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IAARA Aug 2018
he remember her.
she was laughing at the hallway that sunny day.
she could put the sun in shame, he thought.
he saw the way her corner lips rise slowly,
which turned her eyes into beautiful crescent moon.
then she let out the softest giggle he has ever heard,
and the way she unconsciously hid her smile behind those adorable sweater paws.

his heart skips a beat,
he remembers.
24th May 2018, 07:07 pm
Jordan Rowan Aug 2015
Softer in the morning like the light of the sun
Don't worry about today until tomorrow's done
Light up your eyes and sleep on the run
Where we will be isn't for anyone,
but Us

Climb into my mind and make yourself at home
I'm not strong enough to ever be alone
Sing me that song so long ago I wrote
Poison me to sleep and swirl me like smoke,
and don't rush

I've got a bourbon headache in my weary eyes
Let's go to the city and dance across the sky
Drop another line with acid in our smiles
In dreams and in life, let's die awhile,
before we live

Tomorrow isn't here until I come alive
Send me the curses from yesterday's drive
Memories from a ***** whiskey dive
Is that my face in someone else's eyes?
Or is it his?
IAARA Jan 2018
i didn't notice that time pass by so quickly.
as fast as the wind blew your face when we met that day,
as fast as the train of memories passed by in front of your eyes,
as fast as those tears rolling down on your face when you reminisce them,
as fast as losing the sparks in your eyes, and the gleeful in your smile,
when i said,
"i can't do this anymore".
28th November 2017, 02:40ish pm
Planejane2 Jun 8
What are you?
Are you a poet or rapper?
Are you Tupac reincarnated
Your voice is so different
Yet so intrinsic
I admire you
I aspire to do
What you do
But lil ole me
Could never say these
Words out loud
I commend you for pouring your heart to a crowd.
I pour my soul to these sheets and release
Them to the public like a long lost journal.
You are brave I admire you.
Thanks for sharing your poems.
IAARA Jan 2018
you came to me,
with your dazzling smile,
but i knew,
you were so blue.

while i came to you,
everything became gray,
and then you knew,
i'm a darker shade than black ever be.
5th November 2017, 07:50ish pm
Planejane2 Jan 25
Why do I see signs? Why do I miss you? Why am I crying?
Do I know what I had?
Was what I had good enough for me?
Or do I just feel lonely at this moment.
Do I long for companionship?
Or were you my true best friend?
I don't know, but I miss you.
If we were never to see each other again, I love you.
Conditionally,
under the conditions that we will never meet again.

...

But I see you in the signs.
I went to take J* to get her hair done at T's,
she told me she from off Candler Road, just like your G
From the southside, but I was up North, so why not go your way.
Sometimes I feel guilty for leaving you but I know I couldn't stay.
My battery almost died.
I remember when yours would never charge,
You would ask for my help and I'd passively aggressively say no
I used to pay 650,
I still pay 650.
I always felt like you were never trying to elevate with me.
I got J**
a Red Bull, her favorite.
I always tell her it's not good for her, but I still got it.
The can had PAC-MAN on it.
You'd always play that game.
We always played games with each other.
I realized there are no signs.
I was just having memories.
I love you conditionally.
If we are never meant to be together again.
But I unconditionally (If you ever call me) will always be your friend.
unconditional friendship companionship relationship love moving on condtional
zen Sep 2018
Blue is a prevalent color
you can find it almost anywhere
at any and every turn
you can spot the color blue almost
immediately, within 3ft feet of you.

Is this the product of mans moodiness?
Are we that trapped and burdened with strife
that we paint the color blue incessantly,
unconsciously?
Or is it the appeal?
Are we that attracted to our own madness?
To the point we wear it on our heads
on our arms and on our legs.
Screaming with sirens of societies ennui .
The mind of many meld with angst and warfare
in self,
bombs away with blues.
Does the blues find man or does man find,
the blues?
Blue is the warmest color
Chris Neilson Jul 2016
Attended a dinner party with poets departed
secured a place in a fantasy scenario self created
Dylan Thomas did not go gently to the event
discussion with Yeats was heaven sent

Conversation with Shakespeare was ***** and lewd
even brawling Brendan Behan found him crude
Wordsworth wandered in as lonely as a lakeside cloud
faced with his eloquence before me I bowed

John Cooper Clarke's showing brought mouths open wide
Jim Morrison spoke, "You've broken on through to the other side!"
The Salford Bard looked dead so they let him in
as refusing him entry a gratuitous grave sin

Heaney was asked for his views on Brexit
a number was taken for dear Seamus to text it
"Here come some female poets?", exclaimed Sylvia Plath
as Browning, Dickinson and Rossetti walked up a path

When I shuffle off this mortal coil
with relics scattered in suitable soil
eternal musing with all the above
would bring evermore everlasting love
Lash Jul 13
everything is on time.
everything is in time.
IAARA Aug 2018
when she came around,
i felt nothing but scared.
i knew that she wasn't going to hurt me,
but her presence was too strong.
i unconsciously agree with everything she said,
i did everything she asked,
i let her do anything she wanted,
et cetera.
it happened for a while.
slowly, she took parts of me as well
and i started to lost myself.
i asked myself, or her,
'how it all went wrong?'
all i heard was eerie silent.
i don't want to blame her
or i can't.

