Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
script on screen life is but a dream a b c d e f g gee **** g-chord ******  geezz script on screen row row your boat h i j k ellemenoh *** oh please baby *** for me let me watch you stream merrily merrily merrily script on screen q arrest tee you vee double you x why zee

last night i watched a woman answering questions about ***** size she spoke about the toilet tissue roll test for years i’ve been thinking my ***** is rather undersized (compared to studs on **** sites) this morning i took the test undid the roll from wall and stuck my ******* in the hole at first i had trouble getting it in so i guess my thickness is healthy then i slowly managed to shove the entire head of my **** out the other end by that time clear pre-*** was dripping from my ***** hole pressure from my hand gripping tissue roll felt surprisingly arousing i began ******* the roll squeezing pushing in deeper jerking almost bringing myself to ****** i passed the test the toilet tissue roll appears kind of twisted indented

what will happen next hoping for heartbreaking story with happy ending man masturbates while woman urinates both watch each other intently what is so fascinating

Asheville is small yet monumental by luck or fate he hooks up with Tim Calaprese a gregarious loving soul Tim loves women and wine and dogs particularly Farina he owns a beat up old house on steep hill overlooking downtown Asheville Odysseus rents a room for $200. a month Tim is a wine salesman and gone much of the time Odysseus is critically destitute he goes to Salvation Army they provide bed-sheets towels he sells tent and camping equipment to hippies on Haywood Street for several weeks he and Farina live on convenience store hotdogs he gets job prepping house exterior to be painted his boss tells him he is a good worker after a hard day’s work the boss lays him off he gets hired as a waiter for the dinner shift in the restaurant of a resort hotel he is weary of waiting tables but needs cash in the mornings he takes Farina to ****** Lake to swim then they go back to house paint on the porch many mornings are overcast with fog around noon sun comes out warms afternoon Odysseus loves Blue Ridge Mountains he paints a series of mountain scapes while listening continuously to Palace Brothers Pearl Jam Pavement Sebadoh Steve Earle occasionally he works on story about the clone sometime in 90’s DNA has become a factor and he needs to incorporate detail into story

on stormy afternoon in July as thunder echoes through Blue Ridge Mountains phone rings Odysseus is suffering from severe attack of food poisoning it is difficult to reach receiver phone keeps ringing it is Penelope her voice sounds shaky she says doctors have diagnosed her with leukemia it is startling shock she is only 43 years old his stomach rips he needs to run back to toilet telephone cord is not long enough Penelope says it is urgent Odysseus return to Chicago to see if he can be bone marrow match for her he tells her he will drive up immediately after food poisoning passes Penelope becomes irritable he can feel himself leaking between his legs hangs up immediately runs to toilet spends most of night in bathroom brief naps in bed in the morning he hears someone knocking at door he does not know who it is he cannot leave toilet he hears footsteps enter house call his name Odysseus are you there where are you it is Penelope and Sean he flushes toilet comes out to greet them what a weird surprise why didn’t you think to give me some notice he questions as he lies down on bed Penelope and Sean want to take Odysseus to hospital he tells them they are overreacting food poisoning will soon work its way out of his system Penelope asks if there is anything she can do Odysseus answers Farina hasn’t been out for a good walk in days Please be an angel and take her up the street there’s a field there she likes Penelope calls come here Farina let’s go for a walk Farina follows they depart out door Sean sits down at foot of bed he forcefully speaks Odysseus i know you you like to skew the facts to fit your own purposes then hammer me for whatever make-believe you can cook up when are you going to finally start being a man live up to your responsibilities Odysseus questions what facts are you talking about i’m sick as a dog now is not the time to have this talk Sean challenges yes it is you listen to me your sister is sick and needs your help Odysseus replies i’m heading to Chicago as soon as i’m well enough to travel Sean insists that’s not soon enough we’re taking you to a hospital Odysseus stands from bed Sean stands up facing him they stare each other down Odysseus goes to slip on jeans Sean stands in the way Odysseus tries to step around Sean shoves Odysseus back unto bed Odysseus stands shoves back fistfight ensues mostly Odysseus throws wild punches Sean blocks as they violently jostle out door Sean trips on wet porch falls breaks rib Odysseus grabs his pants car keys flees Penelope and Farina watch puzzled as he drives off day after incident and departure of Penelope and Sean Mom calls insists Odysseus return without delay to Chicago he answers i’m on my way Odysseus packs car with Farina drives north he feels pressure of his family envisions himself as piece of living meat whose sole purpose is to supply Penelope with bone marrow momentarily imagines his family as predators Mom is the real killer she knows how to delegate ****** Dad had been a killer for Mom Penelope has learned from Mom how to contend Odysseus is weak link he taught himself to brave harshest conditions yet is no competitor he is worker bee stupid dreamer all alone in greedy predatory world more than anything he loves and wants to help Penelope he is annoyed by nervous tension of family
Sam Conrad May 2014
The boy inside my head remembers the girl inside yours.
He wants to tell you that he still loves you...that he'll love you forever.
He wants to tell you he's trapped and all alone.
He sits in his cell scratching the days onto the wall.
He draws pictures of your face and imagines holding your hand.
If he ever gets to talk to you again, he pictures what he'd say...
He would do anything for you to give him another chance.
He knows he's a boy and he wishes he didn't have to be.
But that boy inside his head didn't get a say on if he got to be a boy or not.
He wishes that you'd open yourself up to let him care for you again.
He wishes that you'd let yourself be the reason that he lives again.
He wishes a lot.
He wishes too much.
He fears none of them won't come true but he can't stop because it keeps him alive.
He envisions that chance. That he would take it slow and show you his love.
That it would be the deepest display of emotion ever to come from him.
He knows all too well you're not fond of boys- he's almost sorry he is one.
But he loves you. He loves you so much. You're so beautiful to him.
A beautiful person, not a beautiful girl.
He misses you.
He misses you so much.
The world stops when you hug him.
His heart flutters just thinking about it, still.
You're heavenly to him. You took him places he'd never been before.
Places he may never be again.
You see, he wishes he could put into words for you, the feeling...
He never needed anything more than your cuddles and hugs.
Like a living, breathing, soft and loving security blanket, you were...
Nothing in his life ever more peaceful than your arms or the touch of your lips.
He never needed ***...please don't make it about ***...
What he really needed was you.
He prays to a God he no longer believes in that maybe he could have a reason to believe again.
He loves you, Elizabeth Raine. He loves you so **** much.
He knows that's not enough.
He will never be enough.
You were once the reason he lived...
You're now the reason he wants to die.
You dumped him like utter trash and he still couldn't get over you.
You said things that ripped out his soul. Acted like he had no soul to begin with...
But ******, he loved you. He loves you. Like he promised, he always will.
Your girly parts play no part. He wishes you'd understand how much deeper this is than that.
How much you mean to him.
How much you'll always mean to him, how you'll always be his sweet girl.
At least, how he wishes you'd be his sweet girl once more.
He wishes he could show you...that he could find a way.
Tears roll down his face like the first rain of May.
He just wants to be enough to experience heaven one more time...
I'm afraid to inform him that heaven's long gone...
Its not even in existence to experience anymore...
But he'd **** himself...I can't push myself to let him know...
He bought a ticket to hell.
I love you. I miss you everyday. I hope you're doing fine. I hope she treats you well.
I wish I could sleep forever so I could go back to your arms again.

