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AmberLynne Jul 2014
My bones have become filled
     to the brim with lead
until each step I take
     is so labored
     I can barely make another.
I am exhausted
     to my very core
And I'm expending
     every ounce of my energy
     simply attempting
     to hold my eyelids up.
I can't anymore, I'm sorry.
I just can't, I'm too tired,
I'm going to sleep now,
that deep, restful sleep
     from which one doesn't awake.
6.24.14
midnight prague Nov 2010
A combination of yours and mine
my smile and yours
torn at the hedges
combined at the soul

wrinkled in certain places
thoughts dug in holes for me to hold

lest your mortal words from your physical tongue
sing to me in silent echos
and watch my body unfold

the veins in your eyes are red
and your pupils are streched
by simply watching me lay lifeless on this sephia toned bed
and when your hand streches forward
to calm my brutal needs
on to your lips my body feeds

and I forget that

one of the most deadly sins is
greed
Aaron Salzman Aug 2014
A drab drop drips
Downed casualty
Down casually.

A sulfuric gust cycles
In three fly-by nights.
A gust hoping,
A breeze yearning to dab a wet tear off a moistened spring cheek.
Floating by on a wisp of breath,
Breathed once by the blessed. Now irreparably tainted, then incomprehensible anew:
Treated by the respirations of the perspiring, expending breath on czarist ears, aspiring;
Cured by the tongues of the insatiably dying
And by those primary soothe-ers, invisibly crying.
Alveoli gripping that sine qua non of civilization
Until they must release the once-oxygen into the hills of Kyivan Rus.

A first breath and second
As much as a penultimate and final.
And witness to the chronology that led to such a
Bloodbath-blessed blast
As this.
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
Now the days dark ends
begin to stretch out giving
greenery room to
expand expending too the
suspension of flowers
(C) N Ripley 2010
twenty years later
marking two decades
I pause to think about
life’s trajectories

I know exactly
where I was
who I was with
what I was doing

I can’t say the same
with any assurance
about the location of
my current disposition

twenty years ago today
I was manning my
FT Info post
on the 18th floor
of WTC too
bashing away
on a clunky laptop
authoring a proposal
for an urgent sales call
at Lehman Brothers

when the blast went off
the concussive ******
rose through the building
like a undulating express train

i felt it enter my feet
bubbled up my legs
tangoed my coccyx
off its seat
shook my heart
clamored my arms
jumbled my brains

"*** was that!"
the lights blinked
then came back on
Patty said
“this is serious”
I said “yeah,,,
I’m busy....
go check it out”

the sirens sounded
but we still had power
i beavered away on my
LB solution

Patty came back
and the PA system
announced a mandatory
evacuation of the building
i put the finishing
touches on my
smart LB pitch
hit print and
off I went

in the hall
smoke was
leaking from
the elevator doors
wisps tickled the
ceiling
the lights
dimmed again
only emergency
illumination
lit the shivering
building

the stair wells
were clogged
with 104 floors of
workers slogging
downward

i was running
late for my
appointment
with big deal
destiny

i cut and dashed
my way downward
into the spiraling
morass

slicing past
the slow moving
old folks, nudging
recklessly inhibited
handicappers

i was running late
i was conscious of
expending time
as i flashed
by screamers
and hysterical
ladies twisting
ankles on bent
high heels
flopping
down the narrow
dim lit stairwell

i was out in
a flash

i emerged on the promenade
of the intercontinental hotel
a mass of shattered
glass sparkled in the
court below

a curious man
rousted from
his hotel
workout
stood next to
me in perspiration
tainted tees
shorts and
sneaks
flakes of
snow
drizzled down
onto his hairpiece
he said something
about the Pentagon
and concluded with
“this was bad'
and slipped away into
a squall of flurries
i took him
for CIA

my investigation
concluded
i had to make time
to be on time
i jogged
through the
swelling mass
of gagging trundlers

their face, running
noses and drooling
mouths splashed
in black paint soot

i was late
but i was making
good time
as i pushed up
Greenwich Street
a parade
of fire trucks
honked and blared
a salute to my
diligent march

arriving at my
destination
building security
whisked me away
"buildings closed
didn't you hear
the WTC was
bombed”

my analog
phone binged
“jimmy, where
are you?
are you alright?
the WTC was bombed?
why didn’t you call?
I’m so worried.”

My wife was tearing.

“I got an important
sales call. I’m doing
deals.  

I’m on my way...

Should i bring home
some Chinese from
Top Dik?”

Music Selection:
Clash: Rock The Casbah

jbm
2/26/13
Oakland
A serene cottage upon a dreary hillside
  Where my mind's listless galaxy of neurons
Synapse in the absolute darkness,
  Is painted in Victorian hues, cold and haunting.

Dejection rains down from the leeward sky
  With nothing harkened save for the ocean's
Stormy roar and a desolate lighthouse,
  Beckoning through the fog and memoirs of the past.

The deeper my soul is carved out with sorrow,
  The deeper the hollow can be filled with joy.
But alas, I feel nothing of joy but only a void
  Left by the dagger of yesterday's darkening tragedies.

I feel the rain soothe my skin and kiss my cheek
  Like the sweetest lover on midnight's embrace,
Yet my moth-eaten quilt of memories only seems
  Enough to shelter our legs but ne'er our feet.

My heart feels the warmth of an autumn fire,
  Kindling in the crisp rain, bleeding beneath
A rose where we burn in the endless torture
  Of our own despondence.

I can feel the blood in my veins turning to fire
  As I imagine her fingertips unzipping my spine
As though it were full of secrets and mysteries
  Unbeknowst to myself...

