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Amity Oct 2014
I hate the fake in your eyelashes and the falseness of your smile
I hate your snide comments and the way you try to hide
your real and ugly self
Why fake the truth just
so that your lies may thrive?
Why are you so different?
from The person I once knew?
Why is everyone so accepting
of this new you?
When I can't even fathom
what they've sewn into your mind
Why are you judging me?
When you tell the same lie
" I don't judge "
Frustration is what I feel
At you
Society
And the things you choose
I don't understand
I don't think I ever will
I'm glad I can't help
I hope you die unhappy
Like all the people you did that too
Emotions lead somewhere. Sadness into emptiness. Loneliness into nothing. Anger into violence.
Invocation Apr 2014
I love you for your laughter
your soft hair
the morning routines I tried to adopt, that you have down to a science
the way you gaze into the abyss
with tender expressions
the careful footsteps
the blushing falseness
the pretty lace and ribbons
the black eyeliner and studded collars


BUT

beards and hunting and fishing
flannels and strength and handsome fellers
truck stops and smoking
whiskey and bonfires
g i joe and spiderman

but most of all batman and joker
the complications of comics

gaming on friday nights with bottles of bud
I love men and boys and women and girls and ladies and gentlemen
*curtsies
I can care for anything with a real soul.
mannley collins Aug 2014
Bodies have limited shelf life.
they are not entities in their own right.
They are like a suit of clothes,
put them on--wear them for a while,
take them off--throw them away.
They are used as a vehicle for the Isness
but they are not the Isness.
The Individual Isness is a small but equal,independent,individual,nameless,
formless,genderless and non physical being formed from the Isness of the Universe.
You are the Isness.
Bodies are conscious but do not have consciousness.
Only the Isness has consciousness.
You are the Isness--and are unable to be your true nature,
because you have given control over your brain centres to the Mind
and you are defining yourself by identifying with the Mind created Conditioned Identity as yourself.
the body is a fusion of two seeds at conception- brought into seedling state in the womb.
The seedling is brought to become the mighty tree of ****** existence in the mulch of a life lived,
watered and fed according to taste or custom or commonsense
or so-called expert advice.
Like the flower and the fruit on the tree-- all bodies grow from seed--live a period of time-- wither and die.
Bodies exist as the human vehicle for all Isnesses,female or male equally,of any of the five skin colours,to travel through each lifetime
until the individual Isness they carry fulfills Isness realisation,
until the Mind dies,until the Conditioned Identity dies.
If you miss realising your true nature as the individual Isness  in this life
then  you MUST come back and try again--whoever you are.
There are NO exceptions to this rule--.
birth  life death rebirth--the system is paramount.
The Wheel is ever turning.
Until the next time around.
Bodies come and go--bodies come and go
karma chamelions as George says.
Until Isness realisation is achieved the process of
birth-life-death-rebirth goes on its merry way--lifetime after lifetime after lifetime ad infinitum.
The wheel turns and the empty bodies burn on
the funeral pyres  of a thousand Varanasis worldwide.
Sleek shining dogs seizing scraps of cooked meat,
crunching on a tasty thigh bone,
Doms laugh at their insouciance and daring.
Existence provides every possible bit of information you could need for reaching the state of existential realisation of your nature as an Isness.
Existence also provides every possible distraction you need
for avoiding reaching the state of existential realisation of your true nature as Isness.
You the Isness have to choose.
Between either self realisation or eternal mind games.
The Isness is a small but equal individual,independent,nameless,
formless,genderless and non physical Isness made from a small portion of the Isness of the Universe--incarnated lifetime after lifetime in order to realise,existentially,your nature as the  Isness--or NOT, as your choice may be.
And it is your choice.
Isness are the small portions of the Isness of the Universe-- integrating, atom for atom, into the shape of physical bodies,
like fingers in a glove or a favourite winter topcoat.
We become the Isness of the Universe,written small,  incarnated in a human body if only we can let go of the falseness of
Minds and Conditioned Identities.
If not we stay as confused humans--la luta continuata.
You,the confused Isness, are the one who exercises the choice.
Isness or Conditioned Identity?.
You cant be both--no way.
To be or not to be?.
These are the eternal questions.
What  am I?.
Why am I here?.
The answer lies inside--in existential beingness.
It is the easiest "hard" work youll ever encounter.
No one can do the work involved for you.
No one can give you a free pass.
No one can "grace" you,the Isness,into realisation of your nature..
No one can forgive you anything--except you.
No one can wipe out your accumulated Karma--good or bad--except you by living a life generatin neutral Karma.
No becoming a "budda".
No becoming an "enlightened one".
No becoming a"christ"
No becoming a priest.
No becoming a prophet.
No becoming a pope.
No becoming a lama.
No becoming a rabbi.
No becoming a"sheik"
No becoming a prosletyser of any "religion" or "god" or "goddess".
No expert.
No becoming a child of god.
No monarch.
No dictator--elected or otherwise.
No military leader.
No "mystic".
No "son or daughter of god".
No "wise one"
Nobody!!!
No one  but you,the Individual Isness can dissolve Mind and Conditioned Identity.
Only you--and you alone-the confused Isness incarnated in  the Mind and Conditioned Identity  controlled body you pass through life in--can create neutral Karma.
The internal struggle goes on until it ends.
Only you,the confused Isness,can let go of identifying with the
Conditioned Identity as the "real"self.
Grasping at the conditioned belief you are the Mind and Conditioned Identity guarantees you will not reach Isness realisation.
Letting go of the conditioned belief that you are Mind and Conditioned Identity guarantees you will realise your true nature as an Isness.
Deconditioning through reconditioning
Does the rain fall upwards?.
Does violence bring peace?.
Does the sky exist?
Does anyone "save" anyone else?.
Does it all matter you may ask?.
After all existence is totally indifferent whether
you or anyone realises their true nature as Isness or not.
Until you do realise your nature as an individual Isness--
that's when the real fun begins!!.
There are NO "gods" or "goddesses" to gift you with this state.
Never have been any "gods" or "goddesses".
Never will be any "gods" or "goddesses.
There is only the Isness of the Universe"behind it all".
Not the intellectual "creation" of "poets"--with all their middle class narcissism--and piteous weak  Conditional Love.
Trying to appear as a "deep sensitive poet"
when all that they can do is scribble strings of
meaningless associated fine sounding words.
No life .
No passion.
No truthfulness.
Just deadness and truth.
Spoken from inexperience.
Meanwhile the Isness of the Universe sleeps and snores
while the world bursts into flames around us.
And we are culpable in choosing to stay ignorant.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Invocation Jul 2014
Falseness becomes you, little plastic angel
marble eyes roll, liquid sky drops of ***** coolness
never-changing
hair so fine, my heart wants to glide along your ribbons and silk like
figureskating
welts glow red on my skin as your bronzed alabaster shimmers respectably
kiss me once more; i want to taste the diamond on your lips
glitter glitter glitter
until it's time to tear away the mask
and then what are you?
she's so cute
i've never really thought highly of makeup
painted faces bore me
but hers <3 <3 <3
Days pass, my love, and I'm afraid of t'ese feelings,
Which at first startled and surprised me,
Solidified but threatened me,
Hastened my heartbeat-and lingered stubbornly, at my wit.