I hope you're not reading this. If you did, you just hugged him.
Just know it gives him the best feeling in the world, even still.
He tries so hard to forget he wants it everyday.
Leiak, omnipresent vague pneuma-dancing spirit, ductile pious water of epiphany and extraordinary example, lives on the water with his parasitic chin in the Vernarthian epigram; he is seen with his jocular back, breaking the lines of the swamps between muscles and silhouettes. Before the First station..., primitive of the three remaining nights before reaching the volcano of Patmos, its deluge begins. "

It bathes in the Davidian, Alexandrian, and Vernarthian rains. A little touched he is seen and insubordinate in the astragali that he has gained in his allegories, squeezing his chest, exactly for the good of a wonderful Hellenistic city statue of the Dyticá, where he imbibed Vernarth's putti, adhering to the hydric spheres that fell over the ceilings of the heavens that Eros himself and his crush, which struck the heart axis of Medea, totally extracted from Zefian's quiver, constricted in Borker's nanotechnological sub-mythology. From the comedy of Attica and in the superb speeches of endo-adverbial satire, he stigmatized verbal changes of creation, superimposing them on tops of excesses carried by heavy drops inside some amphorae brought from the eastern sunset, tracking happiness that arrived on the western shores, waiting letters of sigh and loneliness stretched out on the thalamus full of stretch marks. So Leiak expanded, where everyone made fun of him being a satyr by essence, but being unaware of it. Perhaps as a unitary gesture of shadows when going to dawn, before having the best light that they put in figures or pirouettes, without disgracing him as a satirical minority in the Epicurean doctrine, he is inquiring a happy life through the intelligent search of innate pleasures, the ataraxia and in apocalyptic friendships with Zefian, Borker, and Kaitelka.

Borker did not intend to heal himself of trifles at all; it will be a habit to venerate the revelations against polytheism, to then cling to an interiority that points to corroded execration from the root to the top of the fallen tree, with force blinded by the blindness of the Automaton, as far as it is concerned. By itself, of identical significance in the background; but with so-called change that he tends to totally eliminate the last trait of personification of the divine. From this dilemma, the values will be spikes in his hands, sheaves in both, and what he envisions of Hellenism will be the property of nano-technology, submitting under the lens of time dividers that have never been pieces of rest under the Duoverse-Universe., the lens will be your Iridium and the microbes that govern us will be the atomic force, to discover them. What atomistic world will there be between Borker and Leiak, if in this nanoworld; The nanometer is one-billionth of a meter ?, What will be enough to start being tiny in this great epic, which is called Vernarth intra-spaces and inter-Verthians of the universal macrocosm, which will now approach the microcosm of human consciousness, and the laboratory of Epicurean affabilities in Ataraxias decreasing the passionate intensity of the Hypothalamus, and the supra desires that can alter the mental-corporal balance, strengthening in misery that they reach said balance, and finally happiness, which is a meta-plane of Epicurean convergence that runs after the lost. Ataraxia is, therefore, tranquility, serenity, and imperturbability analogous to Vernarth's soul, reason and feelings in his dislocated world, and the hemispheres of himself that will be rationalized in their slightest longitudinal measure, in what fits and in the precarious!

Passionate laboratories were magnetized every time Leiak walked on its extension, and his hands went beyond his fingers, touching the Constellation of Aorion, to indicate that the longitudinal metric of man is measured beyond the fingers of the Duoverse, where it appears the Extra-Cosmos in the proximal of a nano-scale is a submultiple of the conferred means of the Saint John the Apostle pattern. The scientific notation will be the safeguard of the magisterial scientist exponentiated brain; 10.1 mm = 10-3., the kilometer or km, is the opposite equivalent in what submultiples of the meter are called a micrometer: 1 μm = 10-6 m. In this scale we find bacteria, which constitute the main group of microbes, hence the name of the submultiple between observation scales of the macro and micro world of this being of Holographic Lux called Leiak, having the composition between this nanoscale, and the opposite of 1 μm = 10-6 m. projected onto a bacterium, which in turn is ten times larger than a viral body. Sizing enough to balance the biosphere that will surround the Automaton Mandragoron.
Leiak's world is an outpatient virtual laboratory, as it is valid in colloquial language, adhering to measures that differ by the conception of transliteration or decimal mathematical positioning. The letters and lines have been interpreted by Leiak, they are Vernarthian Parapsychologies that oscillate gaps of mismatch of billionths of wasted knowledge, in displays of ghostly reigns and in no-man's-land. This nanoscale makes us nano-poetize themes of ultra interference of the Epicurian decree, of tranquility, serenity, and imperturbability, with the meagerness that we know of the enlightened after a thousand moons writing under the stars:
"Woman when you touched my life with the grace of your fingers, I could see how the kind nights closed my eyes, caressing the entire Universe." This is undoubtedly Epicurean Nano Poetry, but the Author is Tagore "

The exponential oscillates in the parameter of the outstanding Astronomer of the divine verb and poetic thinking, in the most intimate and dynamic Hindu techno-language. Quantum mechanics here is the debit of the iconic remnant reached, by parameters not achieved below the average intelligence, providing lost data far from collecting and storing. Tagore's logic is nano-poetry, which balances billionths that are not achieved by occupying the Corporal Dytiká (poetic sunset) and the synchronic soul, rather the material simultaneity of the fifth element of will, emotional and objective desire, condensing into matter already conferred consciousness, in gaps in fit at all times, but linking it to her divinity as intelligence never before out of date; V.G. The Mashiach is always linked to the vertebral and communicational axon of the plasma nano-particles by grasping its infinite numinosity, making this scale it's one billionth, and being within the Eras that will be the largest average of the macrocosm, in the quantum itself of the Christian Era and in other Quantum worlds.

Strictly speaking, the molecules are angels without a will, but the dispensers are the consciousness of Leiak, which transfers hybrid consciousness, for purposes of regulating and shaping the ravings of intelligence and atheistic consciousness, and for purposes of the great remnant always present and active in the emergency. Spirituality of the Mashiach-revolutionized. The by-product will be Zefian's Tetra Sagita with its ergonomic tip, opening up doubts and tracing the future of a rewritten bible in the same character and fidelity, but with the omnipresent Mashiach of a Scientific Eucharist.

Leiak walked through minefields, and in some, he saw universes come out that exploded in livid colors, among them Vernarth, who had been recovering from malaria, and who helped him create a culture composed of a great artifice of immutability, for those who are close to his Greek spirit. Overwhelming those who lack the will, clarifying where the great art galleries of the world will be, not because of their current works but because of those they will have to exhibit? From the rushing philosophical delta, germs of dominance were trickling, distinguishing properties that did not germinate under his feet. Bread and water of the hundredfold fruit of all the lesser forces that resist on the thirty and nine with fever, more than the narrow borders to be discovered, in democracies that will prosper in the hands of kind tyrants, and not in the unitary Ecumene. Vernarth did not denationalize from his grass crops, he was Hetairoi more than all the commanders of Alexander the Great because his native country never sank next to him, he only prospered in centuries where he had to rise again silenced and prostrate oblivion.

The chaos of an absence accuses a majority of sadness that greets the Celtic Gauls for the axon of the anointed cosmos of the divine autarkic world. But not in seditious wars devoid of bread and water that does not support them, nor by papyrus did nets that do not contain them either, in the spiral retransform the land of all, as a plural work done here, by the Mandragoron Áullos Kósmos, intends. The male rectors will trust their works in the widespread Greek language, called koine (common). A language that writes has its own feet to write new divisions, and ordinal paragraphs to fulfill in proskínesis or obeisances in those who have golden knees or not! They will continue to make separate book stores or libraries for Filososfia or science sub-themes that will tackle the top of Profitis Ilias. For all large cities and nations, it will only be Leiak's legacy, of having large spaces for dialogues where no one can resist his man-made preaching, holographic rain forest, and times that not even in billionths will make him melt spaces of ignorance, diverge from the juxtaposed principle of unpopulated urban schools do not deserve.

Says Leiak: “Every time it is more intense to turn the dislocated nature of man, my literary idylls are at the end of everything with his genre works. Life and it's agitated think idyllic of removing the talus, which is not swayed in my chest by the Metelmi..., but by my breath of death! "
Dyticá Leiak's twilight
Kendall Mallon Mar 2013
He envisions the Machine as a large locomotive
Of a deep, tainted, black metal chugging down and infinite track
The eternally glowing red hot coals pushing the pistons
A giant crimson cowcatcher is fixed at the front
Scraping up followers; forcing them into the vehicle
Manipulating Its passengers to smash their heads into the Machine
Welding their minds into Its mysterious black metal walls

Stained with the blood of many who have tried to resist
Ultimately wounded, maimed, outcaste from society
Forever marked, branded by the scars of their attempt
When the Machine has used you and-or your mind to Its purose
It shoves you into Its furnace—keeping the pistons turning
The Machine cannot be stopped—always picking up followers
Forcing you into It; becoming one with the Machine

As He looks into the engine room, there is no conductor
A runaway locomotive chugging down the track with no end
Its only goal: gathering as many passengers as possible
Society, Washington, the Media built the machine
Their brainchild, but have long since become a part of It
Their minds welded the deepest—becoming the foundation of Its walls
Long ago abandoning their carcasses to fuel their mighty creation
Danielle Brown Oct 2012
Euphoric visions
Frantic envisions
Body collisions
Heavy prescriptions
Enlightened by a muse that I was happily given
Unwarranted treasures on the paper was written
Psychadelic notions
Underminded by twitches
Glares of green lights flashing
In the artists’ painted trenches

Heavy prescriptions
Doses of living
Binded by ink from a tie-dye fitting
Zones flowing in and out
Lying down for the feeling
Eyes looking up
At the neon-colored ceiling
Ah, is this living
A euphoric disposition?
Defying immortality by a psychedelic existence
Back under...



