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brandychanning Dec 2023
so now, do I, I do,

he favors the the top of my breast ,
where the spaghetti strap leads
his eye lower, to the fulsome swelling,
curves he favors in a linear
world

these magnets of human flesh are
attributes of me, unsolicited, part
of my “collegial endowment” and
yet,
no denial,
this egg of my accent,
a fullness employable, knows well,
full employment

ah, mon oeuf d'accent,
the accent of my accidental,

for lives are just linear lines
warped occasionally, nicely.
swelling in wonderful frailty,
the curvature of the human
eyes, that draw curves of
human spirit,

^that are drawn by sprites
with wickedly humorous
insight
Andrew Rueter Mar 2018
We are the people we are
Far from the people we should be
Humor makes up the difference
In every uncomfortable instance
Humor I must know
To soften the blow
And make life enjoyable
Humor is always employable

Negativity carelessly creeps
From somewhere deep
I feel tragedy
Grabbing me
I must rhetorically escape
These problems will deflate
Once I receive a joke
After taking a ****
With familiar folks

We're all somewhat stand-up comedians
In front of our friends
The pros have no way of seeing them
So specificity we lend
It can be trite and true
Or bright and new
Curing the blues
To help get you through

To keep from constantly imagining
The endless amount of tragedy
I must have a sense of humor
To ignore the hectic rumors
Or the life ending tumors
Or the treacherous suitors
My only tools are words
And all my words are tools
Turning sages into fools
If they want to bring me down
My words can steal their crown

The albatross around my naked neck
Is my greatest source of comedy
Adding perspective to a stacked deck
Turning drama into Dramamine
Putting on a mask like Halloween
When the darkness follows me
Humor keeps me from wallowing
In my own self pity
I'd rather feel giddy

I hate myself so much sometimes
Humor can help remove that grime
Not getting rid of it completely
But not letting it cut so deeply
It's the only thing that can treat me
When life decides to beat me
I respond by feasting
On pain
And ******* out harmless humor
Which drains
The sensation of being a loser

That feeling you get when your friends laugh
That feeling you get when your friends clap
Like violent gunshots in the distance
Humor alleviates the agony of existence
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2014
Let us assume,
that in this life
we obtain about
ten thousand different words,
employable and reusable

the exact number matters not

this accumulated list is your
Outer Structure

the how and the why we write,
the compulsion and the illusion
is DNA at the cellular level modified
by every second of our lives,
every word tabulated and stored

this is not an essay,
this is a poem

This is a 2:42 in the mid of night poem

when the the basics rule,
when the questions get asked,
and the answers (for me)
either
don't come or are
not oft to your liking,
but good for you,
good for us,
that the asking of the questions
is our poetry

so let us confess,
so let us address,
the primary screen,
the essential filter
the place where all poems begin
is the me

most of me is given,
but you add words,
you pick and choose the vocabulary,
that refines your me

sometimes your me excels,
you use your me words
so so well,
but sometimes not

this structure
is where we all begin
but should not ded end

move beyond,
translate your me
into us
find the way to comprehend
that you must pass over the line
of me and
excel anew

write a near and new me,
take your own vocabulary,
your own DNA a given
super duper impose your word~life structure
on me in ways that
gasp me into a new seeing

give me your genes, your word cells,
teeming with new connections,

then happily
will I take  
your poems,

delete the Y,

make it
our poems,
add it to my cellular vocabulary,
by doing so,
establish a physical genetic connection

truly then our ink is our blood,
and we are poet brothers and poet sisters,
cousins of the words
for the living poets whose genes and cells teem with words
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2014
taking in early October
Vitamin D naturally,^
another too-oft-writ pretense that
Queen Summer yet smiles upon this
erstwhile, part-time,
nerve bundled human...

though facts contradict,
in summer uniform
he still emerges to bay and chair,
his confessional, his holy temple,
his Houdini escape chamber,
though the temperature
will not top 60 Farenheit

duplicitous as long as I can,
in this simple and so many other
lifetime items far-less-than-trivial,
incapable of obeying my brain's map
orders to cease and desist,
(or dress appropriately at least,)
to see the entirety of oneself
in the broadest of spectrum,
all colors unvarnished, fulsome,
truths rawer than any fictional 3D horror film...

what you do not know,
what you shall now know,
is Samuel Barber's Adagio For Strings
plays once more,
this time the strings
pleadingly command that now,
this time I write
unobfuscated and obtrusive...