I was treading down in my stilettos;
And all, today, had been silent hitherto-
Whenst I but caught about thee;
More charming than the breezy day itself, and more free.

Ah, thee! How I longest to silence thee forever,
Thee to whom delights my shelter;
Thee to whom every lie shalt be truth,
and to whom all dreary ages shalt be youth.

How I longest to ****** thee;
to strangle and behead thee,
so that thou shalt no more haunt me-
just like these feelings that twitch, and dazzle me-
forever and ever; like a bewitching, yet sadistic misery.

Shalt I hate them, my love?
Shalt I depict but mock all them?
Ah, tease me-o, tease me, my love!
Catch me about those rippling grass,
Which like a bucket of green water,
Bloom and flirt with the startled bush in mass,
before autumn greets, and their brightness shalt alter.

Alter to falseness, and die in paleness;
Before they scramble up again in vain,
And retreat to my dreams like a dizzy villain;
In a wail of discord, and its lake of cold madness.

Ah! They hate me! And whenst thou seest not,
They seethe at me, they floweth in my brain;
they corrupt me vilely, and ruineth my restraint;
And my loving heart shalt they never defend,
for instead of hate, they grant it love;
and tempt it to kiss-t'is tiny heirloom of mine-
of thy picture, all repeatedly; over and over again.

Ah, thee, to whom my heart shalt only be a burden;
to whom the bleakest of winds only bounces, and goes;
to whom that this earth seems to have no throes-
Just like all those ****** birds who chirp about in yon garden.

Oh, thee, who looketh pristine in whichever garment,
and looketh still a darling atop whatever mute soil,
but safely comeliest amongst t'is Thursday night's infallible moonlight;
and altogether stirring to every glance-whilst inviting to each lurking sight.