because she just told me,
that i'm the one who let her.
5th August 2018, 11:47 am
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2018
Walking in a company
With the Pet

All of the sudden,
He ran 5 steps ahead
There he entered
A ******* gate

Following him
I too, tried to enter
There I was stopped

“Sir, this zone is exclusive for Pets”,
I heard, what the Guard said.
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Ultimate Specialization
Morning
Moon
Grey wind
Howls

Sophistication of
Alaska snow even
Buries those holding
Bouquet of rose

The sudden ennui
Kills the burning fire
When partly sunny turns
Mostly cloudy
When the universal hue remains
Silent with a smile
Whose sly portrait
Flashes once in a while

Yet this book of a surrealist
I hold close to my chest
Secures me whose oblivious minds
Attempts to retreat to the west
and the feeble flame of
The spark of a pen
Ignites my depressing hay
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2017
at the point of entry (explicit)

it does not strike me strange
at the point of entry
when the heightened senses and the dark subconscious merge

when the lust and the sweat intersect
with ego desire and self is everlasting everything
that the ***** words secretion is sticky on my tongue

when I pant poems born in rawness and tears
on this the last day of the year
and eyes closed see visions extraordinaire
and the Maker whispers in both ears see!

it is the see of what is me,
it is the point of entry and departure,
one and the same,
conception an immaculate mess,
the emptying and the fulfilling, when unkempt promises
are born free flowing and semi-truths transform into
actualities unforeseen and my child cells of new poems
are injected, stored, awaiting the birthright
and the death of publication,
my moment of privileged perfection passes
and frowns and smiles are
one and the same, silken thread wove open and shut

the precision precious circumcising of flesh and soul departing

the utter collapse from within, the drowning in the amniotic,
rebirthing rebutting my denying that I have no more to give

I believe I belong to you for it is what the desire firing cylinders
say repeatedly in the union of the up and the down cycle:

come, come inside me,
I am the pleasure
you are the treasure
in one cup measured
conjoined container
when the point of entry is the point of departure
and with eyes closed from satisfaction and prayer
I see everything all at the same time, uttering:

I am undone utterly and the difference between
the end and the beginning can be seen only
at the millisecond long seven decade coming
point of entry

12/31/17 5:38am dawn dying and new day mourning
explicit point of entry 12/31 nml
MicMag Sep 2018
United  [] [] []  Meanwhile
  we boldly  [] [] []  we fortify        
   decry  [] [] []  our hearts
         the loud  [] [] []  not permitting  
    orange man  [] [] []  entry                    
   wailing for  [] [] []  to anyone         
   a wall  [] [] []  at all          

.
Dead Rose One Apr 2018
3:15am

<•>

unlike a first kiss, a first love,
the premiere awkward first coupling,
which when one recalls it
appears with ever increasing fuzziness (intentionally?)
or not at all, so much so that making it up based on
fleeting hazed glimpses of unmemorized dreams
just to have an “official entry in the cloudy memory,”
is a semi-necessity for regaling...nobody

but you never forget your virginal
projectile vomiting

there is even an emoji for it,
a hurling curling celebration

like a computer reset,
a confessional admission
that includes your own original
original sin,
a purging so complete,
it is a rebirthing of sorts,
a human do over

(c’mon c’mon get on with this, this
no kiss, a most undeserving bizzaring poem title choice)


each and every time I draw forth
the words on the in sides of me
they are ejected with force comparable,
my body rejecting l'étranger,
who’s now escaping

no first kiss, miss, no laughing at one’s first tumbling fumbling,
there is no smiling recollections sweet,
a cover up for your exciting intimation initiations faint revisions

but your first writing!

given up and out in a ejection burst,
a needle in the arm, gunshot
fluids *******, spit out,
without malice aforethought,
and this your last writing

this one, yes, this one.
comes quick, rough and inelegant,
expulsion combustion leaving you
panting on the cold floor you emptied
but
sorta of whole, a clean sheet, so to speak,
swearing you’ll never do this again,
must be an easier way,
to just slow secrete it holy,
or give up the drug of writing
raven forevermore nevermore

nope-u-dope

the vision of a long ago rabbi,
being burned to death slowly
by the Romans, wrapped in
dampened torah scripture scrolls
to lengthen the burnished burning,
a vision burned into a
very youthful boy’s consciousness,
the holy black ink hand drawn letters flowing
from martyr’s mouth, flying heavenward
this fresh within,
a childhood image primal mind,
is ways present
as each letter typed, formulating mathematically,
based on an artificial intelligence theorem,
that updates itself with every missive,
until the new poem is
projectile released in
a single ***** bursting,
purging of the urging