I can feel the inferno that rages within my aortic arch
  Every moment I imagine losing myself within her
Eyes, glimmering like an eclipse over a midnight
  Sea...the Sleepless Coventry.

She unlocks my secrets and weaves them in the bouquet
  Of tendrils in her hair like ribbons of crimson and light,
Waving in the vehement northerlies with numbing scents
  Of argan and spice.

Her body is but a canvas wrapped neatly around a
  Paper mache skeleton, the most beautifully tragic
Foundation known to humanity...
  
She arrives right on the equinox to set fire to my sorrow,
  Intoxicating me with her kiss and infecting me with her smile.

And so enters the conflagration of my soul,
  An annihilation of light, blackening my coronary
Artery whilst shooting smoke through my cinnamon
  Whiskey tainted veins.

'Tis hard to look through such a misconstrued lens
  As such, the Vena Cava Kaleidoscope...
Where the flames burn through the galaxy of neurons
  Expending the harrowing memories as its fuel.

I can see the magnetic alloy of her Cobalt eyes reflecting
  The fire that consumes me from the inside out.
She pulls on me like the moon pulls upon the tide
  As she whispers with her soft, enamored sigh.

I burn in my silent knowing, my liquid mind
  Awakening in fervor and strange euphoria.

I burn for the Aurora Infinite.
Egeria Litha Nov 2014
Wisdom is not knowledge.
It took me a vial of mescaline
And the Holy Bible
To figure this out.
All this contemplation
Over matters of the heart,
That information or judgement
Could never fathom.
Wisdom passed down,
Acquired through
Inheritance.
Knowledge learned
And memorized
Through practice.

Fantasies and dreams
Always seemed like
The synonym for
The same thing.
Fantasies are sleepy dreams
Allowing us to imagine
Our wildest possibilities.
Fantasy parked out front
In a street car named Desire.
Dreams draped in a scarlet robe
Of lust and positivity,
Always come into fruition.
Dreams draped in onyx
And negativity
Turn into the reversed
Prophetic vision of what
We want to be.
Fantasy dismissed
As impossibility
But allowed in the
Bedroom *******.
Dreams realized and
Dreams that die,
They are considered
The guiding reality.

Expending so much energy
On knowledge and dreams,
But now I am
Consciously connected
To the vibration of
Wisdom and Fantasy.

Releasing resistance to
Those concepts
That I've never seen.
Alan McClure Mar 2011
Oh baby,
prepare yourself for a fitting tribute
at the hands of my lyrical ability.
I will rhyme effectively
much as a successful sportsman
might employ his talents
in order to win a tournament of some kind.
Indeed, my mastery of rhythm and rhyme
will be such
that you will find yourself very powerfully
attracted to me.

Girl,
you put me in mind of a famous celebrity
noted for her physical beauty.
If you were, let's say, a car,
you would be
a really good car.

The sort of car
I would wish to own and drive.

Not convinced?
Then let me assure you
that I can easily put paid to my rivals
by deploying the linguistic and musical prowess
which I believe I mentioned above.

Oh yeah.

Incidentally,
I would think nothing
of expending quite considerable sums
on nice things to give you.

That would be nice,
wouldn't it?

So, baby,
if these enticements are sufficient to stir your interest
in me
then I would be delighted
to exchange
contact details
or something.

Oh yeah.  Get down.
- From Also Available Free
Have you ever seen a fish fly? I don't mean a spectacular leap accompanied by twirls and accentuated by the water dripping from its scales like a couture gown. Nor do I mean the astounding burst of speed a "flying" fish exhibits as it leaps out of the water, expanding their large pectoral fins, and gliding to safety. What I mean by my question is the following: have you ever seen a fish exert the energy required to achieve take off and to truly soar among the clouds and dance at the feet of the heavens. Have you ever seen a school of fish flutter in such synchronicity of purpose and action, they sound as one creature? Have they exited our plain of view in such a flurry of color and sound as to be considered art? The answer is no. They never have nor will the ever behave in such a manner. Why you ask? It is not their nature.
To know the universe one must first know themselves, but are we obligated to follow our nature? As much as I would love to disagree, the past year has presented me with an abundance of evidence that my legalistic disposition cannot ignore. Prior to college, I regarded my resentment of tedious and technical activities as a phase of adolescence that would soon pass upon entrance to college. However, the opposite has proven itself to be true. I have become even more resentful, enraged even, at the technicality and tedium of my classes. While I have ideas of implementation and grandeur; they, the classes, deconstruct ideas until they are merely a collection of uninteresting facts and figures void of life and purpose. In just the past month, I have had my motives and resolve for engineering questioned by myself, my advisor, two professors, and many friends. The question is always the same "how do you feel about engineering?" and my response is equally predictable "I think I'll stick it out, besides there is more job stability with engineering than with art." I am dying! Like a fish out of water, I am gasping for air and nutrients but nothing is coming. My skin is drying and I am left expending what little energy I have left desperately trying to get back to the sea, to get back to art. For all the beauty of my mind, it is wasted on my efforts for this, engineering, is not my nature. I became so inthralled, so utterly captivated by the stark blues of calculations and whites of lofty ideas and esoterica, that I ignored the kaleidoscope of colors beneath me as unorganized and useless fragments of information. I never appreciated the bright pops of corals, greens, oranges, reds, yellow, along with every other color known and unknown to man until I had managed to jump clear past, what I then saw as, the boundaries of art and got stranded on the dullness of solid ground with a sound as dense as the colors. Those bright colors were not merely background noise, those colors formed my world, indeed they formed me.
The time is very late now and I am running out of energy, but I know I have to get back to myself and my nature. I'm not quite sure where I'm headed, but this little fish is going to keep swimming until sea meets sky. Who knows, maybe I'll even grow my own set of wings and fly.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Manifold Blessing