Ah, thee, whose heart still, that lucky lady possesses,
and whose smiles she salutes and gladly welcomes;
I wonder whether thou shalt ever know how my heart is obsessed-
and that how thy love for her is my karma, my devil,
and the most undesirable-yet resentful, total sham!
Oh, for the gracious is ungracious indeed, in her eyes,
and peace is but to her a mere tempest of fights;
for to her, immortal are her shallow rights,
And eternal are her breaths, and thus, her tidiest lies.
I hope she shalt be soon swallowed into this earth,
and bludgeoned to death, within its eternal, whining hearth.
She shalt be sent to Hell, for all her discordant sins,
poor creature, as poor she was, whenst alive-to her kin.
But still poorer, poorer me who adoreth thee like this,
Who forever longs to taste thy sweet breaths-and kisses,
I am like an infant who seeks to walk and drink of the stars;
Without knowing the sky is indeed boundless, and strenuously far.
I am who never grows, but stupidly screams, and urges for the most
I, myself, who shall always be strangely desolate, and lost.
Ah, t'is poor self of mine! For canst I only dreamest, and seekest, and whine
Whilst her hair is in thy arms, smelling like sweet-and dreamless sleep,
Buried deep in thy charms, with her heart engaged in thine,
And unawakened by the night, as to one delight so deep.
I am envious, envious, envious-and for thy know, t'is envy is perilous,
and should I die, my spirit wouldst remain awake, and forever curious.
I shalt be wand'ring voicelessly like a fishy ghost,
Be unseen foliage in autumn, and be winter's plodded frost,
I shalt be confined in my own confinement,
and flustered away, in my own unblessed, refinement.

Yet still, nothing is more stately than my feelings;
and this picture of thee-ah, as always, solemn and so honoured in my arms.
Ah, thee, let me invite thee here-and show thee how tears are in fact, the truest charms;
and how pains are undeniably our breath-though faked, and dried away-
by unceremonious adoration and hate-
but still alive like we are, among th' very livings.

Ah, and so my feelings are dangerous-
for they have no soul; are bound not by wings.
As thou smileth to me-they smile not, but groweth serious-
and their seriousness, in return, bringst not one single uttering.
My thee, my thee, but if thou art not my fate,
how couldst I call thee always, my salvation?
In my heart thou art not merely my mate;
thou art worth all my warmth, regrets, and thus holiest temptation.
How am I to procure advancements, my sweet lad-
Should we hath been 'lone, had we never met?

With thee I hath been in love,
and for whom my feelings are tough.
Still I believe loyalty is in thee,
and honour in me-is whenst I loveth thee only.
My thee!
O-my thee, by whom these long-living trepidations
shalt no more be meaningful,
as how all other's admirations
shalt become unfelt, and sorrowful.

Feelings, feelings, o my incarcerated feelings
My tears are thy soul; that shape and form thy whole
To live and love whilst these flames are strong,
to whose lips only, I am insane-but clearly belong.
Genevieve Mar 2017
Dear Principal brain dead
with a hollowed out head !
with tears coming home more often than not!
Your lame dead brain dead excuse to not move my daughter to a
gentle spoken teacher rather than always ready with attack mode 0n teacher!

Dearest Brain deadest one
unfortunately this is you principal Valentine!!!
With rage my volcanic anger stirs the teachers cauldron;
Most likely she hates us by now but I haven't anything to lose
I have to remove her yet another year cause last year you
chose to turn off your F'ing listening ears!!

Dearest Brainless heartless Principal of Errol Hassell
back up your staff 110% don't give in or buckle for last year
I gave them the stiff shoulder and now a 2nd time so lets see
just how far they will go this time around? Well Brainless  itch
you can bet we are not threw, still at work behind the scenes to get her out from under your reigns but your blocking it which I think is insane.

But not a shocker being you love to lie and state one liners to shut a parent down
but what you don't realize I am not the stoppin ' Kind ; So go inside your so called school and run it like the cavalier fool that you have become over time letting down children  repeatedly , Who is clearly having personality clashes with the teacher and it is absurd the words you spoke to us saying Kids talk and this and that for being the reason you will not just simply move her to the teacher~>~~>>>

We know she is comfortable with & this is not a matter of Hide the crime don't do the time !! This is a real legit matter! So take your falseness and leave us alone,
help us to leave it as well , Give us a push to get out of your hair but the truth is you don't want to have to supply a reason so local schools ban together to protect thee other so your @$$3$ are what matters most for you not risking your job for just another parent, Just another Student!!

Brain Dead Fool of a Principal who has zero!
She is cool calm an collected while destroying your hope
for your child's safety and this is no Joke.

So when a fellow teachers who reply or people who love family or friend who are  teachers too or they once had please take a step back and a try a realistic approach to thinking while reading my words as the reality of this grows & that there are Cruel teachers that live inside schools some young some old and weathered all they know now to do is Scold Scold Scold!!! Be gone with you little annoying student of mine' because I am angry at the whole class I will choose to pick on you this time! You have study hall for the millionth time!!!

Holding power whether for good reason or
Just to be a b
*ch to a kid to pay them back for what they did or didn't do!
This school sickens me also allowing kids to label themselves a pack of 4 boys
who go by "The smarties" for me this is repulsive to ignore causing in others a feeling of Less especially since the teacher gives them most of classtime privilege's and lets them boss the students around on what to do or simply they say to others
" Your not a Smartie!!"  already started age 9 is all such a vulnerable age and being let down by adult authoritative figure and choosing not to protect and be wise to show my girl she is cared about and not denied of her experiences??!!