(Ah,
those thrusting O words,
so employable, making a face shape surprised
into a rounded, somewhat circuitous
O)


decline to describe the decline,
the angle, the steepness
to-be-determined,
not to be denied for the extremities advise
the battle internal has commenced,
and without a band of brothers,
a solitary, wandering, knight-poet errant,
in search of a battle not,
for the embattlements within are
under attack...

yes errant,
off course,
of course,
the errant bay breeze
speaks to me one more time,
chiding the me-child like a goodly parent,
firm but gentle, modulating tween
just cold enough to make me shiver,
but enough not,
no, to drive me inside...

not knowing, that my inside nature
presently rebellious, all manner of riotous
transmissions beseeching pain medication

foolishness all this temporizing diversionary tactics,
the commencement is the commencement,
the beginning signal fires an ending,
a landing on runways unknown,

fear is not present,
how could it be,
I was warned once and then repeatedly,
so the brain begins yet another remapping,
contours of misshapen sensory inputs
distorted and then the  breeze
over my shoulders reads these words, and
disappears to comfort me by
unopposing the sun vitals,
letting them enter unimpeded...

so
smile creases appear
across poet's tempest face,
for though his hands
splayed and warped,
the trigger fingers stuck
and cannot pull,
the nubs obey the eyes
and solace him,
for as he promised himself,
to himself,
those poetic nerves
will write on
long after all the physical ones,
with errant breezes,
and summer peace,
gone, gone, gone...



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
^*(Oh! how that word personal,
Naturally, naturally
doth haunt me,
for mine own nature be the
leader of mine enemies allied)
Oct 5, 2014
David Ehrgott Apr 2016
A Cop Murdered an innocent man yesterday on Summit Ave.
no charges were filed

Hey fella did you hear?

what's that

Construction companies are creating housing
for 15,000 new residents in Hackensack, NJ

for who?

Chris Christie's mob buddies.

Chris Christie doesn't have any mob buddies. He doesn't
have any buddies at all. He just sits there on his fat ***
eating every ding **** in site.

Hey, the press said he lowered unemployment by seven per cent.

Don't believe the press.  The reason unemployment is so low is that the
seven per cent who Were on unemployment are now considered no
longer employable. And were moved off the list to social security.
Resulting in the change.

Hey, aren't the cops there crim.

Shhh, they're trying to get people to move here.

Have they tested the water yet.

They don't have to. Water is something you purchase off the shelf.

Where?

HERE!

in hackensack

Not in Newark Bay where they haven't even looked yet.
In 1970 deadly levels of thorium were found in and around Hackensack, NJ
And you thought Flint, MI was bad. After a 40 year cleanup effort, they are still finding it in a town where the police rob the dying and disabled for kicks.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
while contemplating tomorrow's dinner: an aloo gobi (potato + cauliflower) curry, and a chicken korma - wishing it was a little bit more of a "cultural appropriation": seems i can't get a turban for the love of god, or becoming a transvestite in a sari.

could have been an employable chemist,
working on esters in a dolce & gabbana
perfumery; the cardamon pods got me,
what can i say, other than:
      other than - they call themselves
storytellers, artists, these modern chefs,
i'd prefer to call them the understudy of
chemists;
  and **** i was good at organic chemistry...
the other two branches:
  dead, inanimate often, inorganic (geological)
and the physical... too dead for me,
not enough perfumes, enough colours,
just digits, chemistry for the autistic.
beside the point,
you want to know my favourite cycling
route?
  when in one summer i lost almost 20kg
and then "faked" putting them back on,
oink, bloated from alcohol?
              that french braid in school didn't
help steer away the jealous eye either...
about a 50+ km route...
  let's just say the following:

1. radwańska (route 754)
2. down the 754 through:
       sudół, krzemionki opatowskie,
      magonie, maksilimilanów,
    ruda bałtowska, reaching
                                         bałtów
3. heading into the masovian voivodeship,
  and then a mix of
4. wółka bałtowska /
         borcuchy /
          eugeniów /
              stara dębowa wola /
         sarnówek duży /
        adamów /
           leśniczówka /
      wółwka trzemecka /
  wółkwa bałtowska /
        nowy olechów /
              and then into the home straight
on
5. siennieńska back into ostrowiec
         świętokrzyski...

of all the places i cite, i'm pretty sure no
google car ventured into...
i'm not going to check, i'm just going
to assume...

yes, i lived in a city, where you could
see timber structures from
the krzemień period in human history...
krzemień? flint!
                         a flintstone settlement
lies about 10km from where i was born...
looks kinda cosy...
     a wooden wall and all...
   sure, the english can boast about their
stonehenge,
but i was born near a very, very old
flintstone settlement...
                i never realised how
potent its existence is to revel in...
that's older than the iron age, the bronze age...
that ******* old, i'm telling you...
     and look at me, still defiant with
the darwinistic **** of studying history,
how we have managed to jump so far back
and leave a massive grey area in between..
i was born next to the flintstones,
          where were you born?

p.s. and as i can remember, along the route,
i used to buy goat milk from one of
the ladies in the villages i passed;
+ badass of a bike too,
   dubbed the "terminator", crimson red,
hard frame,
        a mountain bike, heavy tires,
i can tell you i beat a guy on
a *kolarzówka
(tour de france type bikes)
one time...
    they don't make 'em as they used
to.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
oh, lookie 'ere, they actually want our
expertise of "rhetoric" without rhetoric?
really? are you sure?
has man's advancements become
overbearing with the size of the populace?
my, what a crying shame!
i am almost bound to collect
tears from these eyes,
and combine them with the seas
to gather the quote from
samuel taylor coleridge poem:
water, water everywhere, but not a tear
to drink...
salty enough for you, *******?!
sucker this punch, from the aquatic
desert you hobo!
    i'll have you make the least
of your mistakes, i.e. craft the last
questioning soul on titanic,
excluding the sombre and sober
mechanic.... **** the captain,
along with concordia...
you do the math of accounting
for judases... mind you: judas was heroic
compared to "st." peter..
  i am one for scribbling out from
the gnashing jaws of satan,
personally i think judas to be heroic,
the friend that betrayed right out
in the open, than hide his betrayal...
   come on, you think that a guy wasn't
unpopular that he required "identification"?
so you really believe the walking on water
crap?
      ask me about defying physics,
but ****** well sure am i:
that you won't!
        the size of man's populace,
and the worth of labour gearing up to
auschwitz 2.0...
            who can tell?!
          man's labours will become all
the more obsolete with man's populace...
work will not be deemed necessary,
but fickle, or "lost" interest...
   work will become a hobby...
arbeit werden zeitvertreib -
and no more will be said,
         or be needed to have been, said;
only the most inquisitive labours,
only the most inquiring of labours,
only the per se labours,
those distinct handling of tools -
the arms that leave the devil with the least
amount of questions...
the "suspecting" loss -
   the unsuspecting "lack" -
        joiners & the "schemers" -
                the frozen traditionalists -
and the quick-quill equipped stand-offs
of brooding bureaucracy;
as we were: layer man by number alone,
and he will not become the number
worth employing -
while you layer man by worth of employment
alone, and he will not become
the employable kind, namely that the work
he "stumbles" upon, will have no
existential demands,
     other than for the blackmail
argument already suggested:
as the "necessary" argument to have;
words can reclaim a tinge of arithmetic
sometimes, even i write sentences sometimes,
that have no bearing,
but in having "no bearing" are accurate,
only that, upon rereading,
they were once clearer having been written,
than having been re-read;

p.s.