There is a reason wife rhymes with life
In her eyes I find the depths I must ever mine
Hearts of gold not made in any other way
The vain derived by expending softest feelings this all aligns
Molten gold flows into the mold only when honest truth fires singular hopes
For no other exceeds or matches this sacred bond that love has forged
In pressure I gladly steadfastly March this alone breaks my nature of stone
To another coupled selfless paths give rise to adornments uncommon
Her hand her voice most gentle but by it alone many storms unerring guide held the course
The day holds only empty clouds if she is absent the sun shines in vain all is tied together by her smile
She knows secrets that keep us safe in their power we run with never ending force all troubles are dispersed
Holy writ speaks to this matter when it says a man finds a good thing when he takes a wife
From these priceless cherished gifts all the earth is replenished no other way is it made whole
He who would hold her in small esteem troubles his own life and condemns himself to poverty
Xyns Oct 2017
Ugly and disappointing colors are what they're revealing
It's a challenge not to fall victim to the deceptive deceiving
This world in which all are tirelessly scheming

Corrupt messages intended to disillusion our modes of sensory
The laws of this dishonesty are rarely discriminant
The unlimited reach of the effects are constantly consistent
Putting current views and outlooks in legitimate jeopardy

Originality is one thing they've made a hobby of stealing
Dark, ***** secrets require intelligent attempts at concealing
This society in which all are tirelessly scheming

Naivity is an automatic assumption of all that is innocent
You can witness their successes expending minimal energy
The fraud is hazardous; failure is certainly imminent
One would desire that outcome sooner than later, as it leaves recipients feeling elderly
With any form of luck, more will come to share this sentiment

Endless efforts put toward developing façades generally appealing
Aiming to have candor and valor on the knees, kneeling
This reality in which all are tirelessly scheming

Sturdy quilts to shield clarity are woven most expertly
Time being tested passed slowly- increment by minute increment
Blueprints to fool the majority will be, expectedly, intricate
What was the original reality has been altered into a distant, doubted memory

Any and all accomplished legitimitacy sends them all reeling
There's always a "crisis" with which we should be dealing
*Our universe in which all are tirelessly scheming
Harley Oliver Jun 2015
i look at her
and i forget i exist
and when i'm lost in thought
she hangsout in my dreams
she lives inside me
corrupting my essence;
expending my vibrance
and if she could have my last breath
she’d take that too
Dave Robertson Mar 2021
Do you know what’s good in this world?

You, you ****** idiot,
expending all your energy
whirling and worrying
about what others think
while your very industry stops them sinking,
you almighty dingus

You bally fool!
Your absence injures
in increments felt by each person
you vex for, who miss you
which add in mounds and scores
and you shaped piles
while they would run for miles
to keep you in their orbit

So,
you massive plum,
let yourself feel it
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Manifold Blessing

There is a reason wife rhymes with life
In her eyes I find the depths I must ever mine
Hearts of gold not made in any other way
The vain derived by expending softest feelings this all aligns
Molten gold flows into the mold only when honest truth fires singular hopes
For no other exceeds or matches this sacred bond that love has forged
In pressure I gladly steadfastly March this alone breaks my nature of stone
To another coupled selfless paths give rise to adornments uncommon
Her hand her voice most gentle but by it alone many storms unerring guide held the course
The day holds only empty clouds if she is absent the sun shines in vain all is tied together by her smile
She knows secrets that keep us safe in their power we run with never ending force all troubles are dispersed
Holy writ speaks to this matter when it says a man finds a good thing when he takes a wife
From these priceless cherished gifts all the earth is replenished no other way is it made whole
He who would hold her in small esteem troubles his own life and condemns himself to poverty
Sleepy Sigh Apr 2012
Paper folding, tearing, shaping -
Tie a strip in a knot,
Make a star.
So much simpler than writing,
So much less rewarding.
And just distracting enough
To forget I am disappointing myself.

Fill up a mason jar
Like a galaxy
And the screen is still blank
Reprovingly.
I am giving nothing
And expending energy
But it's such a marvelous way
To waste time.

Later I'll probably
Throw out the universe
Or maybe pour it on someone's desk
As a surprise.
It's a small inconvenience
But maybe they'll wonder
How long it took to put the stars together.
(And never know they hold
Little chunks of unsung songs
And unwritten poems.)
Tell me of a day without struggle, a day without pain
If there be such a day, let it remain a secret to no man
Let it fill our ears and tremble in our own throats
For such a day is a gift from the universe
Bequeathed upon the masses
An approximated apology, focused on redeeming malice
The brightly shining sun would focus its strength on its object
Taking aim at his soul, meaning to warm it, looking to extract it
Taking from him all that was harmful from tarrying seconds
Replacing cruelty and hatred with thoughts that resemble forgiveness
But in themselves they are not forgiveness
Forgiveness, being but a specter, usurped by memories grown grainy
Forgiveness is so sallow and downtrodden, unconvincing
No, the thoughts projected by the early year’s sun are not so
They are empty of reminisces, void of meaning
Shining and new, redemptive and rejuvenating
Yet we approach them with a quiver of arrows fastened from our past
Expending ourselves in fighting its gaze and retreating to our caves
Where our memories are sheltered
To ponder what it means that this intruder has returned
Stroking the identities it tried to quell and weeping until overtaken by slumber
If ever there has been a day without pain and without struggle
Verily, the night which followed has it cast asunder
MMX
Tara India Nov 2014
Two bites, just two and you're free
You did it yesterday
Tell me, why can't you eat
Is it because you're guilty
Or because you think you're fat now
Do you choose this freely