To the trenches



And the heavy prescriptions
ryn Jan 2017
He doesn't see past the horizon of his life
He doesn't indulge in the myth of the hereafter
He doesn't believe he is worthy of such a notion
He doesn't make it a habit to put pen to paper

But with her...

He envisions the future like he's lived it before
He sings of his plans that span several lifetimes
He romanticises his thoughts as soon as they're conceived
He converses in paintings and writes only in rhymes
It is said there is life out of Earth,
Not just moss or some germ livin’ in filth;

There are beasts very smart in Syluthaarme,
A big rock with a vast digital farm,

Where they work not at all or too hard,
Have one ear, but three legs, walk backward,

Got one eye gazing far far away,
And complexions of more shades of gray

Than is seen here on Earth. Among the mass
Live a few who belong to no class,

But pretend that they share illusions
The less smart breeding mass envisions.

An asylum it is for the sane
In the insane’s needed stead feel the chain.
Hossein Mohammadzade
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
i moved my ethnicity up north, because in the middle-south the squabbles got to me, even though i don't speak the tongue in order to order a cup of coffee or marry, i moved it up north, to the doom and gloom... because the squabbles down south got to me, and i couldn't identify with either factions - although i could identify with the Scots and whatever ancient heart bred them toward separatist labours - come the Scots, come the Irish - the sloth of this anatomic segregation is getting on my nerves.

the difference between european introversion and american
extroversion is that the former bases theirs on an implosion
that dates back to prehistory and the latter bases theirs
to a piece of paper, a second Magna Carta...
every european implodes - every american explodes -
yet our history is longer, and is less trade-orientated,
consider the slave trade versus Atilla the ***...
Europe is the new Russia as Russia is the new
Siberia to "the light of the world",
Europeans always seemed to be introverted
when compared to American big cars big hamburgers
big whatever esp. ego - we work from
a Darwinism, you work from creationist-antagonism,
sure, a man in space, a man on the moon,
any tomatoes up there, might i ask?
the world eternal between the competition with
Tsar Slav Nicholas I and Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse,
it's hard to make cartoons of Ivan to be honest,
what with him throwing dogs off the Kremlin walls
and gauging out the eyes of the architect of
St. Basil's because "god" / Ivan instructed him to
an oath: no greater beauty will ever be seen by these eyes -
hard to make a comedy of it all -
if anything i'm *Jan Matejko's
  Stańczyk,
the exact melancholia of a clown, a fancy-dress mm-hmm-ha-ha-ha!
while noblemen frolicked, Louis XIV petted a monkey
while shaving - the new aristocracy and the intervention
of the south park inventors over there? i'd be Mormon
in a nanosecond - whatever science divides or
multiplies it's still base one: the whole - whatever profession
it's still back to square one, the fudge, the glue,
no one can work that one out, explore in whatever
direction you want, it's still the Kantian dynamic of
coordination via (0, 0), the double denial, its not
an algorithm - Manchester encoding, logic 1, logic 0,
forget the sine and cosine graphs of smooth
marbles and hidden genitalia - it's different now,
zigzag paradise and ugly shapes like Syria
and Iraq and Iowa - all we need for the antidote to
Kantian symbolism (0 = negation) is the zed of affirmation,
just one... wondering... what direction would that entail?
life, x as 0 and y as 0 - ageing and mortality, all too often
subscribing the words: death apparent, but there's a third
line of coordination, no memory of babe consciousness,
no memory of nappies or eating apple pulp...
that strikes me as a head start - the less adventurous world
and the emergence of the unconscious and dreaming
as the new frontier, not necessarily -
i like the head start, i don't like shuffling into cubicles
of cognitive sterilisation, in that Freud makes thinking
attached to dreaming on purpose - i read a newspaper
then i read a poem, with the former i'm constipated
with the latter i get diarrhoea... i don't like attaching too
much thought to the content of dreams,
but to dreams per se - how does my brain encrust a
phosphorescent adaptability to the banality of sleep?
surely the brain cares more for the unconscious banality
of the night than what people-self-invoke as a banality
of life - the serpent eating itself already answered,
the brain automatically said: sleep is banal, we need dreams.
the self, a conscious abstract of Σ (sum of all parts,
liver, kidney, limbs, heart etc.) didn't necessarily make one
up, unless it's called philosophy - the body in sleep
already answered, the brain's answer to the banality of
it's existence rested in sleep is the act of dreaming - simple
enough, no one would imagine sleeping without dreaming,
but that's the automatic answer for the brain and
the banality of sleeping, given the complexity of
learning, unlearning, encoding decoding, love, hate
in that internet of ******* connectivity -
so if the brain answered the question of the banality of sleep
(well, given the ****** heart mechanised to smack its
forehead against a brick wall, little wonder)
with dreams... what if not a nether-realm, a heaven
or a hell the brain envisions? surely...
it's inherent for the brain to envision a heaven and a hell
when Σ is awake... as it's inherent for the brain to envision
dreams when Σ is asleep... it's logic... it's not some
fancy for rituals -the point is: heaven and hell would not
exist if we didn't dream, void, blank, void, blank,
no Freud - if you can argue against the non-existence
of any of such realms, you will have to train yourself
to not dream, to exclude the dream-realm - but i don't
think your brain will be willing to do such censorship -
after all, it's a double-consciousness we're talking about,
the brain is conscious of you, and you are conscious of the brain;
it's odd, i know, it's the one ***** that has such parameters -
well, it's more conscious of a skeleton than you -
the skeleton is the one thing that is verifiable for the brain,
the brain can't intrude on the heart or the kidney functions,
but the skeleton is all a playground for the brain.
MAJD S Jan 2014
As I walk down the street
That looks nothing but normal,
With pedestrians walking on the sides
Mothers calling sons after school,
Teenagers writing their dreams with sweat pants and converse shoes
Trotting down the pathways with their personalities
Compressed in their back packs;
I like to play a game called
“What’s behind the steering wheel?”
A bomb;
A wired representation of defeat
An open gate to oblivion,
A flower with pedals of fire
Pollen of political tyranny
With ignorant humans for bees
That “spread the word”.
“What’s behind the steering wheel?”
A kid reading a book
Forgetting the world outside
For the worlds in fairy tales
Seem real;
And as soon as his eyes start rolling
He envisions himself a leader of a striking army
A great protector of truth,
Or even a little girl dancing her way into the forest;
Busy being a child
She never thought about the monsters waiting on the other side;
And all those characters are despised,
In a world where innocence is put aside
Where dreams are confiscated
Like phones in elementary schools,
Where minds only follow
And hearts are black;
In a world,
Where reading a book becomes a threat
Only terminated by something louder than life
But nothing is louder than words.
“What’s behind the steering wheel?”
Afraid tyrants,
Calculating their reign
In seconds
And seconds are all they leave us
Before we leave us,
Before we start making martyrs of our names
And memorials of our pictures,
Before we write elegies
Before we write poems of anger
Before we cry down our thoughts
Screaming the names of those we lost;
Afraid that one day,
No one will remember those names
Afraid,
That one day,
Our name would be among them.
Ow martyrs who left us a world to fix
Our hands are tired of typing,
Our eyes are drowning
For the more we write down your names on our souls
The heavier are our tears;
Our thoughts are crumbling
Into posts and statuses
But who are we posting for, if all of you are dead?
Ow martyrs who left us with more spaces to cover
We cannot cover all this by ourselves.
Our trials are self-destructing,
Our memories are filled with images of you
Hoping that our memories stay memories
As we revolute towards our future.
Our flowers are wilting,
Our candles are too close to burning out
We have read all the prayers that we know
And as the journey prolongs
I ask myself…
“What now?”
Our rage is dormant,
Our eyes are open as we observe
The post traumatic epilepsies the world is coming about,
Our minds,
Once fooled
Are now base lines for our attacks;
Our hearts are filled with images of you
In an open chamber
Easy to access
For one day
All these images will appear on the surface of us
And that is the day we avenge you

Ow martyrs who left us,
You left us with a world to fix and a nation to create.
Pierre Ray Mar 2012
I was told about this special book. I was told it was a magical book! Amazingly full of bright, light and insight. Allegedly one look and you were hooked and took! This great book of life baited, charted and crafted with will, quill feathers, leather and of weather. The great book of life highly and showily regarded the *******, the rife and strife.