work was simpler in being understood
with less people than with more people,
and, subsequently:
less work being worth understanding
given the lesser good of more people -
for it is hardly a compliment
to advance as much as we have,
and to subsequently encourage a rise
in populace...
  why have children, if so many jobs
are becoming mechanised, automated,
obsolete, or simply made in china?
you can't have a surge in the number
of ethnic population, if you don't have
jobs for them! no jobs, no poo-*** pie!
******* dumb-arses.
Norman Crane May 2021
childhood ends not with a celebration
but by the sound of an alarm clock,
with clothes laid out for you
not by your mother on your bed but on the sidewalk
by the governor / engines idling at red lights,
they never change, we never doubt,
we've been dying here for years,
isn't it strange that nobody ever gets out?
we remain in obedient slow pursuit,
we zombies of the morning commute,
we wageheads, we employable undead,
we were people once,
we listened to what the grown-ups said
Grace Sep 2020
After careful revision…here we go.

This was written in response to a journal post by another user, a rather delusional ex-Daddy who needs a little clarification on his facts. I utilized the reference name “Letter Writer” because I do not believe acknowledging him with attention would spotlight the accurate “*******” message I’m trying to relay here. It is long however it was important to me that I addressed each part of his *******, in essence closing this crazy chapter of my life. It is not required that you read it all the way through, however you are welcome to if you wish.

When I originally wrote this piece I was very flippant in my use of the Letter Writer’s name and for that I will apologize because while I do believe he should be called onto the carpet for his ****, my using his name was the same level of wrong as him using my name when he wrote the journals of his own laying out what he believed were my every “trespass” against him. Well my friend, or thankfully not even one I would qualify as more than “Somebody that I used to know”, there are a few truths that you seem to have forgotten so it appears you may need a refresher course. The reality is I don’t need to use your name, you know exactly who you are and although you shouldn’t even be able to see this I’m sure you will find your way to it. So without further ado, read on. For the sake of your privacy I’ll simply refer to you as Letter Writer. As you so carefully laid your insults to me into words onto the page for all of the Fet world to see, although they have somehow disappeared now. Pity.

To further explain, the original Letter Writer’s words will be in bold quotes as I do not claim them as my own, but they will help my “responses” make sense.

”Oh my dear Gracie, where shall I begin?”

Those were your words, or don’t you remember?
The only way I can respond to that is simply to defend her
The fact that both she and I are no longer yours,
Better yet, we weren’t yours to begin with.

Oh dear, bi-polar, (thank God in Heaven you are no longer my) Letter Writer…

You spin your words so carefully to shine your condemning spotlight on me,
Acting as if my absence from you, has left you in such grief.
Oh wait, I misunderstood then? You really don’t care you say?
That’s funny because your continual writings, your constant turn of phrase;
Which repeatedly speak directly to me, rings out with a different tune I’m afraid.

Oops, maybe you actually don’t see it? Well isn’t that a shame?
Well I’ll make it really simple for you and I’ll even respond in your own way.
I’ll even use the same condescending tone which your words always displayed.
Oh gee, I DO hope it relays:

”She used to say she loved me when I swept her off her feet”

That was before things changed between us
Then I was nothing more to you than your “treat”.
When all our “dynamic” meant to you,
Was simply another avenue to pursue
More numbers in your fan club or our Littles’ group;
Or let’s not forget the “loves” and “views”
Which seemed like such a priority to you.