One more, and sit, explain
Tell me why it haunts you, why
Human need has become shame
Why is one meal such a fight
Is your brain stopping you or
Are you just wanting to die

Starving is not an art, or poetry
It is not about looking good
I don't want anyone to want me
I simply don't want to need
And now I find myself trapped
By the fear and fallacy of greed

Those bites meant internal war
One of attrition, locked inside
What the hell am I fighting for
Do I want to be rendered ugly
So unattractive I won't be
Hurt, attacked once more and seized

Do I want to repel, or is it now
To be thin and perfect in
My miniskirt and arched brows
Do I want control over my world
As I feel it, myself, slipping
I am becoming an insane girl

If I starve can I stay alive
Can I bear my form and figure
Convincing myself I can survive
On smoke, sugar, and caffeine
On air and diet coke without effect
Do I just want to not be seen

Finish that bite, just swallow
Are you afraid of feeling full
Afraid your humanity will show
Do you fear being seen as weak
Or needy, somehow sad
Is a bone cage what you seek

Don't purge, your body can't take
Another absconscion now
However much you have come to hate
Feeling your heart and eyes
Brighten, really function again
Are you a slave to lies

The thought of it makes me sick
I see the swelling, bubbling
Fat and I seek to destroy it
Or to destroy myself maybe
I can never be quite sure whether
Living or dying is meant for me

I don't know how to live
How to exist in this world when
I have nothing new to give
No originality dwells in my blood
My brain sings familiar tunes
My thoughts linger dark as mud

How could anyone need me
Such a vacuum of malcontent and
Self destruction, I'm never free
To love; I chose not to anymore
To breathe; it only hurts me
To laugh; I closed all those doors

I tore out my heart and pretended
I was Davy Jones, or a skeleton
I wished my life had ended
At all those times I tried to die
Now you ask if I can eat
How can I when I don't see why

Sit still, don't go expending it
That fuel is precious, please
I promise that you need it
I'll remind you through the weeks
You promised to try now
You said you'd learn to breathe

Well you need to learn to sit still
Feel full and not poisoned
By food, you should not feel ill
For finally treating your body right
I know it feels strange
But maybe you will sleep at night*

I hear your reasons, I really do
But I'm so worthless inside
This feels like hell, I tell you
The pain, the sweeping sickness
The endless need to be empty again
Have I descended into some madness

Have I lost my mind along the way
To cutting out my heart
How can I bear another day
So laden down with shame and guilt
I'm forever waiting, it seems
I'm waiting for the hole to be filled

There is a hole inside my heart
My soul a void, a nonentity
Blackness; how could I start
To conquer it when I can't see
When I am blind, I am trapped now
By this hatred and yearly deceit

But you've sat and listened
You know I am not being spiteful
I feel one day I'll be forgiven
By parents, by lovers and old friends
I'm not defiant, I'm so lost
I guess this isn't how my story ends.
this is a poetic adaptation of the sort of discussions I regularly had while I was inpatient recently, with the italicised sections relating the usual assumptions and questions of nurses and the rest being my struggle to understand my recent relapse with regards to my eating disorder.
JDK Jan 2017
I know how to grab your attention,
but I'm not sure how to keep it,
so I'll keep this as shallow as I can before diving into the deep end.

I know how to bob and weave,
but I'm not sure what I believe in.
Something to do with the conservation of energy, I think;
expending it in a dream-like series of experiences before eventually going back to being a part of Everything.

I know how to cut a rug,
but . . . well actually I don't think I know what that means.
Hang on while I look it up:
To dance.
"Twenty disco classics on one CD. Now there's music to cut a rug to."
Usage notes: also used in the form cut a mean rug ( to dance very well): "This flamenco dancer cuts a mean rug."
Gerald Campbell Nov 2015
Fish is the worlds problem
Fins and gills a and poisonous jelly
Resting in the crevices of their more vulnerable kiddy-make-cry
To slice at young flesh is exquisite
Knowing the scar you're leaving behind
Will vanish within hours
Yet
Will remain fire-hot and ******
For the rest if the kid's fish-hating life
It's a small pond they took you to
The deepest water beneath a lunky wood and metal bridge
E
Which creaked and groaned begging to give in
We say on that bridge, poisoned legs hanging and dangling
Looking at Aunt Terry coming up out of the water much too quickly
Gravity deciding it wasn't through yet with her swimming suit top
We laughed from emberassment
But even the rowdiest among us clammed up
Breathing harder and deeper than they had ever done before
On the cusp of puberty every single *****, heretofore shrunken and shriveled from the unfortunately cold water in that unnamed pond
Every flaccid, dripping **** , when the brain sent down the message concerning the incredible size and girth of Aunt Terry's ****
Ever little immature Ramma Lamma Ding **** got a fresh infusion of prime hemoglobin straight to the juju
All we knew to do was hide in bushes
Pretend we're taking a **** while in reality we were expending the last couple of minutes it took to coax out that tiny gelatinous goop.
We spit it out of our manhood, unconcerned with where it may have
Eventually fallen. It had lost it's novelty long before we hacked it

Terry was embarrassed, to be sure
She knew what the boys were doing
It didn't bother her at all
There was a time when they fought for it. As if were spoils of war
That delusion didn't last for very long

What could she do? Her swim shirt was ruined. She had to get out
They jerred her as she found her way to the door
On one side freedom, albeit bogged down worh mamy many secrets