Brilliant parts of art from heart! Boldly guarded by angel’s darts! Holding from different angles. Behold! The pages of this book mangled, spangled and tangled. Through the ages… the corners scorned, torn and worn. In theory the inseams very weary and old. Amazingly and appraisingly with thrill they still fold! Merrily told

and eagerly sold. The great book of life’s pages is of age, cages
and wages, stages and rages! The great book of life each a way to encourage or engage courage. The great book of life was inspired and transpired by a baby in a manger. Some pages spell and tell of a stranger danger! The great book of life is about the beloved also of

the unloved. Chapters in capture, scriptures in measure, rapture-
or torture. The great book of life listen to my envision with precision! The great book of life envisions death’s breath. Missions, those enclosed in prisons and visions! The many, many scenes serene and obscene. The in-betweens, the kings and queens! Dragons, drones

and many, many thrones! The antic, frantic and gigantic! Magic, satanic and tragic! blizzards or wizards! Ancient, distant chants and rants! The great book of life, a chance from a glance. Traces of many faces, places and races! The great book of life claimed to have named those bordered, cornered, loitered and murdered. The great book of

life is it! Amazingly it tells bits of it all! Basically about the small that brawl. The tall, including some that awesomely, eventually fall! The great book of life collects and reflects the surreal or unnatural. The frail and the pale. Actions hailed while eluding a whale! This great book of life will it prevail? Yes prevail! Amen! The great book of life amen, amen.
Brittany Marie Nov 2010
My grandmother always told me,
that one day I would build my family.
Build my family?
Like chopped pieces of wood sanded and nailed
one atop another
shaped as I want them.
Build a family
not much like the one I have now
Where misconceptions and judgments etch our foundation.
Where one black sheep spawns another.
Where there are so many pieces and segments
of rotting wood.
My father was a **** addict
My mother jumped the same ship.
My brother I have only seen twice in my lifetime since the age of four.
One grandmother is passed, leaving nothing but the smell of wine
and the vision of cigarette smoke next to her oxygen tank.
One grandmother a Mormon, who turned a blind eye
As one grandfather scraped innocence from the inside of my ribcage, leaving me hollow.
One aunt, with her perfect little life, and the power to make mine feel so insignificant.
One uncle who pretends to take me as I am,
While I follow the path he envisions for me
One grandfather who I am sure loved me,
with one grandmother who sacrificed her retirement age to raise me.
All families have their issues, this is what we all say.
But when I came to you,
bony elbowed twelve year old girl
hair atop my head disintegrating from three dollar bleach dye,
every one of you could see the broken I wore
in the forefront of my chest.
I radiated hunger harder and faster the sun,
I consumed all of the life saving aids you provided.
I never learned quite how to say thank you for that
Me being there, I was insatiable.
I begged you not feed me in grocery bought items,
I learned a long time ago how not to need those things
I begged you not to shower me in cotton constraints,
because i learned a long time ago,
how to wear one shirt and one pair of jeans at all times.
I begged you not to push school,
because I once had to learn how to push myself.
I begged you not to rule with an iron fist,
My childhood taught me
that ruling myself was the only way I was going to get anywhere.
See I was not asking for any of these things,
these things I am told to be grateful for.
I starved for your affection,
for I love you's.
For that fabled existence of a family that would love me.
I met your stone cold authority with violent rebellion.
Do not tell me to grow up,
because I learned along time ago
that childhood is only a myth.
Closest to the best bed time story
where children attend one single school for five years.
Where play toys and best friends exist,
but only in these stories.
I came to you hollow,
begging you to flow into me,
and fill me with that grandmother love,
love I watched you hand out like candy to the other children in our family.
But it's always different when you live with them.
I know that you never watched me when I was little,
I know that you knew me,
for a few hours
before I got here.
I know that my father must've really broken your heart.
But I did not do these things.
I did not carve my past or choose this heartbreak
I would never have wished that upon you.
All I wanted was to feel summer sunshine love,
warm my chilled bones,
I wanted hugs and kisses and things that made us a beautiful,
broken, little family.
I may not have seen this in the things you sacrificed for me,
and I may still have trouble calling that the type of love I was looking for.
I am ever so grateful,
that you gave me the tools to learn what normal life is.
I am ever so grateful,
that with out you
I would be some cracked out nineteen year old
lining the las vegas strip
with a show of legs and kisses.
But I cannot pretend,
that sometimes I don't cry to the rising of the moon,
for the love I wanted too badly.
I carved deeper into my scraped out rib cage
trying to find something in me of worth.
I cannot lie and tell you that I have learned how even to love myself,
because I haven't.
My grandmother always told me,
that one day I would build my family.
I may not have gotten that far yet,
to have wooden carved children and a perfectly sculpted husband.
But I am gathering a family of love like I wanted.
They surround me with soft and eager hands,
they dig deeper into my bones,
and show me where the value sleeps.
I do not have a sister,
But I have a Jessica, with paint fingers that outline my contours,
Showing me the lines built to keep me in,
and to keep me from overflowing on rainy days.
I do not have a husband,
But I have a Spencer, with a gleaming iron exterior,
blocking the dark angry pain with in me,
soothing the insecurities and quelling my storm.
I do not have a daughter,
but I have a Suzanne, with wings so glorious,
she towers over my hunger,
making it feel so small.
And I may not have a son,
But I have a Jacob, with humor so gallant,
there is no sadness to conquer my laughter.
And I may not be sanding down the rough edges we all carry,
because I like it better this way.
A family built from love,
love radiating so bright,
we make the eyes of the world see nothing
but the light on our shoulders.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2022
~
Poor deluded brute
he waves his sword
in orchestration
to a ruthless symphony
played for miserable centuries:
the running of the bulls
"sketches of pain"
some monsters come
decked out in hat and cape
inside the arena of his pride
where he hears the chant
within the arts of
cowardice and cruelty
where he envisions
the feathered crown

Gala! Gala!
"how to see the toreador"
lost as San Fermín
pricked by hairpin
pierced by ragged horn
suerte de la muerte (luck of death)
foreshadowing Hemingway
turns into the troubled sun
and underneath his muleta
a deep red
blood alchemy
his fame spilling out
in drips and drabs
as the crowd sings
'Pobre de Mí (Poor Me)'
to the mystic stab of church bells

~
Livi M Pearson Apr 2016
Look at your torn fingers
Wrapping around transparent love
Grasping at what you perceive as real
Based on fear of losing everything
You could not bare the endless possibilities
That reside in your flawed mind
Speaking foreign languages of false gods
Cupids illusion for perfect hearts
The perfect rendition of serenity
Yet we are all flawed
Radioactive identities in the ***** hands of death himself
Pleading... praying for a drip of pure water to let my demons go
To help me see a vivid love once agian

Travelers of ancient times define pathways as divine temptations
Paths that can lead a flock of lambs to kingdom come or to a deathly sun
Blind eyes could see the words
Etched deep inside stone tablets
Jehovah be of golden truth
He envisions all likes of love
That wills me to make my fingers bleed
And grasp what i can not see
For faith be the only reason why

I know its real
Spirtual poem for a sunday :D
The man blanketed in nervousness
Darting across the faded stripes
Wrapped in second hand clothes
Nothing appealing.
The man envisions future events
Pondering on the choices he will make
Soiled from a hard day’s work

Nothing appealing.