Is this not enough for you to have instilled inferior fear inside my daughter? Cant you see you failed her and now she feels scared and weary of adults
not trusting and this is because of you
                                            Dearest Brain Dead Principal.
My girl is stuck in a rut right now because the principal refuses to simply move her to another class within the school, happened last year too when it was her first male teacher and he is a flippant man who enjoys being mean and on several attempts for things to change he argued with the parents instead of think of a solution!! I caught him in a few lies as well so last year the principal failed her after 3 meetings L8her!! So homeschooling we did attempt but I am not well enough disciplined. She took a chance at getting a very joy filled teacher and unfortunately we are in a Nightmare yet again!! the principal is acting like she is helping us to transfer but after 2 different tries the same line of max class full it feels like the principals are talking then backing them up by trying to force us into a corner but I am not that kind!!!! think twice!! I know the principal has let down other families as well; I just weep for the repeat misery they bring cause it is not just my child suffering in class this is happening too often than not! because this principal chooses to not believe the parents and cast us aside with some cheesy chintzzy lines!! So I wrote with information a poem this time to release my tensions and anxieties of plenty, I am everyday sick to my stomach until this is resolved I've got upset belly. This is truly sad. and they have broken my trust To think my girl gave it a go for the 2nd time and same freakin situation of a screaming teacher who never smiles and is always scowling at some one. anyone would get worn out from that and she is most likely a worn out vet teacher who needs to retire same with her last years brain dead Lawrence.  They need younger spirits to fill their schools!! Younger teachers who still have fresh passion to teach. and can find happiness from being around children!
vircapio gale Aug 2012
my grandmother too, is love.
in the weeks before she died
she writhed.
in pain and suddenly,
her attention shifting inexplicably
though no less pain it was in inner diastrophisms of the falseness carved in masks she shuddered forward all herself
at 97 and in shining reservoirs of urgency
she went through bouts of chanting:
'i love you' moans and 'so much, so much'
and 'thank you, thank you, i love you' for whatever hours
there were visitors
to hear.

her cat still slept on her head.
she with all her flaws expressed it to the point of drymouth,
perfecting mantras never known so well
her brink of death an apex in our hearts




















.
this is in part a grateful response to My Grandmother, by Shonna LaRae Dillon
Ember Evanescent Nov 2014
Dear  Elsa Angelica,
So I have read through your poetry.
If you were made out of five words
Bent and tied with ribbons to shape your soul
Those words would be
Inspiring
Kind
Talented
Beautiful
Strong

I don’t know you
Your story
Your secrets
Your pain

But
I know that your poetry inspires me
Really it does
You are a kind person with loving words to offer at any given moment
You are so poetically talented it is outrageous
You are so, so beautiful inside and out
Your soul is beautiful
Your words are beautiful
YOU are beautiful
You are strong
To have held up so many others who were crumbling
You are STRONG
To have held up yourself
And been strong enough to admit when you are weak
I have selected some of my favorite lines of yours and responded to them.
I want you to know
I think you are a speechless and precious type of beauty that doesn’t exist anywhere else
Please keep writing
Because your writing
Changed me inside
And it keeps me going
Alive, not just existing
And I want to thank you for that
For fueling my smile
~Love~
Ember

I want to be
Happy once and for
All.
But how do I start
-Elsa angelica

What a lovely wistful wish verbalized for the rest of us who all wonder that same question. Pretty words, but also so much more than just pretty, so glimmering with deep meaning every syllable. You are so gifted with the pen.

I did not mean to hurt you.
I am sorry I caused you pain.
-Elsa angelica
You are so brave and should be admired and acknowledged for your strength in admitting you are sorry for something and apologizing for pain you may have caused. I have such extreme and overwhelming respect for you, reading this. Putting kindness and goodness before pride. You are wonderful.

Love is love
-Elsa angelica
So poetic, so simple, so brilliant. I can’t even say anything else, the line speaks for itself. Your work speaks for how exceptional you really are a person, as a poet and as a soul.

In autumn...
the leaves fall
like slow
motion rain
-Elsa angelica

I know this is an entire poem but I couldn’t split up specific lines I liked I was just so in love with this entire poem your wrote. Powerful imagery WOW.

Good bye
Fake love.
-Elsa angelica

You are wise to recognize falseness in love. We all struggle with that and we all struggle even more with farewells. You are admired and applauded by me for these lines. Magnificent poetic phrase. I adore this.

I know I was not a pretty flower
I know a few thorns I had.
-Elsa angelica
Oh, but even a flower with thorns is beautiful. As my close personal friend and Hellopoetry Poet friend Ena Alysopriano so wisely once said to me when I was calling myself a ****: Don’t confuse wildflower with ****. Well now I say to you, don’t confuse thorns with being unbeautiful along those same lines. You are so pretty on the inside and outside. Your work, your spirit, the way you choose to live, how kind you are, what a difference you make. Nevertheless, this line in the poem you wrote is gloriously delightful. Seriously. I am amazed.  