This could be the last time anyway
Rumor around town is that the slaughterhouse bought the land and all it's water ways. They planned to use it as  a reservoir for newly killed swine within six months you would not have recognized the ole fishing hole
The hooks baited with frozen shrimp
Grown ups helping sons find minnows gone, ahh, long gone, like the best years of our lives
We stood up as one in order to survey
The carnage, carnage even at this early stage wasa harbinger of bad omens to come
In every inch of the pond, diluting it if possible,
Pig's blood swine blood
The rats that ran with the pigs
As if they too had been specifically sent to insure that enough blood was let into the swamp
Dead swine, harder than a hobby horse, eyes still open, hopin' there's been some mistake
A lack of regulations combined with forced apathy kept us from caring
Much about what e believed was an injustice . We were children. It was enough hell to see the clean waters replaced by pig blood, pig guts. offal, intestines and other items that remain inside the body for a very good reason

May you find streams and brooks
Lakes and. Oceans
Of baptizing water
May you remember with great fondness your toes playing in the sand
Remember, my children, how crystal clear and pristine were the waters
Good, well tended salt water for catfish
Not a pool full of crimson stench.
This is my childhood. Shouldn't someone have let me know a long time ago that you were planning on turning it into the slaughtered pig open grave
It can't be
It just can't be

(And yet, it is)
Based on a true story
Egeria Litha Jun 2013
Experience morphed me into such a detailed design.
Any exposure taints, just ask the sun when it hits our skin.
The spiral never ceases, it merely expands into the nothingness.
Until it is enveloped in the blackness.
What am I without the drugs, the relationships, the maya, the physical?
My mind questions me when I close my eyes every night.
Planet Earth has taught me to love what is in my hands
with all of my bones,
and when it is time...
to simply let it go.
It is not simple.
To invest and to expend for the sake of investing and expending.
But I know this... and so I watch...
finger by finger
as I loosen my clenched fist.
Transcending the object I cradled with agony,
and with each release
I rise higher than I
and it.
Senseless liberation it seems like,
but in doing so I lose my senses.
mask Feb 2013
On the mornings I awake empty,
more frequent than few and far between,
I take solace in the supposition
That I have something within me
Worth expending.
Poetic T Dec 2015
It could be faintly heard in the early years
Such beauty it was unimaginable what it
Stood for as its notes past into white noise.

Its rhyme of thought would engulf some in
Coming fear. like wilted flowers they fell into
Themselves unsure of what was indeed heard.

Like the lady of the lake, calling to those enticing
Those of open thought to the shallow waters then
Would pull them under submerged in silence.

It would echo around halls and rooms where its
need was high, soothing the calling that would
Grasp a last breath expending last notes in rhyme.

The song of death was awoken with the first breath
Of life, but would finish upon a last breath.
Soothing all to that place with each softening note.
sixpoetry Mar 2019
now, i’m no physicist
but i believe
the powers of gravity
to lay far beyond
the tides of the ocean
and the pulls of the moon

if gravity
in all its mighty magnetism
chooses only to pull the earth
how might one explain
the karmatic lure
that graces our love?

through the roughest of splits
leaving the most jagged of edges
scars ripped through perfection
forever shattered by broken words

despite endless attempts at resolution
and countless finales to our grand tale
we always found our tears
to be recurringly interrupted
by the rustle of curtains being drawn open
for an encore of what was presumed to be lost

who has drawn these continuously?
consistently hoping in the face of doubt
to whom might i extend thanks
for becoming the self-appointed stagehand of our love?

why, it can be none other
than the beloved universe
that intertwined us from formation
expending the very magic used to bind us
to tear away our blindness
and once again
as if on cue
reunite us
Emily Jun 2014
My heart breaks and rips as I convey the deep feelings I have for you on paper

The love letters that I write seem to be meaningless seeing as though this love is one sided

My stomach is sick and my cheeks are stained red from these moments of anguish where I let you go

Our relationship doesn't make me happy, it only makes me angry and sad, dissatisfied and unfulfilled

We barely speak, we barely connect, our relationship is impossible to maintain due to a lack of sacrifices being made

You seem uninterested and treat me as if I'm an afterthought in your mind, while you consume my every moment

Continuing down this path will only breakdown my heart further into the space of emptiness that it seems to be

These love letters are tear stained as the droplets fall with every written word, I wanted it so badly to be real

I miss you every second and I long for you passionately, wanting to know you and be with you all the days through

But we will never be because what I see in front of me is someone who cannot love me the way that I love them

I'm sick of crying over you, I'm sick of expending all my energy on you, because by the end of the day, I am only depleted of my love, lacking affection and attention from you
I have not written this honestly and from the heart in a while. This piece is exactly my emotions as I feel them. No filtering whatsoever.

© Emily 2014
preface: prays of purse filled legal tender
this ****** NOT ******
   (hue coward know who eye mean)
   hie do attest

that poetry may not be best
to express whoosh to chest
*** a lee till bitta chump change
boot overpowering literary force 

   to pocket earning for a grange
(hmm...who knows maybe
   formerly owned by Jessica Lange 
thence might be within my financial range
even though this har chap 
   decades older than college student - iz that strange?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
GAINFUL EMPLOYMENT QUEST --- or
subtitled IN PRAYS OF LEGAL TENDER.