The man clenching the wonders
Smiling when he sees her
Presenting the flowers

Everything appealing.
Hanson Yang Sep 2018
Toney talking **** ever was been at relative action: so this is what happens when i own ****
the game and the actual man that prones ****
talking **** like if it was actual that arms **** short for the factual
i've been underneath like i wrote the bible since like it was his "wonder feat"
You're a wonder feat till you understand like every plundered treats,
the E in Eden has you wonder feats repetitive like a tree grown demanding scars in roots like i was underneath: Playing me only gets you murdered  like actual feats cuz this ******* talking **** like if anything hurters like Obama to your hair mang like how you arose a gangbanger to man defeat
ir really was me mang startin **** everyday all confused everyday like if demand was me.
Cuz i'm all g man another ******* till i'm ever he stand
raise it like how magnitude backstabs left was she man commandin fleets
Raise it like how it passes all magnitude was hidden from know by praise of it's masses, cuz now i'm startin ****, startin **** with my claimed owner of kinfolks, disposing flows and all opposing with your chinblow; been smoke till i'm ******* up all your naturality as it was real in every returned K to the K-O chaos enlived flow the to the now chin mode to every kinsmoke.
Bleed mode like an attempt to **** your **** up with one need- blow of my established chin mode to discovered manhood in precision given of range.
I'm jacking up my A-O to every Kayo like getting my cigarettes jacked now asked for every parallel to mind of my females to enlivened envision of range
enlivened envision of rage
enlivened envision of hate
.....Thinking jacking me was or is ever the body neutral has every one of you and my kinfolk women jacking your **** like shittin you at enlivened in thangs
I'll be everything anything anybody prasing me like assistance in ranks to be given out perception to my women now to restrictive in thangs insisting the aim: right? right, yeah right it's right as given as range
the higher you go you know ******* well of it's enlivened discovery absolute like marraige in range that **** the lesser when you're rearranging the pain
talking **** been magnitude mang like the masses pretend hides **** before i was ever fake claiming lives before you would know ******* well that proof aiming was claimed
as if rhymes was the median:
I'LL **** YOU ******* TO AIM RANGE WAIT,
i'll get your *** craving for everything stolen in energy that i own for every *** that you're in it just validates your life justly justifies your claim to my aim range strength truthly you're only talking **** as hindsight of all desperate measures to the existance of all body. Raise it and be the man of learnt confusion to all hate and chaos as chosen path to the actual "levels HIGHER already like if all extensions was justly validating as all talk when i been spittin claim when i'm shitten remember me as when i am all talk when everyone smaller was all brought like hindsight perception.
Knowing me was all absolute in all talk like minest sight deception: I'll ****** you **** now you're knowing truth: true truest nature before i was ever you in being a faker; more like a being you know truest dreams as instinct before i was ever a ranker: I'll ****** you **** in complete pristine dreamed grabs at crutch crotch as aim range prankster even wankster as the holder of time,
space and time clean backstabs as you fist **** of every trip traps as a pristinely dreamed beings pretending underneath when all you are now are on top of every wonder **** if ever reupping the true as if you know what i am in reality before intercedence death cuz it was truly me: like reality this is all future to all your poetry actual renders a blank gaze of mine of wisdom as you write your blank page is actually what aim range explains space to what blank faced truly is at fake takes of what you've stolen in actuality reality owned envisions of me
like enlivenment only just visions creates in actuality ranks raised none enlivens but make ways as a holder of time ever remembers me none as the entity's won actual remembrance of me: lonesome to none to truthful beings who reject truth in reality was really ever to gain none sight to minest right ever to wrong surity might right sight.
i own **** what you are: like all small things in my stature of nature lived as holder of everything comes to pass, your only fault is visions of perfection in education given back to your ***. I'LL WAIT *******.....
AFJ Jan 2015
She's such a visionary,
she pictures art where peasants revel...
had a near death experience, said she even saw hell...
She sees potential in me, despite the times that i fell..
she convinced me to keep throwing pennies in wells..
not because she believes in myths and superstitions...
but because she sees homeless people dig in after all the wishin..
So on a good day, i throw in a few quarters, she sees i care.
But im no hero i just want Ms. Adeline to be aware..

Everything she sees, and envisions she blesses. & Everyone agrees...
So i tell her.
Never take your lovely eyes off the world, please.

She promised me she wouldn't, ever since she saw God.


What makes her see goodness?, what makes her so kind?.....
if only the world knew, Ms. Adeline was born blind.




-afj
RoKu May 2013
Morning voice whispers:
Stillness and silence bring and guide the soul from the darkness into the door of light, bring hopes, bring tears of happiness, and dancing into the new breath of life, rebirth and producing "healthy baby"...  And known that I'm loved I'm being blessed.

Poetry replies:
All welcome... As the dews in the morning shimmering the rays of love to the world... All welcome... As the morning air cleanses the past burdens... Purifies the bloodstream of mind and heart to the point (of no return) where freedom exhilarates life; envisions the paths for greater humanity and God's glory... All welcome...
Star Gazer Feb 2017
Ever since I met her, I felt like I've been living in a fantasy world
where pearls are found on land, diamonds are bound to our hands
and the passing of the sands seems all too quick for me and her.
I have dreamed of a love like this, a love that keeps me up at night
not from fright nor fear of what may come in the darkness
but the way an artist envisions his paintings and drawings walking,
talking behind each hidden smile and each following eye
I felt like I've leapt on the canvas and painted exactly what I wanted.
This girl, she makes me scared, makes me happy, makes me sad,
not the bad kind of sad but sad to ever think about disappointing her,
the blur in memories are filled in with moments where her smile is visible,
like a mythical creature; I can not believe such a beautiful girl exists.
Betwixt the sunrises and sunsets, I've seen my share of happiness,
my life is one happy mess and it's thanks to that one angel.

My starshine, may we be together forever in time,
I love you always and forever; whichever one of those is longer,
and each day I grow stronger with nothing but the thoughts of you.
So because of you, I am happy again...but also scared.

Scared...because I'm scared I may never ever love again,
unless that person was you.

Happy valentines day beautiful.
wordvango Nov 2014
Mabel is breathing....
    no one ever visits.
She has tended flowers and done laundry all
    life for others.
No one needs her.
    She has a bad knee and
Neuropathy , subsists now on pain medication and sugars.
    No one calls her.
She envisions one day getting flowers.
    Or hearing again from that gentleman, who
twenty years ago smiled.
    Or her children or grand young ens';
but no one writes her one letter.
     In the cold she wears all those sweaters she knitted.
So no  people remember her, I will!
    I visit and bring the flowers I grew specially
for her,
    the prettiest yellow roses,
while she lives!
judy smith Dec 2015
Weddings begin with the venue. “A venue holds everything,” says Kristin King, who is opening a new event facility, The Sloane, in Nashville’s Gulch area in 2016.

“It’s the vibe, the feeling. It’s the house for the event,’’ she adds. “It gives the whole feeling of what you’re trying to convey. Where you have an event, is to me, one of the most important things. You can dress it up however you want to, but it sends the message of what you want your guests to know about you as a couple.”

King, who has been in the bridal business for about a decade, says she envisions creating the ultimate event venue in the historic 1101 Grundy Street building. When complete, the 6,000-square-foot facility will house an office/bridal suite, glass tower showcasing the Nashville skyline, catering kitchen and double-sided elevator for vendors.

“A venue really dictates how many people they’re going to have at their wedding,” says Randi Lesnick of Nashville’s Randi Events. “If somebody picks a venue that’s great for 150 people, and they want to have 350, well that venue’s out.

“Pick the venue first, and then you can always worry about everything else.”

Book far in advance

With hearts set on the venue, plan for a date at least a year, but no less than six or nine months out from the desired date, before securing the location.

“It’s grown so fast, and I don’t think anybody knows how to deal with it,” Lesnick explains of the competition for wedding venues in Tennessee, particularly in Nashville and Gatlinburg.

“For 2016 we have almost every Saturday booked already. So if someone wants a specific date, we do recommend that they book at least a year out.”

Booking well in advance can have other benefits, says Lindsay Barrows of Custom Love Gifts and Events in Knoxville, who is also part of the Smoky Mountain Wedding Professionals Association.

