle tone on his legs and arms. He had tattoo's covering every flex of his body. He wasn't much of the talker in the first meeting more of a quiet and down to earth man. He asked

“ Okay what part of your body would you want the tattoo?”  

“She shyly said “my *****”

His eyes gleamed started to fixate on them as he chuckle

“ well that can be arranged”
I hope you have you brought a design or a piece of artwork with you so I can see a visual design of what you what to have done on your skin”

she took out the picture, he attentively looked at it for half hour and said

“heart and a rose…
this…
could take a few sessions…  
depends on how much detail you want in your design”

He randomly blurted out

“Mmm… I love your *****”.

“More to the point – serious question would you to be able to take on pain? think about it first.

I could show you want you be facing up to with an early demonstration just sign the contract it'll be my treat for your 18th birthday do you fancy hooking up for a drink at my place”

Aimee couldn't see much in the contract the print was tiny; she felt his warm gaze and grin darting around her as she tried to make out what it was saying. His eyes hypnotic and calculating

“Do we have a deal!”

Aimee smiled and nodded she signed her name and said
“can see no wrong in that” its only a drink”

Mr Pain with rasping voice replied

“Excellent!”

Aimee shyly said “should I bring anything with me?”

Mr Pain shrugged

“Nah, I got plenty of drink”
everything we need is here at my place,
don't worry bring yourself
will order a taxi my treat”.

As soon as Aimee got home she had  a bath in honey and milk bath oil. Her ***** were like two huge sunken peaches glazed out in the sun. She got out of her bath robe and placed a long black dress and heels with pink lipstick.  All ready for the evening, she entered the taxi the driver was glaring at her  through the mirror

“You look nice!
“where you going to?”
Aimee gave him the slit of paper with Mr Pain's home address:

the cab driver looked horrified
he silently started to mutter to himself

“that place”,
“another victim;
she’s the third woman this week  
I would be careful with MR Pain,
“I have heard many stories”

Aimee shrugged

“Are you sure?
Can't be the same man
I know ”

Taxi driver shook his head.

“For **** sake
another dippy girl,
what's the world coming to
this is why I hate my job”

He opened up the cab door. Aimee stepped out the taxi

“Thanks for the tip.
Have a good evening.
be careful hunny”  

III MR Pain's Headquarters

Mr pain was waiting outside in the garden.  Dressed head to toe black. His grin slightly twisted and eyes gleaming in the sunlight.  

“Good of you to make it.
Aimee looking beautiful,
make yourself  comfortable.
I will be back with you shortly
I'm with another client.

Aimee waited in the living room for mr pain she could hear random screams and sound of crashing whips from downstairs wailing sounds of another lady
crying out
“ yes master will do what you want”

Aimee was  shaken up by the noise but turned on by the intensity of it all. She laid on the sofa and circled around her ******* with her fingers while doing this she was unaware mr pain was watching her through the CCTV camera. His voice loud and commanding

“I take it your ready for the demonstration”

Aimee stopped what was she was doing
feeling startled by his voice and stammering

“Yes- I - am”  

“Excellent – it may surprise you,
put the blindfold on it is on the table
there will be someone that will
take you through to the main room”

Aimee was feeling anxious and shaken now there were so many things going through her mind

what was the demonstration about ?
Why was there whips and screams?
why was the taxi driver talking
about girls being victims  

“I feel tired mr pain
wish to go home”

“Nonsense you got here,
your not going anywhere
you'll love it”

The figure placed the blindfold over her eyes; led her through a dark tunnel. The room was a cold and damp there were two other girls  with blindfolds being chained and whipped to the wall. Their skin looked as if they had at least 2 lashings a day from the whip there were bite marks and bruises around their body pleasure apparently was substituted equally with the pain. Mr pain got his whip ready; Aimee could not believe what she was seeing around her.  

“Your a fraud, your no tattoo artist
your a *******
a dangerous man
I knew I should have listened
to the taxi driver”

Mr pain voice raspy but more commanding now

“Yes you should have your going no where until my little demonstration is complete
then you can go free ”

He took out the gag from his pocket and placed it on her mouth so she could not speak, grabbed out the  whip and gave her a lashing; followed by gnawing on her ******* and chest;

“You feel what pain is"

He laid her on the table restrained her arms and legs she can not move and fight his advances. He licked her *******; making his way to her ***** licking up and down then in circular movements while Aimee was moaning she started to ***; he then took out what looked to be a huge ***** from the cupboard; pushing it into her ***** her eyes rolled to the side she started to squirm, she didn't know whether to squeal or scream  as pleasure and pain were intensified and felt equal in measure. His **** grew in size with now a huge  hunger in his eyes he pushed his **** further into her making her legs weak and squeal he could feel her heat up and ****** all over the table: he then rolled her to the side and pushed his **** into her *** pushing it all the way in he could now hear her muffled squeals as he fill her up with his ***.