Let this dog gone prime mate ova simian sketch out 
   his general doggerel to free
unleashing a swiftly tale lord 
   of the flies - harried styled brush stroke of strengths
me retracted claws, which might find me 

   barking up the wrong tree arf find yarself
cat a tonic taking a nap - 
   in the land of doctor ah zee.

akin to a termite expending energy 
   thru wood to bore search sans income 
   an arduous slow book king chore thus,
   i spruce quest per 
   my non-conformist poetic je ne sais quois x cell lent 
   cover letter de jour 4u2 access and for me 

   to entertain as a minimum less or more
and then...whoosh
   into circular filing cabinet ye will store
this non-formal reap ply, 
   which email will take cyberspace tour.

Pixar could nada pay enough 
   for this trainer of apple chomping antz 
so i wonder if any chance 
   whisker of employment 
vis a vis thru this contrived virtual toy story 

   qua ratatouille poetic brew 
could materialize opening virtual community chest 
   into a likely monopoly winning chance 
such an idea generates me 

   to shrek out with excitement n contra dance 
just in case a glimmer of some prospect exists 
for this self anointed bard, who dislikes formality
presents a brief poo whet tick summation
   sans technical skills, he hopes to enhance 

p'raps earn enough moolah to see arc d'triumph, 
 Louvre, Paris France i offer
   the following poetic expression 
   for ye to take a glance 
and help this intuitive **** sapiens income
   to expand and en-hance, 

which byte size bit torrent humor 
   without use of strong arm, nor lance
   might cause ye to soil pants 
after misinterpreting mishmash 
   as some rave and rants 
  
part time con sit hard so positive stance 
   a subtle intent worth hiring, 
   2 sway au currant series electronic charge 
and ideally affect hypnotic trance.

betcha never red a poe sting like this faux 
   iambic pentameter electronic wire 
   from boyish looking blood muggle 
   father up in years (whose nonpareil courage 
   to face voldemort never does tire) 

and two grown girls 
   would consider him a worthy hire 
to rake in gobs of legal tender,
   satiating unquenchable hunger 
   hunger game of thrones,
   and thirst qua knowledge = powerful
for bits of computer know how to acquire.

this cover letter of sorts conveys
   teensy weensy, itty bitty 
byte size actual work experience 
   (this older mister rhyme stir 
   lives northwest of philadelphia city) 

kenye bull heave that,
   nonetheless, i hanker 
   (NOT  confused with HACKER)
   though disparate deeds offset
   by difference of third letter 
to employ computer and writing skills, 

   + rooted tid bits of moxie playing at nearby Roxy 
burrow, which prompts the following ditty 
express interest to apply mental tasks
   ala computer trouble shooting 
some may ascribe as nitty gritty 

on par with secret life of Walter Mitty 
whom destiny protected and took pity 
this merely meant to be silly 
   yet also attempted to be witty.

No matter how many miles by car 
(actual company might be within dead
   man walking distance) 
   opportunity not be considered to far 

using acumen huck cull interest 
   and technologically spar 
+ graphical user interface programs
   to get unstuck from virtual feathery tar.

Iambic pentameter might be faux pas
   not the traditional standard genre 
   for a cover letter 
i see no reason why 
   non-conformist modus operandi 
cannot serve as mode

   to communicate pursuit viz philologist technician 
   and paperback writer wannabe, 
   cuz i love each english language letter,
which honest to goodness confession 
   hopefully offers unique outlook re: 
   other respondents at least a bit better.

this pure breed mud half blood muggle prince 
born (whom most think me full o hogwash 
   to *** rid of hog wort) - yea 
truth seeker for employment reckons
   the following poetic way 

not necessarily follows formalities 
   to reply would readily say, 
yet why adhere to conformity, 
   which paradigm frowns on creativity 
atypical modus operandi to reply

   positive job offer i pray 
even if outcome per offering interest 
   turns out to be nay 
perhaps because where mien hometown 
   west of philadelphia lay
boot methinks tis cuz mine longish
   wavy hair follicles fifty shades of gray.

no employment vitae shows dearth 
hence decided to resort - thou add verse 
   to induce a byte size mirth 
of requisite (sought after) technical expertise,
   possessing attributes FitBit wool worth consideration --

   so just allow me to boast 
blithely riding iambic pentameter to coast 
given opportunity to eradicate
re: exorcise binary electronic bookworm 
   even Casper the friendly ghost 

n offer bytes of helpful information from pc host 
information technology position tacked on fence post 
with sought after salary goal fair n equitably per year 
would necessitate celebration 
   tete a tete vis a vis teetotaler toast.

So...without further ado, i slightly brag 
telling ability to conduct understand bit size crag
reckon obsolete intricacies such as dos 
    passé, and hardly requisite material,
   i learned to manage 
   common system utilities 
   such as scan disk and defrag 

installed and resolved dsl issues,
   performed scan-disk and troubleshooting glitches 
removal of dos files, installation 
   and/or removal of hardware 
uninstalling software, running registry sweeps 

attempting to remove bugs and errors
   causing machine to cough and gag, 
which invariably causes processes
   as downloading, sending, uploading, et cetera to lag
if chance smiles on consideration --
   a happy go lucky dog this tail will wag.

oh...by the way, i would accept a starting 
and/or negotiable salary as a starting wage 
in an effort to support this self proclaimed sage 
whose role can double up as a court jester, 
   Batman joker, or jimmy john page 

hopeful this poetic synopsis 
   offers favorable gauge 
in tandem enriching fount of knowledge
   More valuable at this advanced age.

y'all might think this reply balderdash and rot 
which may matter on par bo diddly squat 
no matter i herald from skid row royalty
   with salient strengths being prestigious Scott 
**** tuckus, butta Matthew Harris 

   does not smoke ***** 
   nor drink from a *** 
and a student he is not 
nor a gentleman quarterly kennedyesque fellow
   who would be called really hot 

yet moxie by proxy this poet of doth got 
and might elicit salient characteristics 
   similar to a humanoid heterosexual bot 
and, oh by the way, i lived in lower merion 
   for some years that = quite alot.