“I worked with a bride who ended up saving a lot of money on her venue and some of her vendors because she booked so far in advance that when they changed their prices the following year when her wedding actually was – she had already locked in prices from the previous year,” Barrows adds.

Lesnick notes a venue could run anywhere from $2,000 to $10,000, and the overall wedding could run $30,000 to $100,000. And, if it is an outdoor wedding there should always be a backup.

“Brides have a lot of dreams,” says Sarah Anne Miller, director of weddings at Randi’s. “They look at more of the décor and the prettiness of the wedding and not really the logistical part of it. They want an outdoor wedding for 200 people in September, you’ve got to think about weather.”

Five weeks after the Omni opened in 2013, it hosted its first wedding. It had about 20 last year and seven already on the books, and there are even three scheduled for 2017.

“The typical wedding is still booking about a year out,” says Shirley Langguth, assistant director of catering at Omni Hotels. The Omni has multiple wedding ceremony locations picked out onsite, and also hosts numerous day-after wedding brunches.

More details

Once the venue is nailed down, couples can move on to every other detail that needs addressing, from flowers and dress to catering and cake.

“I want to meet with somebody as soon as they know what their venue is because there are only so many in a weekend that we can deliver and create,” says Juanita Lane, owner of Dulce Desserts in Edgehill Village, about her torte-layered wedding cakes. “Once they’ve secured the venue, then I would suggest it’s time to start looking at your vendors.”

Lane hosts two tastings at Dulce, the first one just to see if the couple even likes them. The second is when they bring out the numerous cakes, curds and frostings to create the ultimate custom confection.

Couples can now get that full-on tasting experience at Dulce Dessert’s brand new cake tasting bar.

“People can basically come in and do slices of cake and enjoy the Dulce experience,” Lane adds. “The thing that used to be reserved for brides or people having large events, the general population can do now at their leisure.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Aiyo,I'm steppin' to the beat, like I'm ******* owning it, sewing it, with many stitches laid to corporate,
And there I had to sit,
On so many hits, its so legit,  once I **** this hammer ****, these fools crumbling,
I'm humbling, myself to the ******* game mayne, and I'm never ever,
Gone spit the same flame, I'm on track when I'm off track a true black,
Republican and far from a Democrat, yo I'm still tryna liberate my own people,
Keep my eyes on the fish eyes of the glaring evils, too many tunes to jam, so I'm living music sequels,
We both different so we cant be matching equals, I keep my crew laced, blasting shots like my homie Segal,
We taking wings, pass the heights of a soaring eagle,
That's just life I live, so I gotta keep it up,
Tryna shade me, ***** but I dont give a ****,!!








Dark tinted limos on the highway riding by, my girls giving me head, with a naked top to the sky,
Im pushin'  a dial, that'll make ya high, I'm scaling, too much money in this world, to be failing,
Ya slippin, dont matter how many emcees, I done ripped in,  
I keep extra clips frozen within, ya feelin,  the rhythm of blues, that'll blow up ya mental fuse,
Meditate to the divine news,
So What, ya (feelin it), I love the sounds, of cristal, im sippin' it,
Why y'all ain't living ****, critics yo, I stay above it, now haters wanna shove it,
But gotta embrace the tactics of a wordsmith, while I get busy with a spliff,
I keep my mind to edge of the cliff,
It got me lift, flowing as I'm going, yall ain't seein' the knowledge, that I've been sewing,
I can Feel the reapers growing,






Even though jay came through, yo he wasnt  playing, and every beat I had to do a ******* slaying, still tryna get a pay in,
See where my thoughts weigh in, lost , inbetween love and lusts guillotine,
Tryna be a king, supreme life dreams, themes of a crack fiend, circling,
Envisions of a broken cling,
I'm a champion, so everybody gets a ring, the seasoned veteran, hittin ya once again,
And every and now then,
I leave my **** in a hen, see the styles I'm pitching, it got me twitching,
If I fall off, no need for *******, I'll just bring the heat back into the kitchen,
Warming it up, til I'm drenched in, sweating,
Money armageddon, put ya bets in,
Y'all will be underwater, lyrics soaking, while I'm on top,my success floating, uh
Amy Perry Dec 2013
There is a place in our Universe
Visited by awestruck beings.
Where thoughts never turned to verse
Can be rejuvenated and seen.

The Universe has to stow
These lost thoughts for a reason.
So somewhere it springs to life
In a place called Lost Poet's Heaven.

When a poet envisions a scene
Or conjures up a line,
Lost Poet's Heaven, wouldn't you know it,
Embalms it into time.

The grieving maiden, too
Succumbed by tears to write,
Expresses her plight, unleashes her heart,
With nothing but her thoughts.

These thoughts she never penned
Can reappear again
When she has died, and her tears have dried,
And beholds Lost Poet's Heaven.

Lost Poet's Heaven, splendid and serene.
Filled with art to the tops
Of the pink clouds gathering.

Down comes the purple raindrops
Entrapped with your script.
You taste it on your thirsty tongue,
Lavishing long lost rhymes with every sip.

The sunshine casts rays of sublime poetry.
Later to be felt on the skin,
Absorbing the memory.

The Universe is kind, but doesn't want
The Hopeless Romantic to know it.
In Lost Poet's Heaven, the girl of his dreams
Is wooed by the clueless poet.

So when you lose your train of thought,
Smile, don't you fret.
In Lost Poet's Heaven, what you forget
Can be free to float about in mystery.
A bit whimsical and out there. Not sure how I feel about this one.
Perpetual Ecstasy laces up the paper weights waiting easily the sleeves slip down the easel ritual by ritual window by window, fear of the unknown beholding the eye of the throne a pupil's pupil is as only as black as the destitute ashes that the charcoal carpools with as carbon.

A loud boom and my room mates with the environment the wind shook the winds croon the chimney like old saints nicking my fingertips with paper cuts dribbling like second graders yet not knowing really how to absolve anything.

Forgive me for my perpetual agony the ridicule of a two thousand year old initiate willing to dare to the caring rusted usuring raw ions fixated chariots blaring dub step as save the thief ****** but like the one who declares himself the backward ******* of the un-gold lawbringer. I am I am terrorist voted to be bring the third world warring down like a moment of courage steals life one fifth at a time.  An empty cup of Rest and relaxation sits as if an Eagle has landed upon the magic carpet beneath my now housed homeless feet, in defeat I stare grimaced at the plasma screen en-livid to the dessert sedition that lingers five hundred glucose lucid pancreas glowing green as bile, run like the Nile the white hawk head is now red.

Eat a lot of greens, the etiology of my disease is a well-borne cyclic machine. The Sun rose out this morning, my son rises like a glory. make babies the kids on the internet tell me today, last evening I didn't know If the twenty-sixth I needed to ask my manager in regards to my independence day behavior. Who knows why the egg cracks, the earth shakes, bowels quake, rainbows aren't strait, oceans consume no lightning, glass stands static at the edge of a liquid precipice...

My mouth grows less hungry every time i beg for poison, every trait i make justifies the lake that satiates it. poised to know no wonder, I lunge and mumble will i ever run outta thoughts to grumble? Or when my quills ink lacks luster the shine of mine metal will surely face the direction of my father. I here that its nice this time of year in the south, the Bronx zoo contains many types of creatures wishing to fend for themselves like an accident we harbor them from the elements they are designed to withstand despite the treason of nature they instill the greater curiosity of of our wits end freeing our passion to travel as nomads and allowing our children to just go down the block and right around the corner to feel the energy of the most fallen predators that ever roamed a far off land.