and guess what,

it just happened again

4/27/18

~for Sky, whose poems endearing found me, in her brazen ways,
which is what poets do~
https://hellopoetry.com/sheepskyny/
When Rabbi Hananiah ben Tradyon was caught teaching Torah in public, the Romans decided to make an example of him. Accordingly, Rabbi Hananiah was wrapped in a Torah scroll, which was then set afire. As if this torture were not sufficient, strips of water-soaked wool were placed on his body to prolong his agony. While his distraught students looked on helplessly, Rabbi Hananiah inspired them with his famous utterance, "The parchment is burning but the letters are flying off," meaning that enemies can crush the Jewish body but not the spirit
Lash Jun 24
first,
you fall in love with me..
then if its meant to be,
i give you the time of day..
which is very rare,
by the way.
-
now,
comes the challenge...
ive listened to your rants and empty statements.
ive heard you say you're lost and seeking placement
and i see that you're broken,
just as i am..
you're in need of fixing..
and just as i am,
you're afraid to admit it.
-
at this point,
i know where this leads.
so i take heed.
i run for cover,
or another.
i create space
in-between the place
where the magic should be;
will you find your way back to me?
-
....
Lash Jun 20
he said nothing lasts forever so let's not get our hopes up,
i say anything is possible
or maybe
close enough.
we may not exist in the physical,
able to physically touch
and with visual.
but we can still surf the cosmos,
meet me on a frequency.
speak to me.
down until the death,
no theory poses threat.
we can live forever if we want to,
we can love forever if you want to.
Heavy Hearted Sep 2018
this is my only poem-
and its been  written to include

me; within its home-

in an unspoken prelude
Mhm
Poetoftheway Aug 2017
when you pass my way, know that my Wi-Fi network
requires no password to gain entry,
thus it comes with a security recommendation:

there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable:

how came Excalibur into the rock,
will our children have better lives than us,
can we define accurately finite,
why can't we add new letters to our alphabet,
will my poems live longer than I

so when you pass my way
walk right in, sit right down,
greet madness,
thy new boon companion,

who will not ask you for the password...
8/27/17 11:43pm
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
collect payment support
regulatory regimes including failed merger which
effect enclosed circle including capital
Other responsibilities include:
enforce administering registrations
Responsibility protection
overarching public service
strong cadre investigating previous criminal work
Alcohol aligned
tackle pounds
Their skills range: intrusive
arrest, entry, search, detention.
detain anyone committed
listed parts which deter intelligence
analysis assessment:
the nascent department staff
occupies office
cultures: mating the terrier with the retriever
interim period empowered
relation matters within remit
Customs: ethnic-minority permanent policy of racial discrimination.
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/HM_Revenue_and_Customs
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2015
this is a very important poem to me,
about me, and how Obama slurred my people. and never apologized

<•>

there are mornings when I wake up
in my nativity,
in my born/bred,
these struggling to be happy,
United States,
strangely hebrew-speaking,
Jamaican coffee
morning-thinking,
tallying up
what I am,
who I am,
commanded to be,
on this Earth

the labels that the
outward-looking apply,
the tags,
that you have caused
yourself to be defined,
been staked
to your claim,
in infamy and in fame,
that you have
by action and indeed,

have allow
to be presented
as entries on your
global entry passport,
with visas from the
lows and highs,
places where
your have sinned and saved,
all the acts accumulated,
and those,
in pain,
you have been a witness to

word titles that
tinge and suffuse,
summation of my presentation,
sampler of words
like
father, poet,
American,
even,
a for-real
community organizer,
and of course,
bien sûr,
a
Jew

the quality of all these life's papers,
which I grade myself,
I,
the harshest marker
of all

once a young man,
safely away in college,
under the fresh-air freedom of the
university's in loco parentis,
in the early years
spent quantifying oneself

nearly fifty years ago,
now he,
revealed and recalled
when
his college typed-letter,
lately uncovered amidst his,
recently passed mother's papers

"Don't know what kind of
Jew
I will be, but be assured,
that I will be a
Jew
all my life"

so here I am doing my post-sabbath,
top of the week,
right it down,
qualifying myself,
coffee enraged engaged,
a new Sunday tally

taking all my terms,
reordering,
re-prior-itizing,
what was prior, first,
is no longer

decades decay,
events sway,
simple words change me, stain me

nearing on five decades later,
when this
son of speakers,
son of humanists and 
son of
 writers,
son of proud
Jews
rewrites his list

today I write/substitute,
a new order,
a tag gladly taken,
a marker given,
some what in pride,
some in shame too,
first and foremost,
à la manière d'Lincoln
I am
of, by and for

"a bunch of folks in a deli"

proud member of them
that so identify,
for they are among those
that shall not perish from the Earth

those
happenstance-not,
bunch of folks in a deli,
I claim as
mine own,
as they would
have claimed me

no subtly professed,
a diminishment intended,
and now
an honorific taken,
Medal of Honor provoked and embraced,
proudly inscribed,
visible on my forehead,
in the black ink of mourning,
a Presidential Cain Citation,
a tattoo of letters,
not numbers,
now moves up to
head of the list,
I am
now and forever,
a member of that corps
(appreciate that double entendre)
I am
Je suis
JE JUIF

*"a bunch of folks in a deli"
Just google that phrase

Obama’s slur
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