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Seanathon Nov 2018
Think as if JJ Abrams is watching
Speak as if alone
Be true to you amongst all the sounds
That way your presence will resound
And to yourself, you'll always be known
how to
midnight Aug 2018
"Envision yourself working in your own office."
"Envision yourself writing prescriptions for your patients."
"Envision yourself receiving a huge amount of money."
"Envision yours-"

She stopped mid-sentence and looked at me.

"I want you to dream high, my dear."

"Mom, I want to become a writer."
"No, being a doctor is better."
"But mom, I want to study literature, I want to publish b-"
"I said no."

I know you wanted to become a doctor way back then  
but mom,
I have my own dreams too.

I can't imagine myself working inside hospitals
I can't imagine myself writing prescriptions
I can't imagine myself receiving a huge amount of money

but mom,

I can imagine myself working inside my own office,
I can imagine myself writing stories and not prescriptions
I can imagine myself starting with a small amount of money
but most of all,

I can imagine myself smiling despite these.

You told me to dream high,
and I'm sorry because
Mom, I failed.

I told myself not to dream high,
I told myself to dream deep.

I told myself to dream deep
and plant my dream in the deepest part of my heart
and make it grow -
that even my heart can attest that my dream was all I ever wanted.

My dream grew deeper
And the roots grew stronger

and I can tell,
Mom, I failed to dream high.
patty m Jan 2016
Galvanized humanity

we envision annihilation.

Yet whose to say,

how many may live?  

Ensnared fate clamps shut effecting us all.

Turn back the cosmic clock

that triggers fatal events.

wedge open the doors of perception

to a paradise on earth.

The deadline to solemnity has passed;

its time to scan blue skies and gather flowers,

look forward to peace

and worry no more.
Keiya Tasire Mar 14
When roaring sorrow
Uprooted me
I envision a lotus flower, staying gently a float upon the pond.
The sun's soothing, comforting light warmed my heart.
Breathing in.... Breathing, gently out.
Releasing both hands
Clasped in pain.
No need to leave
No need to go
The deep sorrow of my heart beating
Rivers of Love's tears upon the pond.
Yet the sunshine never failed.
I am floating gently - to that perfect spot
Within the pond.
I, Lotus flower
Send my tap root deep down below
Taking root, among the other lotus
Beautiful flowers anchored to the pond's murky floor.
In the first year after my son died. I found it best not to make any huge changes within the first year. I needed silence, peace, and stillness of my home and a simple pattern of life. I  needed the love and support of my husband, which he freely gave. Stephan's death uprooted my heart and turned it upside down. It was as though I was floating through my time without even noticing that there was any time at all. There came a time when the worst of the grief subsided and I was able to put my roots slowly back into a simily of a regular routine of time. When I settled in, I found the support and love of friends and family who were open to support me through the rest of my grieving journey. I am grateful because they opened the  doors of compassion, understanding and the insight gained from their own past grieving. It was good to be among other lotus flowers, sharing roots of understanding, love and caring.
M-E Feb 9
The dreaming cat
on a bunch of
fishing nets
by the pier
To make a living,
fishing near a no fishing sign
An empty bowl
An empty aquarium
An empty river
Still, plenty of fish
in a whisker's twitch
of the machiavellian, mischievous,
waggering, waggish
feline's dream
that no freudian mind
could interpret.
Inspired by:

I saw a cat sleeping on a fishing net on the pier. It was so cute. Lol

Pablo Neruda - Ode to the cat
londin Sep 2013
Your back lied upon my floor
my head lied upon your chest
through my right ear I hear your heartbeat
"an illusion?" I ask my self now
couldn't be.
I felt your pulse thumping to the rate of our pace.
lying alone on my bedroom floor
like me,
my eyes fall
they shut to envision your face
Left Foot Poet Nov 2017
The Allusionists (Mary Winslow and Jeff Steir)

these two allusionists  **(not illusionists!)

composition is a criminal sentencing, a full-time sensitizing,
a never ending t/rue seeing, recalling, photography by word.

I am a career criminal.  I know.

these two retranslate by digging into word wells and
well hid storage closets under stairs so that we,
the not-in-attendance may envision their sightings with
two hands clutching, comprehending almost better than
the one who is actually there.  

for our version, the one they provide is,
coffee with cream,
scotch with a  beer chaser, tea with honey,
all to be, sipped slow, so
the hot frost on my the chest, infiltrating nostrils,
Vaporub-spreads slow and easy, brainward.  

the allusionists.

the habitual employers of this
specific filter,
(word weavers, I call them behind their backs),
weaving is not in my eternally planned skill set.  

I do so admire their tapestries
that guilt alone demands tribute and obeisance
and this poor imitation.  

I do so admire their tapestries.
November 25, 2017. 11:07 AM.
Marla Jun 6
Blue goddess of wonder,
Tanning in the pale moonlight,
Made my mind split assunder
When she and I locked eyes.
Envision me then, naive and unloved,
Connecting for the First time
With a woman who's lips
Were as gentle as a summer dove.