Like a pen in a century that knows no hand, like the apartment complex i science as my cortex my inhibitions fire like phone calls into my cerebellum, but how are the wires are connected. I **** in and out like limbs upon a Madrona, my internet protocol still sings my old phone number: Rest, Sabbath, human; Human, oh-so-serious, undefined, root. Yet the area code stays the same but the pages keep turning to a knew pain, as the numbers change so do the bills, as the money reigns so does the thrills, as the dew settles down so does the chills, as the root, monad, rest; oh-so-serious, rest, undefined, human sits determining a knew limbic to limbo to as he envisions a **** limo un-abbreviated appearing in his driveway one more time. I am just the house i live in, or am I a beast of happiness?
Everybody wanna hate me
And be me
In the same sentence
Im grimy no need for repentance
They say im too controversial
**** the media
I stay underground f the commercial
Ya born with nothing
Ya die with nothing
So why would I
Try hug the flames in the sky
Searchin' for light
Putting up a fight in the blight
Light my blunts to open my cells
Destined for jail earth is hell
Cant get a break from a job
So 9 to 5 switch to robs
At night i conjure my darkest identity
Me myself I triple darkness regardless
How many form come
I got many algorithm one by one
Step by step page by page
Im in a rage
on the verge of slayin'
Witha 12 guage
MUASSEnBERG **** what ya heard?
ignore the singining birds
They get hot shots for coming to my spots
And **** cops
They deserve to get drop
Slayin' the innocent people
How is thr land of free
But believe youll wake up soon
In this 21 century
Ill be. Exposin' there secrecy
So go ahead and hate me
***** but??????


Histories a lie
I seen imagines
Of Caesar
pretendin- to be Son of Man
Understand
They deify humans
Nothin' but carnal minded
Individual
This world  is precisely
Satirical
Im caught in the diabolical imperial
How i survive is a miracle
Gave up childhood became a miracle
Spinnin' cob webs
Over my enemies and my ashes be
Tokes from **** smoke
Guns is tote
Just incase of an altercation
And you'll be at deaths administration
Beat the case with no hesitation
Im bringing chaos to every nation
Hope them ******* hear me
Clear me out
By the time they find me
Ill be out
Like Snowden spreaadin' luv
With Russia
Dont come to me cuz ill crush ya
Know the 48 laws to power
as i devour your flesh
With gun powder
Try to escape the reign
Only to entice more pain
To ya brain
Since the game done changed
Fools still aint rearranged
The pieces to the puzzle
I found i was stolen
From centuries ago and where do i go
From here i hear the heavens tryna
Give me a sign
Light coverin' the dark spark
For the spliff
Im the edge of th3 cliff
Soon to crossover throwover
Government entity
But nobody will see what i see
I got envisions of my
Enemies in casket im drastic
Graphic
With the designs i illustrate
And if you hate ?
That means you ******* cant relate
But you...
Jay Feb 2014
My flicking lick
Not the trick to get your **** sticky?
Rather a thick ****, light brown if you're picky?
When I'm sick the words drip
And I sip, sip
Ahhhh
Then **** it back and spit it
And behold an angry love poem untold
Never bold enough to hold it to you
Just not something I'd do
But these words are true...
Thoughts in my envisions
Nightmares ask permission
To intrude on my hopeless solitude
And they do.
You're my dry Valentine
I could wonder why, or cry.
But I'll just call that old thing back, goodbye.
JSK May 2016
Rilke is wrong
Life isn't right
There is too much pain
Too much hurt
Not enough light

The darkness consumes
It cannot be beat
One must just stand all alone
Shaking from head down to feet

He has to fight the outside
To improve the within
The bleakness is heavy
His strength is wearing thin

How much longer can he fight
To feel goodness and warmth
When wrong seems so easy
Cold, evil winds blow in from the north

Chilled to the bone
From a murderous gust
He digs deep in his brain
To remember to trust

Memories spring to life
The blackness fades to grey
His face smiles a bit
And suddenly, it is not such a horrible day

His soul begins to warm
He envisions a time
When someone picked him up so high
His spirit continues to climb

All darkness is gone now
The gloomy shadow has passed
Sunshine has replaced it
Out it has been cast

It is not finished forever
This he surely knows
But next time he will be ready
To stand firm until over it blows

Life may not be right
But perhaps it's not wrong
He realizes this now
And right now
He is immeasurably strong
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Western star

I set for hours in the darkness spellbound you held my gaze
The trees and night darkness completed the picture
Your mind races ever higher quiet etude the engulfing blaze
Silver light breaks all captivity you to are suspended held amidst glories brow

Within darkness you are the cloaked sojourner destination improbability
Somewhere in the mix of thoughts for a brief time you are free of all concerns
All that exists is the span of distance in all this voluminous emptiness lies compatibility
Measureless void you wash in great waves against my enthralled soul

You give abundant texture to the wall and windows that I view this indispensible wonder
Because I know you seem localized but half of the earth at least can be held in the same awe
The earth when viewed aright by going to the edge and then stepping into space unchained bounder
Do you affix your very being to channels that gird the heavens go beyond be spellbound at long last right living

You’re tenuous diminished life will catch space in the raw your life will begin at long last to thaw
Your views will startle and alarm those not yet up to the throttled speed found at every level life should be lived
Adventures have for millennia shown the way over and beyond the darkest expanses victory without flaw
Table your defeated hand speak with dignified power as you break the common tide thou conquer who envisions stars as friends
Elizabeth Apr 2015
I've been thinking about our hug you left me with yesterday,
The one that convulsed my shoulder muscles and made my ribs cry just a little,
But a good cry, like the happy tears after holding a new puppy.
You said in that way,
As you have made a habit of
With sarcasm and sincerity,
"You'll always be my sweetheart",
And then you said that you won't call me your sweetheart in public.
That makes me so angry,
And you think I'm joking,
But I'm not.
Because I can't stop thinking about how those hugs and "sweethearts" are dwindling,
How each time you leave for a winter in the southern states
I cringe at the thought that I may never greet you for Easter next year.
And every time we find you asleep,
Open mouthed on the couch
We only panic for a second as to whether you will wake up this time.

You stand like a family monument,
So unique in composition,
With your structured titanium back and chiseled limestone arms that threw me playfully and carried me as your cowgirl,
And transformed our red, wooden house to sophisticated tan siding when I was too young to remember,
With your skin so dark from perma-tan I thought you were black when I was 6,
With your infinite woodworking skills and artistic envisions with architecture
That crafted dollhouses and swing sets for me at 8,
With your callused hands beyond remission and your ever bruising fingernails that paddled us down the Ausable at 13,
With your steel toed boots sewn into your feet that allowed me to dance on them till I was 15,
With your artificial heart valve and five open heart surgeries.
Once I thought it was instrumental, magical, the watch nestled under your ribs.
But now every time I get that gut squeezing hug as a goodbye I can hear that valve faintly tick,
And I pretend it's not your clock,
Trembling with each diastolic and Systolic murmur,
Gears cracking and eroding inside your kindled muscles,
Struggling to keep up with its more natural brothers inside that engulfing muscle,
That which reminds your family of
Your selfless and infinitely giving persona.
But it only reminds me that your days of rock polishing
And dentured smiles are ending rapidly.
For my Papa
D S Caillte Dec 2010
Shoegazing.  The first time I heard of it, I understood it immediately.  Some may be hard-pressed to find the attraction in the stillness of the spotlight, but any modern romantic envisions with ease the dust on the tops of well-worn Converse, scraped from the warped wooden floors of the old warehouse/depot/theater/other artifact of urban decay turned venue.  Such mighty inwardness may produce confidence in the "performer," but true faith, as such a focused person must know, comes from truly knowing thyself.  From these fragmented origins spring the music, the serene meditation of one lifting higher the soul of the watchers.  He does not know that he has watchers.  All is as it should be.
Stargazing.  It's been many a year since my earnest forays into the night, trying to capture the clean green-dusk scent that also unaccountably exists in the ugly, fragrant shelves of the public library.  Who of those that take the time to look does not appreciate the night sky?  It is an open mysticism, inviting, to some calling, with less of the hypnotic tricks like incense and smoky air but more compelling draughts of equal parts mystery and light.  Light, for our nature; only the sort of dark mystery that alludes to more of the nature of ourselves, more essence.  Future.  But to open myself to the sky is to become sensitive, seemingly undesirable to the warm, smoky fragrance of an always inward and reflecting (stagnating) heart, which is why recollection caught me unprepared when she referred to the relation of my posture to the drably speckled slabs of ceiling as perfect stargazing.  With the recollection of such charged memories, I was more surprised when she leaned awkwardly back against my knees and called it
Stargazing.
Vashawn Jackson Jul 2015
I'm MEGALADON
Megatrons decepticon
On a upper echelon
THE allsparks electrons
Sparks the neurons
In the mind of the shark
The.volts in.his heart
Embark
On a mission
The autobots builds Robocops
With unlimited ammunition
The ambition
Envisions terminators
Exterminators
Germinators
Cause these perpetrators
Try to invade us
Capers of these crusaders
Is devastating cause its thousands of devastators
Awaiting us
Is the.Originator
The creator
The savior already saved us
But brothers an sisters betrayed us
They face us
Ever seen
Wings
On a transformer
Rachel Doty Nov 2014
The bugle plays it's song
As it does every day over the PA system
The children rise
And face the flag
Out of respect?
Who could know
When their true thoughts
Are locked away inside?
One little girl
Envisions painting a picture
With the hues of the banner
Near her a small boy
Stares into space,
Dreaming about a shiny new toy
Waiting for him at home
Across the room
Stands the teacher
Behind her desk
Facing the object
It is her obligation to face
She is very deep in thought,
Concerning her dinner that evening
In the back corner of the room
Stands a boy
Straight as an arrow
Saluting Old Glory
A single tear running down his cheek
He, like the others
Focuses on faraway things
Something not within his reach
Not now
Never again
Unlike the others,
He breaks his stare from the flag
Bows his head
And whispers
"Thank you, Daddy"
Thank you to all those who have served. You deserve the upmost respect and you are inspiring to us all.
spysgrandson Apr 2017
she sits by her window to write,
ever fond of the morning light;
not a day passes when she fails
to pen an epistle to him