“Demonstration is over; your free to go: taxi will pick you up, its up to you if you return for more but if you say anything about this; I will find you and you'll be back here and will belong to me”  

Aimee quickly put her dress on her. Looking shaken and tired, bruises and marks on her sweat and *** on her too she went straight for the cab. The driver took pity on her and didn't charge her  for the ride.  It was all a distant black memory she didn't say a thing. it was all a blur, a dark secret she was worried about the other girls; did they escape in the end from the crutches of mr pain or did they chose to stay there with him: she was just happy to escape and be free.
Mark Edwards Jr Apr 2013
I wield this mighty shield
So strong and yet so proud
To silence halt and yield
This evil angry sound

Righteous, narrow, straight
This path I strive to walk
Shifting the mighty weight
For each and every block

Tenacious is this anger
My stance begins to fall
My shield becomes a danger
I heed the Spartan's call

My stance has shifted slightly
The anger has been unleashed
The shield that once was mighty
Shall make my loved ones weep

Though I regret this greatly
They may never know
For all they say so plainly is,
"What you reap is what you sow"

*04/09/2009

Edit: 10/01/2018
Mark Edwards Jr Apr 2013
Do as I say, not as I do
Lest you become a failure too

Despite many victories, days in the sun
The cost of it all? Millions to one

For every American alive today
The blood of another paved the way

****** the Native, enslave the Black
This is how free men freely act?

Power to the rich, naught to the poor
Remind me again what we left Britain for

We are America, filled with greed
Squeezing the world, we'll make it bleed

Ironic are we, despite the Red Scare
We let the Chinese produce our wares

The Romans did fall and so can we too
Here's hoping my words strike fear into you

We cannot repent for sins of our past
Make a bright future is all that I ask

America the Beautiful, I scoff at thee
Make me a believer, prove unto me

Until that day, a skeptic I'll be
Saying a prayer for you and for me

A future unwritten, lets make it shine
Aspire for greatness, or intervention divine

10/13/2011

Edit:  03/10/2012

Edit: 10/30/2017
Mark Edwards Jr Apr 2013
These thoughts so wicked, course through our veins, like riding a stallion and losing the reigns

They come down upon us, like an angel of death, the taking of life before its first breath

An act so unhinged, wild and free, like the death of a star, it’s a sight to see

Both horrid and gorgeous, you stand awestruck, never turning away, yet full of disgust

Yet you shun these feelings -- having been taught, but in a moment so pure, you’ve likely forgot

Loosing a display that's most unfitting, your peers be ****** ‘cause you’re unwitting

And so they say, you’ve no self control, shaming you back into your dark, damp hole

Thus denying yourself, due to what they say?  More than a pity, it’s a crying shame!

But I'll not be burdened by these pretentious *****, for I'll see them in hell, and goad their disgust

With a species so elegant and beautiful as ours, to shun our emotions is like shutting off stars

In a night sky, once "oh so pretty", remains nothing but space and a white noise emitting

So let yourself go and shine once again, giving no headway to those who pretend -

That they're on a new level -- beyond comprehension, paying their true selves no ******* attention

While they die of a death, so silent and slow, they'll take their last breath, and not even know

original:  07/16/2011

edit:  03/10/2012

Edit: 10/01/2018
Mark Edwards Jr Apr 2013
No sleep
More study
No play
No money

No time
No care
More stress
Less hair

One chance
No choice
Speak now
No voice

No purpose
No cause
No use
Just flaws

No joys
Just fears
Don’t cry
No tears

No love
No life
No fun
More strife

No will
No breath
No words
Just death

04/17/2010

Edit:  05/02/2010
KiraLili Aug 2016
Write me a moment with your body
Pen us a day of love
Edit my form to fit your pages
And turn each one slowly
Bury your head deep in our book
Let the heat of your words burn
Take your writing as seriously as your pleasure
Find escape in the story
Dip your quill in black ink
And let it drip on white sheets
Mark Edwards Jr Sep 2015
The want, the urge, the need, desire! Like burning coals under blazing fire. Impassioned flames evoke; inspire, anthems betwixt emphatic choirs. Yet once was loved now holds such ire, for now I tread upon thinning wire, with none to help in times so dire, turned sinister, bitter, a cunning liar.