My world shattered from within,
It's mysterious death an interest
To no one with a loving heart.
She divided an ocean in my head
When together we uttered
"Till death do us part."
solfang Jul 2018
how can I envision the future,
when I'm stuck in the present,
dwelling on my past.
I find it hard to plan or foresee my future because I can't handle the things on my hand now. I blame my past memories for all of this
Arsène Dec 2017
Life Coalesced
Envision the rest
Depressed or distressed
Worried less, I invest
May regress or finesse
Life's congruent mess

Mold your self, immaculate
Clear hate and evoke fate
Inspire, create and congratulate

Persevere when near,
Whilst you conquer fear
Happiness untamed
Dreams unattained
Mature and grow wise
In front of your eyes
passion for diction
ryn Aug 2014
Grey is my pain(t)
Smeared on this tain(t)

Seeping in(k)
Entanglement be my kin(k)
Now I thin(k)
Soon I will sin(k)

My mind ramble(d) on and on
Struggle(d) till I'm almost gone

Overused angular frow(n)
Paint over the brow(n)
That had (s)oiled this painting
(Sp)Oiled by sporadic inking

The (ch)ink in my skin
Sung of battles that reside (with)in
My armour though(t) sturdy
In(side) I only bury


Plan(t) my feet
Swift is my flee(t)
Envision my escape(s)
Beyond the cordoning tape(s)

Shed the armour and reveal the s(h)eep
My vulnerability hid(den) deep
Let loose... The courage I hone(d)
Let them be heard... Voices that groan(ed)

I await... Patient(ly)
Time I bide... Defiant(ly)

Fade(d), bleeding away
Shade(d)... With gloom that stay

Grey is my pain(t)
Only colour, tinting my tain(t)
carminayasmin Aug 13
Extract the blood,
the metaphor for this euphoric movie I had directed under the fall of night, alone.
The film began to develop as the bottles began to pile
and thus I began to envision these delusions which I lust would become a reality.
We were a movie.
Especially when your smoke filled my mouth and you fed me love off worn keys.
Made me hazy it smelt so gentle it burned so numb.
Tacky hands rode my skin,
engraving scars of diamonds.
My ego erupted; became so ******* rich.
Illusion said I could buy your love
but your eyes were guilty of unfazed.
Debuts don’t faze millionaires, we just look like more money.
Millionaires don’t even watch our movies.
Seanathon Sep 17
Think of what you want the most
To share with another human being
And if you can’t envision your lover there
Simply being
It will never be so
2017 - On a plane to Austin, a stranger told me something really worthwhile. And now I give it to you in verse form.

When you're questioning if you're with the right person. Get out of your own head and take a mental look at the future. If you can't see your current interest there. Can't envision your life together (or whatever). Pick up your phone and let them know that your search goes on.

Christian Ek Oct 2014
At the velocity in which I'm moving it's hard to capture an image of me.
I have purple dreams, yours are green.
I don't pit stop, I don't need a break when money is the key to breaking free.  
But don't ever question my motifs, your only seeing one side of me.
So it's hard to find the right person who can sit in my passenger seat, so I drive pass her, because I am in need of someone who can catch up to my speed, indeed, one who understands loyalty, my artistic need and open-minded philosophy.
I am grounded currently but I'm trying to travel globally.
Unfortunately, we all have to go through the pursuit of happiness, meaning there isn't any security that you will reach your destiny.  
Will I receive someone who can be my gasoline ? 
Who do you have to lean on, when the bills stack up constantly ?
I'm breaking my back so I don't have to go back to the start of the track. Yes it is a race to the finish.
There's no way you can win it, when your team can't envision the same vision of being crowned first position.
Justus Chan Jul 14
I envision a scene of a-t and c-lture
splashed with colour and manic sculptors.
Not the thin bland printed paper
that represents the canvas of the city's a-tists.

Our vision so muddled with bl-ck white and red
the customs so riddled, so seemingly de-d.
Our bridges burnt, our pride deeply h-rt
the future of a country that stands al-ne.

The dis-greements that arrive en route
that need the peoples opinion: a r-gged vote.
A nation's patience wearing so thin
destination fa-lure, proof of what we can achieve.

As construction sites dig the city's gr-ve
and the drills echoing the d-af and depra-ed
The skyscrapers all built to cloud nine
the climb and the drop: the thrill of the ride

I would like to submit this: complete and unabridged
Yet the editors that scan this at the edge of a ridge
Their hand forced, their eyes glazed
pressing delete, made to erase