Cuz fear is knocking on my door
-Elsa angelica

Such an excellent metaphor, so achingly relatable to basically everyone and so genius. Incredible write by such an incredible poet. You. Are. Phenomenal.

Elsa,
Thank you for writing.
I just want to express my appreciation and gratitude for what you bring to the art of poetry itself.
Stay beautiful.
I think you are remarkably exquiste.
<3
Love,
Your ever admiring Ember Evanescent


EVERYONE SHOULD CHECK OUT HER SPECTACULAR WORK!!
EVERYONE SHOULD CHECK OUT HER SPECTACULAR WORK!!
Nemo Mar 2014
Now you're breathing champagne
I can feel it sparkle on my skin
while you revel in the falseness
of forgivable sin

Now I can feel the air around you
deflate and search for words
to stop your own from hemorrhaging
and to heal whatever hurts

Now you're breathing champagne
while you stumble to the places you once called home
like the park behind my house
and the west end record store

Now you can feel the world behind you
nipping at your heels
like the hundred hungry hounds
and the weapons they conceal

Now you're breathing champagne
like it's oxygen
and you are
lost at sea.

I wrote a note on the bottom of the bottle
you can read when you're in pain
"keep the memories in your chest
and keep breathing champagne."
Hayley Neininger Oct 2012
It would behoove my grade school bible teacher to know, that I have finally found Jesus. He sits alone at my neighborhood bar and in a fashion that is not unlike the line at a New York City Jewish deli shop, he takes questions. Ticket number 347, “What kind of man will I marry?” ticket number 7623,”When will the end of days come?” My bible study class oh, how they would shake inside their buttoned blouses with envy that I was the one to find Jesus, between drink, between cigarettes, with beer and peanut excrements on bottoms of his sandals. Handing out answers like pork cutlets to mouths that haven’t eaten in years because they have filled up on the appetizer that is stomach churning worry. The gutless and gutful sin of having problems without the hope of solutions that shakes believers so hard in the night they fall off their beds and land conveniently on their knees. They wake up in the morning with bruises and scratches, another problem but this time the solution is simple. A mixture of peroxide and cotton-blend Band-Aids, hugging tight stinging cuts until the next day when the Band-Aid is loose and falls off into meat grinders making sausage links you don’t even have the appetite for. I found Jesus in a bar. When I see him I remember Sunday school and how I stood up on the sweaty palm pulpit and yelled, “He is not real!” and now confronted with my falseness I wonder if I was wrong to try to cool off the fire in my belly that was unanswered questions by answering them myself. I took a ticket. I stood in line. I waited as the knot my grade school teach tied with my intestines tightened itself and pulsated with the influx of another beer and growing bowel movements that only made me more unsure of the source of pain in my belly. I watched as Jesus nodded politely in between admissions of sins and proposals of betterment like his neck was the waist of a Hawaiian ******* the dashboard of a Colorado trucker, or like aged fast-food wrappers that tilt forward with the inertia caused by strategically placed speed bumps.  Each nod, a mini-bow that seemed to contradict his devotion to his divinity and his authority over the bleeding kneed and hungry stomached servants. I am the last ticket before the last call and I take advantage of both. Being this close I can see sweat stains under his arms, my mother would say they are extra halos. “And your question, my child?” he says, and I think I should have been more prepared or at least not stuttered like the elementary school student stuck playing Pluto in the graduation play. “Was I wrong that day on the pulpit?” It was rudely put. I was embarrassed. He said, “Did it ease the hunger pain of uncertainty?” It did. “Then no, you answered your own question.” He seemed drunk at that point when he said that, so I trusted it as a sober man’s thoughts. Then I walked away full and knees unscathed.
Not a poem, just a work in progress.
Jamie Townend Oct 2009
I wanted to write a poem
for everyone and everything
to say 'I am not
entirely sorry.'

The arguments,
the broken glass,
the women
and their now solemn
ex-boyfriends,
husbands
and fathers.

It has all helped:
Given me the word.
Put me in a place
where I don't have to rhyme
or make over-worded sentimental
metaphorical statements
older than time.

I am fresh.
I present myself -naked,
hiding nothing.
The gut is not ****** in.
No make up.
I present myself
without fear
or falseness.
Just as you should:
the men and women
that became wound up in me,
in one way or another.