This from - a generic johnny 
   come lately jim crow chee 
can tackle the junkyard dawg, 
   while trump petting, swaggering, 
   rollicking with rod ham 
   pomp *** city but,

who **** house trained 
   and can use snout to play putt putt 
plus extricate moss elf from tread full rut.

this sub woofer snapper papa pooch, 
though scrawny and essentially 
   a generic mixed breed
   bowled with dennis the menace 
   plus jeff and mutt 

an older dog gone college alumni 
   of hard knocks
   relied on powder milk bone dog biscuits 
   to hone courage, and overcome shyness 
   (predominant among norwegian 
   bachelor farmers canine pets)

this diet of powdered raw bit, 
   weighed heavy in my gut 
thus, i conclude air rating whims 
   hoop ping this passes windy muster 
   and makes the cut
if nyat - dag nabbit rab but.
neko-nae Aug 2017
backwards progress
like the clock has lost
it's purpose &
decided to join the circus

**** it--

the effort has been perilous and i thought it would be alright just to hear your voice and feel your love and remember what we were working for but i'm stressed and nervous and what if i was wrong and we can't do this and it's just a solo road ahead until the landscape becomes smoother i just don't know--



i want to believe it's going to work out,
but i'm expending energy on it
that i don't have to expend worrying
when i dragged myself through
the grocery store after work and bought yarn,
the simplest of tasks
were the most soul-wrenchingly exhausting
& i want to go to bed--

is this what we need?
would you be better without me?
would i be better without you?
it hurts me to even ask
since i'd like to believe
i know what love feels like
but then maybe i'm not a good example--


there's this place
in my head far away,
my higher self lives there
in this magic forest,
Totoro and i could be kindred spirits
of thick, moist forest air
that rejuvenates the soul
just to smell the abundance,
the lust for everything & want for nothing--

i'd like to say things are getting easier


but i don't know much these days--
Spirals can be painful when you can't find the end.
A Simillacrum May 2018
Words are unstoppable
Words may be spoken
Words may be written
Words may be thought

Night falls over the day
Night falls over the block
Night falls over the hood
Night falls over us

First as the dusk
Then as the stars

We can see nothing
Street corners light
Streetlight too bright
We can see nothing

Too bright but never enough.

We can see nothing of hope in the cosmos
We carry our blinded eyes in our hands

Buy me a knife.
Buy me a gun.
Find me behind the barrel,
I'd rather be first in line,
I will secure first place.

Buy me a knife.
Buy me a gun.
Find me shaking the iron sights,
I'd rather be running away from the system,
I will do what I must.

Take our education, expect us to grow.
Take our nutrition, expect we maintain.
The gatekeeper looks less like St. Peter
Than it looks like a bank.

Make it for money,
Expect we be happy
For the physical.

Make it vanity,
Expect our diminished state
Be aspiration and dream enough.

Words are unstoppable,
I know this to be true.
Where are the words
We need the most?

We cry for each other in night,
Each broken compatriot
Each potential confidant

Convinced we're abandoned
Convinced we're at war with the poor
Then at war with ourselves

Expending bullets for the clout on the shelf.
I am in here just as you so put that down.

I am in you, and I need your words to tell,
To touch, to show,

Those with nothing know what more there is than this.
(Thy lovely lasses unwittingly
unstintingly unexpectedly
taught me selflessness)

Every Holiday time each year,
a rocketing increase asper
doling out Uriah Heap ping
largesse imposed upon each
citizen banker (coerced, forced,
induced to buy baubles,
bibelot, curios, et cetera striving
to outspend a competing
shopper, which faux grand
handedness, and crass exhibition

generating mega sales (as Tale
of Two Cities, or more)
earns management stripes viz
embracing the Christmas spirit
(via blithely deftly, frenziedly,
et cetera) per avidly boasting,
coarsely displaying, eagerly
flaunting, et cetera prices paid

for the latest curiosity, doodad,
gewgaws (whereby un
avoidable advertisements), flood
mass communication airways,
causeways, driveways, et cetera
to plug reduced priceline sans
gaud dee, knickknacks, gimcracks,
encompass companies blitzkrieg
for those, who disparage being
labeled Scrooge plunk down
every red cent, and empty
their pockets, purses, wallets

to snag the title of topnotch spender
no matter no need exists to ******
every last kickshaw, novelty ornamental
tchotchkes, (which modus operandi,
(visited upon the populace, a tidal wave
vis a vis figurative manifestation,
laceration, inundation, whereby tenet,
maxim, credo, et cetera broadcast
to general public amply expending
page number two:

fistfuls of dollars fulfilling
Great Expectations
(for family, friends, relatives)
buy giving liberally,

via unspoken mandate, and
thence subsequently, when receiving
presents galore, tis incumbent to craft
sincere polite thank you note
(written in calligraphy if possibly)
to evince real or feigned gratitude
despite The Battle of Life travails
and, whenever possibly necessarily
over spending monetary reserves
setting stage for Bleak House
after festivities subside,

whence welcoming return to employ
ment to garner green legal tender
to stave off Hard Times glad to
cease hearing annoying renditions
qua A Christmas Carol, and visiting
countless theaters enduring
legions of young actors and or
actresses portray the saga of Oliver Twist
a disadvantaged indigent boy
(given up by his mum),

and grudgingly accepted in an
Almshouse, where his early existence
mirrored unfair cruelty, whereat
Master of the deprived ladelled
thin gruel only one ration, a worse
perdition than death, this measly diet
lacked minimal nutrition, The Battle of Life.