One little thing I should remind you of, oh Letter Writer dear,
Is that group that you and your new Little now share?
What you both call “home”, is simply the group where
You and I played almost constantly,
A place that you specifically built for me.
Not that I’m looking to collect on that lease
But one thing I do wonder you see,
How does she feel to know she’s only following my lead?
Well regardless of her feelings it’s the truth that you seek,
Isn’t the taste of reality sweet?

”She used to say she loved me while she practiced her deceit”

Wow Letter Writer my dear, you’ve really got to learn to breathe,
You speak as if you were a dream,
A knight who swooped in to rescue me
When in all reality
You never really delivered on the whole “Daddy” thing,
Leaving us unbalanced, and forcing me to lead.
You’ve created this whole fantasy, which to you isn’t too far gone.
So rather than choose to beat this dead horse,
I think its best we just move on.

”She used to say she loved me and I thought it was a fact.”

I used to say I loved you and I’ll admit at one time it was true.
There was a season in our lives, (no matter how brief),
When I imagined my happiness would be with you.
However my education came later much to my relief,
Now I’ve discovered a real level of truth.
And I feel like it was you who offered deceit.

”She used to say she loved me just to get inside my head”

It’s hysterical to me that you say I played games
Just to get inside of your head.
Oh I don’t have to invite any others,
You have your own circus there instead.
Not my circus, sure as hell not my monkeys
That’s an issue your new “Little” gets to address.
It’s like this delusional place where you’re blinded
Against the plainest of realities
In failing to see the truth behind my words
Of exactly what you were to me.
No worries, read on, and you will begin to see.

”She used to say she loved me when we Skyped all through the night.”
”She used to say she loved me to pretend that all was right.”

Regardless of what you choose to believe
I trusted you with a lot at one time.
Then you showed me my trust had been misplaced,
And instead of the “Daddy” you promised I faced
Daily struggles to settle the Little you claimed
Never existed all along.
Anyone who knows you, well enough in fact, can clearly see
That within you can be found either a split personality,
Or simply a Little refusing to accept or believe,
Where it is that they truly belong.

So let’s keep going you know I have to make sure,
To address each of your ramblings just to ensure
That clarity is given, as it seems that you have endured
So many hardships that its hard to count.

”She told me that she loved me when I tucked her into bed.”

How funny of you to mention tucking me into bed.
You mean that lovely nightly routine when you looked at me and said,
“You’ve got what you need, now make yourself sleep.”
So let me just say wow, that’s truly unique
Your heartfelt delivery really cuts a girl deep.
As our bedtime routine instead of offering release,
Died rather slowly, until I’d rather fake sleep
Than pretend it even remotely worked,
Which would be one hell of a joke indeed.

I really hope that you’ve improved upon that, although not for my sake at all.
My concern is for the Little you “Daddy”,
Who I’d think must have a pretty strong resolve.
To be so accepting of whatever charm you’ve sold
Hell in her mind, you must **** gold
That she would be willing to reach into her very own soul
To create her own imaginary Daddy to behold
To find her own peace for rest.

”She told me that she loved me when I gave her pants and sighs.”

So on we go, moving forward yet again
To read of the pants and sighs.
Because after all the only thing a relationship needs
Is *** and more ***, didn’t you realize?
Oh wait, haven’t you heard? Maybe you haven’t after all,
There are actually relationships that do invest their all
Into other facets of life, not just the physical.
As if it were the only connection,
Where there is no need for the emotional.
Because let’s both be honest, that’s what you wanted if you’ll recall.
There are serious concerns for your health.
Not only speaking physically but I address also your emotional need
This obvious drive for you to speed, barreling into everything head first.

”She used to say she loved me after ******* other guys.”

So now let’s speak briefly of the “other guy”,
Whom you so righteously point out.
That point is completely irrelevant to me,
As I was so privileged to recently read
That from your ex-wife you are finally freed.
After what, 4 years, your post read?
Funny to me that when asked point blank how much time had passed
Since your divorce had been gone,
You looked directly at me and said, “It’s been three years since it was done.”
Wow! The courts must really be struggling
To clear out the back-up you see.
If it was finalized three whole years ago,
Yet you were only just now freed.
So now who offers deceit, Letter Writer?
Admittedly it’s not too far for your reach.