It is where you have faltered,
and where you falter
I progress.
Nis Jun 2018
Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Ojalá mi cara fuese atardecer de cien días
y se perdiese como música en la marea.
Ojalá mis notas fuesen fuego
que corriese raudo por tus venas.
Ojalá se perfumasen en el aire
y  diesen sentido al amanecer del alba.
Ojalá fluyesen como el agua
suavemente rizando la rojez del cielo.
Ojalá fuesen contundentes como la roca
y cayesen a plomo junto a mi corazón muerto.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Siempre cambiante, nunca la misma
subebajando en el horizonte.
Tierna y vibrante, siempre difusa
alzándose hacia el cielo con alas desplegadas.
Dulce y salada, externa e interna,
por ósmosis entrando por cada poro.
Pesada y rígida, sólida y pura
cercenando la realidad con su ser preciso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
siendo lo que no es,
no siendo lo que es.
En cada instante de su espacio manifestándose
en cada punto de su tiempo existiendo.
Única e indivisible, aunque difícilmente alcanzable.
Verdadera mentira que perdura tras los siglos.
Satírica cual elefante boca arriba
dando a luz a lo que siempre ha sido nuestro.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Saliendo hacia la luz verdadera
y tornando hacia la oscuridad traicionera.
Volando hacia arriba y en picado,
oteándose a si misma , eterna y cierta.
Creando un nuevo mundo igual a este,
igual de distinto que este a si mismo.
Imitando la certeza de lo incierto.
Pretendiendo con falsedades llegar al verso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y fuese objeto de su ser
y fuese sujeto de su haber
y se realizase siempre que le dieses tiempo
y se realizase siempre en lo que siempre fue
y avanzase inmóvil hacia la verdad
y esperase impasible a la mentira.
Ojalá de cada error saliese un mérito,
una esperanza, una virtud siempre precisa.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
tornando el arte arcana en ente nuevo,
aunque sea falso.
En estúpidas epifanías tornando el acto
cual poeta escribiendo estos versos.
Ojalá repetir versos pasados en lenguas nuevas
y llamarse artista.
Mero comentarista y observador
de lo que precedió en tiempo y espacio.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
existiendo con sólo pensarlo
negando el pensamiento mismo,
lógica implacable mintiendo mi rostro,
contradicciones inapelables mintiendo mi ser.
Con precisión matemática ser mentira,
con la etereidad del arte ser verdad.
Ojalá como estafador maestro ante tu mirar
se hiciese música que disfrutar.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz,.
Ojalá mi cara no fuese jazz.
Ojalá no tener cara, ni nada.
Ojalá el solo pensarlo me dejase ciega,
sorda para la música de mi rostro.
Ojalá pasar por debajo de una escalera tirada
para no recibir buena suerte.
Ojalá austera o inexistente,
cual dios mirando tu filosofía vana.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y unificase tantas corrientes
como puede abarcar con sus brazos.
Ojalá pudiese tornar cierta la realidad
por el mero hecho de pensarla, pero no puedo,
pero mi rostro se muestra impasible
ante desdicha tal y sigue avanzando;
regla dorada entre uñas de marfil,
largos palillos para comer la realidad desvirtuada.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y revolucionase el mundo con su pensar
y desmontase heregías como ciertas.
Ojalá años más tarde siguiese su lucha
contra el infiel divino hasta su muerte,
y como la de un mono con barba
se tornase contra el padre de la ciencia moderna,
y le enseñase a pensar en sueños,
a soñar en vida, a soñar en muerte.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y se repitiese eternamente para mi suerte,
nunca cambiando, siempre presente.
Ojalá asesinase al padre de todo
y se adueñase de su lugar.
Ojalá existir antes de ser.
Ojalá rodar por la vida sin mirar a los lados,
destruyendo lo que tantas veces nos ha aplastado
y creando la belleza del arte, que es eterna.

//

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my night were sunset of one hundred days
and it lost itself like music in the tides.
I wish my notes were fire
which ran swift in your veins.
I wish they would perfume itself in the air
and gave meaning to the morning's sunrise.
I wish they flowed like water
softly curling the sky's redness.
I wish they were sturdy like rock
and they plummeted next to my dead heart.

I wish my face were jazz.
Always changing, never the same.
updowning in the horizon.
Tender and vibrating, always diffuse
rising towards the sky with open wings.
Sweet and salty, extern and intern,
by osmosis entering through each pore.
Heavy and rigid, solid and pure
cutting through reality with its precise being.

I wish my face were jazz
being what it is not,
not being what it is.
In every instant of its space manifesting itself
in every point of its time existing.
One and indivisible, although hardly reachable.
True lie which endures beyond centuries.
Satiric like elefant on its head
giving birth to what always has been ours.

I wish my face were jazz.
Going out to the true light
and turning to the treacherous darkness.
Flying upwards and in a dive,
scanning itself, eternal and true.
Creating a new world equal to this,
equally as distinct as this to itself.
Imitating the certainty of the uncertain.
Trying with falseness to reach the verse.

I wish my face were jazz.
and it were object of its being
and it were subject of its having
and it came true always you gave it time
and it came true always in what it always was
and it moved fordward unmoving towards the truth
and it waited impasible the lie.
I wish of every error a merit would come out,
a hope, a virtue ever precise.