This American Notes a disproportionate
concentration to reach out to those less fortunate
particularly Thanksgiving and Xmas
which effort laudable, yet a diminution
for succor such as: triumph over adversity
sustenance, accommodations seems
to muffle The Chimes remaining
three hundred and some odd or even days.
Matthew Nov 2019
You are a pebble
washed over by others shallow thoughts
as shiny and as beautiful
as any precious gem stone setting
upon top of the finest gold ring
on any hand worthy of beauty 

Your brilliant hue
crys crystal blue persuasion
sacred with mascara black veins
cutting through as one
in jagged ramadan twists
around *** appeal turns 

the selfish tries to steel your treasure
leave you to dry up in a broken sun
taking you from your loving home 
to lock you away in a private three lock box
for their late night polishings viewed by one  
high on their elevated shoes

Some wish to teach you to fly
with smiles for the heavens 
under their wings shadowing all your bling 
hoping to wear you around their neck 
like a trophy claiming all your glory 
with a clasp of broken luck

Me  oh, I want to adore your glistening kiss
crushing the velvet blackening my heart
dive in the depths of your muse
poetically expending my unwritten universe
within me to shimmer crimson poetry  
cheering you on to greater awareness  
brighten by your silhouette bathing my desire
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
My Horrible Habit

My horrible habit of laziness
Chains me to the ground
In the epicentre
Of the circumference
Of my life

I do what I like to do
And nothing else
Expending all my energy
On myself

My inconsideration for others
For all my mothers
Is utterly unacceptable

I must tie my mind
To the stake
And burn my self away

Sean Hunt  
Windermere April 2015
Black May 2015
If life is just a destiny,
a fate that was pre-made for me,
then whats the sense in expending all my energy.
Water follows sense returns to the ocean basin,
a fate that cant be said of me,
if life is just an agony.
Its like really though. Truthfully.
Thy birth on January 13th – cervical contractions would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove to synchronize his seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks after ma parents did pro create
Imminent lviii plus years ago to date
this present baby boomer doth indubitably and inherently equate
Nineteen hundred and fifty nine
   bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate
neurological manifestation sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous to frontispiece per the story I hate
of my life and hard times, when all of a sudden out the blue irate

the onset of emotional nadir,
   where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
   decrying, detonating, and describing me own Pigs Bay
Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
   and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
   sphere inroads usurped no delay
riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
   scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did Swiss hide dill naught
   to decimate with Sherman determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times) referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
   of rebellious confederated voices yelling “HOORAY”

Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication incorporating connection between anterior cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges) greater activity upon basal ganglia, which synoptic description does nothing to alter the predisposition to ingress of uncontrollable imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical fixation particularly during onset of puberty, when an emotional kamikaze nose dive at the nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow of me former self nowhere tubby found on account of deadly symbiotic relationship asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milkmaids, or rather pressing said resources sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous, and horrendous self destructive antics, where ballistic charges drugged eminent domain former nerve cell size occupants, thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility with pride fullness and prejudice on par with dousing one with an ****** that completely upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly, and managing productively versus expending precious time and energy self absorbed into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions, manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality got embedded within the neurological interstices, which even as of this moment hound me akin to wild beasts circling ever closer to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
Thy birth on January 13th –
   cervical contractions
   would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove

   to synchronize seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks
   after ma parents did pro create
imminent lviii plus years ago to date,

this present baby boomer doth
   indubitably and inherently equate
nineteen hundred and fifty nine
   bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate

neurological manifestation,
   sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous
   to frontispiece per story I hate
of my life and hard times,
   when all of a sudden out blue irate,

the onset of emotional nadir,
   where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
   decrying, detonating,
   and describing me own Pigs Bay

Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
   and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
   sphere inroads usurped no delay

riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
   scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did
   Swiss hide dill naught

   to decimate with spirited ghost
   of William Tecumseh Sherman
   determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times)
   referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
   of rebellious confederated voices
   yelling “HOORAY”

Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication
incorporating connection between anterior
cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity
bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges)

greater activity upon basal ganglia, which
synoptic description does nothing to alter
the predisposition to ingress of un control
able imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical
fixation particularly during onset of puberty,

when an emotional kamikaze nose dive
at nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow
of me former self nowhere tubby found
on account of deadly symbiotic relationship

asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical
impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity
whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff
quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milk
maids, or rather pressing said resources,

sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous,
and horrendous self destructive antics,
where ballistic charges drugged eminent
domain former nerve cell size occupants,
thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility

with pride fullness and prejudice on par
with dousing one with ****** completely
upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly,
and managing productively versus expending
precious time and energy self absorbed

into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions,
manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality
got embedded within the neurological interstices,  
even as of this moment hound me
akin to wild beasts circling ever closer
to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
I surrender myself to you
my dark haired sultry one
No power on this planet
can stop what has begun

It's sanctioned in the heavens
by the gods above
It's impossible to control
this sweet unbridled love

We'll make love in the moonlight
under the endless stars
Expending all our energy
this night is truly ours

Knowing all my needs
all my deep desires
using passions sweat
to quench my inner fire

We'll spend this night together
and greet the rising sun  
I'll never be ashamed
for the deeds we've done

I'll tell you this my sweet baby
on this you can surely trust
Until the next time we're together
It is you I will only lust

— The End —