And the post that this poem's pasted on
which everyday commuters read with scorn
Their frowns curve up at the caption of the pic:
"These are the words of a lunatic".
Originally, the hyphens (-) were asterisks (*). However due to hellopoetry's text style formatting, it had to be changed.
george glass Dec 2015
life is a straight line, they say
no bouncing springs of chaos
and impossible conversations
which tear the mass of intermingled blue stitches

no destination
a train with tracks straight through
the barren emptiness of
not the hum of your insides
what’s that word again

nor the pure anticipation
the twisted gut
of never quite knowing
it is not the fear of reaching
and extending
and finding

life is a dash
between symbols
it is an inch
representing all of you
which makes

strangers will observe
they will never envision your
silhouette against the glare of a Sunday
your breath, coffee-ripe
or the morning news sitting at her
empty space
at the kitchen table

if you're lucky
you'll get a brief pause,
a second of consideration,
two-and-a-half-centimeters worth,
before they move on
Bows N' Arrows Aug 2017
City lamps in clusters of concrete
On 18th and Sherman street
The cars pass by scanning me
Each unsound engine roaring
Darting pupils
I feel it on my externals
On my lips and phalanges
Intruding glances cascading over
my silhouette

Deja-vu-like resemblances,
Sunken cheeks look bizarre
and blotchy as the socket drains
something toxic to the veins
that's permeated the future in an instant, like a comet,
encandescent and shimmering like a scale, the awareness fades

Like some dreary mirage
I remember those little band aids
Vintage carnival tickets
discarded on the scratchy ground..
Blue-violet bruises
The paradox of pleasure
A vague creature in
it's discomfort
sitting in defiance and
quivering my sentences

It reminded me of those
incandescent bugs that
smush into Chryslers
With a curled lip, bulging eyes
and ******* up tongue...
Antennaes intertwined like
Making peace with all
that's stung as the
windshield wipers turn on
Some black tar-smack-oil-

My generation consists of
inheriting environmental
destruction and mal-parenting
Global warming. Animal extinction.
Polluting the oceans. Deforestation.
Biting shards off night-time to
suffice for the daily pangs
Shuffling the dregs of karma
to grow roots and vines all about the room

It's not Winter yet
Under this morning dew
I envision it in my mind
A crystal ball vision
contorting into smoke
I caught it in my breath
Catatonically hanging
A turtle with it's legs bending toward the sky
Searching for my tribe and a pulse
on this Earth in sentient souls
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic.  Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness.  But what of stint-ness snities?  Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums.   Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied ****.  Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums.  We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture.  And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums?  Do we only dream about dexterous articulation?  Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary?  What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton?  We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache.  Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology?  Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward.  Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective.  Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable.  Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue.  Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh.  Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered.  Infusing all with the capability of  aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others.  I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection.  Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony.  Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual.  Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist.  We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
A dream I had about explicating eventuation evocative's expletives.  The amalgamated anathema android.  The cure for pseudopodia interruptus.  At those plastygoop nosed gumby ******* ***** mongers.  Teleportation's telepathic tout will augur the demise of the shallow water scrod ******* dogs.  Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma.  Enigma entity's identity crisis on the futurity fatidic.  Grimacing gremlin greaves and gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts.
acacia Feb 2018
how could you leave me? i gave you my maidenhead, my secret power, my hidden ability. why would you leave me? i’m sorry i’m misbehaving. i’ve been a bad girl,

i want to stand right underneath your shoe, i want to be the ground you walk on.

i’m kind of hurt; can’t you feel it in your heart? don’t you feel my pain? is it just me now? are we both feeling the same pain? are we both seeing the same colors? (blue, purple, red?)

(envision this)
i cry into my pillow, hugging Stitch, trying to absorb every scent i can from you. picking up your hairs, your dead skin cells that are still alive to me. you’ll always be alive to me. you’ll always live in me.
sorry i cant complete any of these, im venting
Kabelo Maverick Jun 2014
Love...still a token of existence, your Merciful Testament made time so distant. The Heart of Man is now hollow and dark, living is a mere breath of chance and luck. Our Planet has lost its Heroes now, ask our parents, all the Bikos now lay on pillows coz of the Ones and Zeros. I still Love my World and your eminence Lord or maybe you to Priests and Presidents more. These words are not to be written once again, they exist only in the truth and light of this page once and never again. For I'm not proud of the latter...people's vices as hate surfaces, you would expect something better. Kids perish, always in harm's way, deem the manner...nowadays, parents are kids on an Aids' ladder. Envision the World and Pray, when you see through the eyes of a Kid who's a bit fatter.

Food shortage on the News footage while we hold our plates, carnage and wars killing our foliage, we hold a future without days. As vanity reigns, I fear our image will grow mutant. Ancestors will abandon our sanity ways like a school headed by students, weak and lucent. I pray for core amends dearly and hope for better trends Earthly and in the Sea, so this Letter can just be a lonely message in a bottle drifting away steadily in the deep...

Sincerely yours,
Letter from ©asis.
jbui Dec 2018
Feel the wetness between those thighs and envision the moments we long,
Wring her up, toss me aside, and realize you were wrong
Escape internal madness for the gift of such despair
So, when I seek joyous encounters, all there will be left is fear
As the sun begins its cycle this morn, I picture the ache of light
Gone. And compressed of all your sins, she drowns in all her might
emotional pain can hurt just as bad as physical infidelity...
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