Of petty games I've now grown tired, and all the while my soul grew drier, now sapped of life, I'll get no higher, submitting to anguish like slave to sire.

Leaping now into a bloodstained mire, seeking solace, my new desire, but what I'll find is so cold my friend, for all I'll find is the bitter end.

Edit: 10/01/2018
I move behind the scenes
And watch the starring actors

All the world’s a stage
But at times I’m a redactor

Changes must be made
Foolishness a factor

I watch, I wait, I wonder
Is silence an impactor?
Mark Edwards Jr May 2015
No matter how you travel -- be it far, be it wide, be it firmly on ground or soaring through sky, you'll never escape its discerning eyes, the pain, the misery, the veiled lies.

The past is quick and ever weeping, waiting, watching, stealthily creeping. Ever faster, making haste, no matter how you've kept your pace. The fear so clear upon your face, with sweat on brow your heart does race, while thoughts so mired in your disgrace dance through your mind while leaving trace of things you've done, of things you've said, of those you've left now laying dead. Of how you quake, of hearts you break, the nightmare from which you'll never wake. And yet you run, try to escape, to no avail for it's too late. Cuz there's no rest for men like us, we'll turn to ash and fade to dust, but until that moment, until we faint, until we meet our haunting fate, we'll strive for glory, we'll burn, flame on! Until we fizzle... until we're gone.

04/23/2015

Edit: 10/1/18
Mark Edwards Jr Oct 2015
A kindly heart, a hardened soul - the world has wrought to make it so, and though with love you'd hope to find equivalent hearts of those as kind, you're left with naught 'cause what you'll find is twisted up and shoved inside a decaying soul and broken mind comprised of pain and stalled out time.

Like shards of glass from symphonies, their hearts shriek out their shattered dreams, and while that pain you met with love, your olive branch brought on by dove, they shot it down and watched it die, and with that stick they drew a line, dividing ground and erecting walls, for a lonely castle with empty halls. Closing gates and closing minds, to the outside world, to the great divines. Leaving words on bated breath, their ringing ears have now gone deaf, the love you sought is now bereft, and the wars you'll wage are all that's left.

And as you sit here looking back, you long for that which to retract, and wonder why you'd even tried, for the love in you has likewise died.

For you I hope this isn't true, but for the rest, it's all we knew, yet clinging still to fleeting hope, while knowing dread is all she wrote. Like ash to ash turn dust to dust, my heart of hearts is likewise crushed, and in the end I can only cry, as I lay here bleeding... waiting simply, to die.

10/11/2015

Edit: 10/01/2018
Jose Gonzalez Sep 2016
I am a traveler commuting on life's rails,
going station to station.
Disembarking at different destinations,
each time spent differently.
The car can be claustrophobic with passengers,
suffocating me in anxiety.
Other times, just a few of familiar faces,
friends, families, locals, daily riders.
Some talking, of life, nonsense, all or nothing,
each making their way.
There are times of light, above ground and of sun,
the rest tunneled, falsely lit, dark.
The sights of open land, buildings, and of the day,
the faces of love, hurt, hurried and grind.
Day in Day out this cycle goes on,
different,yet the same.
I am part of this mass exodus to get somewhere,
yet my commute is my own.
At times I arrive with many at the platform
bustling towards their tasks.
Trains for life come and go, expresses to locals,
roaring with noise, movements, purpose.
However, there are times i am the only one there,
Occasional train, in silence, alone.
Those are the days that my commute seems fruitless,
leaving me to wonder,
Have I just been passing it all by?

© J.L.Gonzalez75 09/2016
* this is a rough edit... am not a poet, but just write.
Eloisa Jul 27
Yes, you are indeed right.
I’m weird and a bit strange
unconventional, odd, different.
But no,
I do not want to cut myself into pieces to suit
to your approval of what’s normal
and what’s needed.
I do not need to edit myself to fit in.
I do not need to apologize for what
and who I am.
I am strong enough to live my life in my own terms.
I dance to the beat of my own music.
It doesn’t matter if nobody understands me.
I am just being me.
I am real.
I am beautiful.
I am unique.
I am a proud misfit.
~ A co-worker asked me a week ago of what I usually do during my free time and I  answered that I read poetry and scribble some pieces most of the time. Shaking his head, my reply invited a chuckle and an eye roll  from the others as well.
melinoe immortal Aug 2018
I will edit my soul
with the colourless liquid
that escaped from the two overflooded doors
and stained page 255 on
the medical ethics section.

'Drop on the floor, drops.
Tear drops
never to return.'

A lullaby moaned
before hope runs out of
the small, plastic bottle.
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