she envisions him pulling
the missives from his saddle bags
perusing them a second time, a third,
admiring her chancery cursive

a year now since she saw him:
steady on his steed, his regiment
waiting, eager to join the fray, to ride
north under his proud command

perhaps at eventide, she will
write another letter, in case she
forgot anything she intended to say
this morn, or just to reach out again
before the setting of the sun

a cloud passes as she signs
her name, another as she folds
the paper; soon it seems, a gathering
storm--she places the letter in the
envelope, its traveling home

she turns the candle to pour
the wax, then presses the seal;
another story from her to him
ready for its long journey

the stroll from her room
to the mantel in the parlor
to the pile of paper that grows
higher above the hearth

a cold cavern of late, for
without him, she eschews all
things warm--for she knows
he must be freezing in the
cruel ground where he fell

(Spartanburg, South Carolina, Winter, 1863)
ekaj revae Jun 2015
Opening 6 am eyes
To squealing leaf blower,
time-squinching
******* tightening siren,
a drone for your eyes to
float inside,
A sudden soundtrack
to text  Message suicides,
, bitterbombs ,
from New York

The words pop up wobbly,
glossy, bobbling around
to the beat of their sender’s
notions
Distressed as he wakes to the sting in his eyes
And envisions your eyes
opening after,
succeeding,
Not alarmed yet.
still separate from the void
where his thoughts
haven’t occurred yet.

Projected comics
play out in both minds,
saracastic kids,
bouncing around like
blotter acid making
escstatic pangs of
it all.
While the world drives on
A steaming freight train
heading straight through Kansas
To Alberquerque
To beyond
Until were back again going to sleep
In love with our pillows.
SM Jan 2015
She has long, chocolate colored hair.
She has eyes that twinkle in the sunlight.
She has a smile that can light up even the gloomiest of rooms.
She has a figure that any girl would dream of having.
She has a beautiful face; not a blemish on it.
She has a warm heart that could melt a blizzard.
She has a way with words that is moving.
She has a scent of genuine and purity.
She has a mind that envisions so much, she could make me look blind.
Venus Rose Vibes Apr 2013
A drinker should hold all of the doubt
For a prayer is what one lives without
And with what underlay may cause one to spout
The pain one has felt at the brow
Though escape of the fearful is that which one envisions of
Frightenings and nightmares are relinquished smug
Light projected as a flying white dove
Is thou who may be safe with a gun
Melissa Breanne Aug 2011
She cuts her self at night, to see if she still feels,
to see if anything is real and the scars they never heal,
though she tries the memory's... like the scars..... are
more then real and shall never fade though she stays
up late and prays they may,she is made…. an example of,
the people are never kind, but they don't know what
goes through her mind, and either do i, though i always
try, every night she stays up and crys but she feels the need to
continually watch her self bleed,

As she feeds it, the emotions and internal commotions,
bring down sorrow and personal convulsions, Burns on her
skin smile back, it takes her a moment to relax, after wax
falls hard off her skin, leaving only an emptiness within,
When she feels she wants to die, I want to make the sky,
open up and all the clouds erupt into sunshine, make the
world seem fine, and everything's okay, but it's not,
her own mind is fraught with problems and decisions
and the thing that she envisions is the problems that
she's created with each incision

And as the razor takes and creates another tear,
The fear grows greater as the self hate grows
and evolves much deeper, Within her,
After the blood flows, the longs sleeves lay low,
on her arms in order to hide, she fights to take
what sides she has left, after all the mental stress,
her parents don’t understand her, her friends don’t
take the time to scan her, they just leave her stranded,
left out for dead lost in her head,

Smile for me child, wont you try and live for a while?
Please don't go back and react to each thing with negativity,
and try to get relief through poor stress release,
wont you please stay with me put down that knife,
stay in my life come to my paradise,
But it comes to no surprise, she lies, "I'm fine," the line,
used to define that you're not and I feel so caught like
a naught in my stomach and it's not like I've never felt
this before, but it hurts even more since you're close
but I drift like a ghost through your life, transparent,

I want to be there, to wipe away every tear
and the memory that every scar leaves,
But im afraid of the self relief
the cutting brings its turn into a habit,
Shes just has to have it,
I try to understand it to the best that I can,
But when I don’t… she leaves me to ponder
Wander the streets in my mind to find
The answer, to all this hate and sorrow,
The depression will eat you, me alive but we
must strive to look at the brighter side,

As she lays there, naked in the tub, she starts to
rub body lotion over stomach cuts, just to feel the
sting while she scrubs, its her drug and the pain
that she feels when there's strain, she wont explain
or be constrained as she lines her chest with red
human paint,

Its like a taint of the mind that is never forgotten or wanted,

But still haunted by uncertainty, pain, and misery

The pain that could fill troughs, but the love that
I have for her could never be lost......
*This is not something that I've written*
My boyfriend and a friend of his actually wrote this as a rap.
I figured it was great so I'm putting it up here.
I have a revised more poetic version called 'Scars (Revised)' also uploaded.
Children of my days, living prodigies,
Blessed with wit, by the Lord Almighty
Amidst the poor city, through sin is cursed,
Entwined his warning we’re summoned
Amidst the dark where we stand,
Here is the battle looms
The combat against fraudulent,
Through wisdom we’ll coup
For as the eagle sees food from afar,
So as we despite the dark,
Envisions as hope of the future sprout

Arise oh youth, march with thine heart with raging fire
Such courage lies on you, innate however numb
Silent courage once waken is supreme
Same as pony serene in pen
Whose spirit is loud in the valley once freed
Like a soldier in a battlefield
Clothed in the armour of valour and strength.

Arise oh youths, his mighty warriors,
Come and yell in audible chorus
For courage is innate, and wisdom is indeed sonorous
Don’t you hear, don’t you see?
The vineyard where wine overflows?
Arise oh youth, the land is ready
And victory awaits in the hands of the Lord
SquidInk Dec 2020
everyone envisions their hope for their future
whether they want to lose weight
or whether they want to fall out of habits
some people envision having a family
having kids and a dog
marrying that one boy that makes them so happy
is it bad that in my future i envision nothing for myself
perhaps in the future i will be gone..
wordvango Jan 2016
ode to Mabel

Mabel is breathing....
    no one ever visits.
She has tended flowers and done laundry all
    life for others.
No one needs her.
    She has a bad knee and
Neuropathy , subsists now on pain medication and sugars.
    No one calls her.
She envisions one day getting flowers.
    Or hearing again from that gentleman, who
twenty years ago smiled.
    Or her children or grand young ens';
but no one writes her one letter.
     In the cold she wears all those sweaters she knitted.
no one remembers her.  I will!
    I visit and bring the flowers I grew specially
for her,
    the prettiest yellow roses,
while she lives!

— The End —