It’s just hilarious to me,
How you preach ever so righteously
When you were so willing to fly to **** me
All the while spewing your own lies, don’t you see
The irony of it all?
Yes when we met I was married it’s true.
A fact which I did not hide from you.
At least I was honest about what we were,
Why could you not offer the same?
You were the other guy for a short sum of days,
Until you no longer met the grade
And then suddenly it was all on me to pay
Your fun having ended, your hand having been played.
And now our game has come to an end.

How easy for you to step back and play stupid
When you were between those sheets with me, lucid
All in all, very well present in that moment
Until now, when you’ve conveniently forgotten, how appropriate.
Whatever’s said now, the deed was then done.
So grow a pair, dear Letter Writer, man up and move on.

”She used to say she loved me while she lied to her best friend.”

Oh yes, and about the best friend that you speak of?
Don’t continue to be so naïve.
She was involved in this more than you say,
However this isn’t a game that we’ll play
As she and I have re-bonded, recovering our place
And we’ve left our trash on the curb.

So let me pause for a question, oh thorough and calculating Dom.
For someone who claimed to be monitoring me,
Who has such knowledge, access to technology
Let’s speak about this instance of when I allegedly did cheat.
How is it that of this mishap you were so unaware, until I inadvertently shared?
It seems to be, oh no possibility there,
Another lie did my sweet innocent Letter Writer bare?

Oh I’m grateful for your lessons, the ones you’ve taught me here.
If someone radiates crazy, it’s wisest to just steer clear.
You’ve demonstrated so clearly every one of those traits.
Which tell a girl, “Crazy lives here!”
You should have the license plates made.
Like e-mails to my parents,
Within months of when we did meet.
Confessing your undying love for me and your long term plans to retreat;
Uprooting yourself and moving to a new state,
To come and move in with me
All before my divorce was finalized,
Which you don’t talk about; oh gee.

Continuing on that thought, there is so much to lay out.
Let’s see, constant posts indirectly at me here on Fet,
Or the job you still find yourself without?
Oh wait no, you’re an entrepreneur now,
A leather business from what I hear!
Congratulations, that’s so exciting.
So let me ask you, how does it feel?
It’s eating me up, I must know!
The knowledge that your source of support
Is your Little’s savings account
Rather than an employable skill of your own.
Or you know, one thing is for sure,
Family is always good for a loan.

”She told me that she loved me while she had another guy.”

In the same vein, this new Daddy you’ve called out
Has taught me lessons as well, but they’re simply more about
What to expect from a Daddy, things I never got from you.
Not how to balance life with a switch or a little,
Which you demonstrated those how-to’s.
His traits illustrate Daddies a little can genuinely trust
And who gives a **** for my wellbeing too.
Beyond the point of being a toy for him to use.
Which I’ll say is fun, when the balance is there too.

I must admit, my favorite part to this whole tale
Is that you still have this need to prevail
So you must broadcast your lives in detail
Just to prove how happy you are.
Well in that I say good luck to both of you
I can’t imagine how it must truly exhaust you two
However I can’t choose for you, to find happiness within yourselves.

With that, in one thing, I agree you speak truth.
Your words are stale and hollow, having lost their value
Funny though it seems your past haunts you still
As you can’t seem to muster the strength or the will
To leave all the ******* behind even still
I’ll bet you’re already planning a response.
However I’ve said my peace, no more duels, I’m done.

In reality I’ve found where my puzzle piece fits,
Where I am most happy, in the midst of all of this.
I hope you reach for your Little, not dismiss
Finding solace in what you claim to have in line
And within that solace learn to leave the past where it belongs, behind.

Grace
07/07/2015

— The End —