I wish my face were jazz
turning arcane art into a new being,
even if false.
Into stupid epiphanies turning the act
as a poet writing this verses.
I wish to repit old verses in new tongues
and to call myself an artist.
Mere commentator and observer
of what preceded it in time and space.

I wish my face were jazz.
Existing with only thinking of it,
negating thought itself,
implacable logic lying my visage,
unnappealable contradictions lying my being.
With mathematical precision being a lie,
with the ethereality of art being the truth.
I wish that like master con artist before your looking
it turned itself into music to enjoy.

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my face weren't jazz.
I wish I didn't have a face, nor anything.
I wish only thinking of it made me blind,
deaf to the music of my visage.
I wish passing under a fallen ladder
to not receive good luck.
I wish austere or non-existant,
like god looking at your vane philosophy.

I wish my face were jazz,
and it unified so many streams
like it can embrace with its arms.
I wish I could turn reality true
with the mere act of thinking it, but I can't,
but my visage shows itself impassible
before such misfortune and continues onwards;
golden rule among ivory nails,
long chopsticks to eat the desvirtuated reality.

I wish my face were jazz
and it revolucionised the world with its thinking
and it disassembled heressies as true.
I wish years later its fight would continue
against the divine infidel until his death,
and like a bearded monkey's
it would turn itself against the father of modern science,
and it taught him to think in dreams,
to dream in life, to dream in death.

I wish my face were jazz
and it repited itself enternally to my fortune,
never changing, always present.
I wish it assassinated the father of everything
and took its place.
I wish existing before being.
I wish rolling through life without looking sideways,
destroying that which always has crushed us
and creating the beauty of art, which is timeless.
Ufff this was a long one, took some time to translate it and I think is as accurate as a translation of a poem can be, but any advise regarding it would be appreciated. I know it sounds pretty random, and it is, as it was made mostly through automatic writting; but there is a common point joining the whole poem and giving it order. If you really like it, give it a few reads and see if you can find it ;)).
EC Pollick Jul 2012
What do you do
when you realize
your life as you know it
is a cardboard cutout,
a dollhouse scene,
Of what your life should be.
Of what it once was.

The people in my life are characters
A backdrop in the place of reality.
Scenery behind my doorstep.
Photographic fire in the fireplace.
Tiny kitchen cutlery that isn’t sharp.
Staged people in my living room
at literally, a lifeless party.
A fantastic picturesque magazine spread in Southern Living.

And I am a part of this falseness.
I am a creator of this un-reality.
I am a willing participant in this stagnant stage of my life.

This life, this love, this truth
Is a figment
Is a dream
Is a scene of a scene.

I remember when green was green
And blue was blue
And I breathed in newness in every breathe.
Reality bowed down in servitude
And I took every step into a setting sun
The world around me, my partner in crime
As I took it by storm.

The tragedy here
Is knowing that life and love and truth barren
Is knowing it naked
As it really is.
As it really was.

And knowing that you’ve settled for the cardboard cutout
is recognizing you’ve given up.
You’ve settled for second best.
You’re taking the doll house route to life.
You’d rather watch the movie than live it out.
It’s cowardice at its best.
Edward Coles Feb 2014
Closed eyes
to the fountain of youth,
to higher hopes
and new reality.
I claim spirit,
but give mind,
in fact give all
my scattered self,
in the hope some poor *******
sorts through.

Winter's guise,
I flicker off-white images
of galaxy and twine,
of breath mints and wine,
of sorry dancers
with broken heels,
reinvented wheels,
and augmented rhyme.

Light comes
and I storm it with cold,
I storm it with pens
and whiskey lies.
I storm it with science,
and I storm it with God,
I storm it with the golfers
and playboys,
about to tee-off.
I storm it with hate,
with the promise of pay,
my unrequited love
of Saturday.

And with wind came age,
came the steady hand
and furrowed brow
of sleet-strewn rain
and growing pain.
Of doubt. A bout
of flu,
a touch of death
and funds withdrew.
No more the kiddie
in the window,
aww-ing at sound,
the colour of air,
the steam of kettle,
forgiving snare,
life's poison-treats
and poison-poisons.
Un poisson hors de l'eau,
still - I'll thank you
for your time
and bad French,
old guru.

Still to shift in
this physical prison.
A prism of light,
of partial solidity,
of unending uncertainty;
a multitude misunderstanding itself.
It claims to the borders
and it clings to the bed,
it holds true to thought,
and all the worries
in my troubled head.
They descend,
never end,
in a crescendo,
a caterwaul
of mistreated sound,
dog in the pound,
and waistlines round.

Thigh gaps
and mind-the-gaps,
signposts and brochures
for the short-lived living.
They pester my mind,
interference, crackle,
prattle and rattle
of mediocre wisdoms,
of borrowed idioms
for bulimic bones
and broken homes.
They tailor my mind,
cuts and seams
of needless pleas,
for order in chaos
and blueprints
for blind entries.
All to settle the stomach,
to settle the plot
to settle this fever
that burns so hot.

Old-film stills
to the fountain of youth,
belligerent fist of tears,
for forgotten woes,
for sweaty prose
and swollen leaves.
Yellow birds and
old lime trees,
dear Suzanne
and her poetry,
about thorns in the side
and turning tides
of tambourine men,
and helter-skelter girls
turning empires
of simple love
and worthy sin,
to English tea
and to profit again.

She turns the tide
in a lover's brawl,
in winter's shawl
and Hollywood ball.
Sings Hallelujah
to the wonderful world,
to the shot girl's tips
and crazy catcalls.
To the Pink Moons
and old jazz tunes,
to the orange peel
and plastic sand dunes.
To Parisian men
and Las Vegas girls,
to twirls of meat,
and ballet shoes,
to the smoking student
and his heavy blues,
to the loss of art
in the modern street,
to busker beats
and sausage meats,
of coffee fumes
and white man dreams.

And we're entertained.
Oh boy, we're entertained!
Entertained at a rate of knots,
tangled headphones,
tangled minds,
tangled tales
of truth confined.
Television makes everything real,
it flavours life,
spices the story,
feel, kneel, heal the plight
of the Navy Seal,
invading land,
invading minds,
invading dreams
of love unconfined.
We're entertained
at the point of feeling sick,
of parrot-joy
and marketing intent.

We speak in circles
and we speak in phrase,
we speak in unending drivel,
of quote, motto and haze.
Haze of meaning,
and haze of depth,
of fortressed country
and insoluble debt.
We speak in telephones,
they speak on the bus,
they speak in the ghettos,
the nightclubs,
the churches,
the underpass
and they spill from the gut.
Whilst we torture ourselves
in the new-found freedom,
of living within
and not to the kingdom.

The kingdom of choice,
of self-salvation,
of astral self,
and meditation.
Of origin's tale,
of Earth-life passed,
of intelligence squared,
and foolishness fable.
Of infinity realised,
of time altogether,
of solidity-illusion
and falseness of summer.
Of warmth in the winter,
of red in the sky,
of collective catharsis,
a universal sigh.
A sigh for relief,
and a sign of mercy,
a plea for conception,
a gift for the future,
and humanity's redemption.
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jaws that slob their relish,
Baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?
Stroke on stroke of pain, - but what slow panic,
Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?
Ever from their hair and through their hands' palms
Misery swelters. Surely we have perished
Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?


- These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished.
Memory fingers in their hair of murders,
Multitudinous murders they once witnessed.
Wading sloughs of flesh these helpless wander,
Treading blood from lings that had loved laughter.
Always they must see these things and hear them,
Batter of guns and shatter of flying muscles,
Carnage incomparable, and human squander
Rucked too thick for these men's extrication.


Therefore still their eyeballs shrink tormented
Back into their brains, because on their sense
Sunlight seems a blood-smear; night comes blood-black;
Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh.
- Thus their heads wear this hilarious, hideous,
Awful falseness of set-smiling corpses.
- Thus their hands are plucking at each other;
Picking at the rope-knouts of their scourging;
Snatching after us who smote them, brother,
Pawing us who dealt them war and madness.
(C) Wilfred Owen
Yenson Oct 2018
Maybe your mothers and fathers do not know right from wrong
Maybe those that birth you cannot tell real from unreal
The apples do not fall far from the trees that we know all along
So no surprise when off-springs and all fall into the reel
Unable to decipher the lost and damaged from their midst adorn

My mother washed me in truth, honesty, sincerity and real love
That's the only path that graces the soul and makes humanity
So all my life I know what's real, true, honest from all else above
You walk your path and serve your gods in all their profanity
Your festered minds and putrid brains is not like mine thereof

In superficial abodes, your falseness lies fakery has confused you
No truth or honesty exists all around only deceits and raw fear
You rot from the inside and feed from poison not breastmilk too
from start you're ******, your brains from chemicals they rear
Spooks with semblance no substance, serving satan them born fools

I know what's real what's true what's honest and sincere or not
That is me from real bosoms raised in edifying values not falsity
Come in thousands you stink from a mile off satan demons squat
Sincerity truthfulness if erred makes amends not sit discordantly
Real Humanity embraces love and peace not mortal duels that's fact

From negativity you drink in darkness lies your bread and joy
miseries and fears you seek to share cause your souls lies in pain
In cancerous fears you scheme and plot your ****** evils ploys
Cause it destroys you to see goodness whilst your souls' in chain
Weak corrupted dark and damaged subjugated to lucifers noise

Gnarled old wrinkled before your years you envy my young looks
Borne of inner joy and unafraid pious calm pathetics  spit zombie
Too sick to know a clear conscience never pines or fears like crooks
Pure and noble emotions caters no dirt or negativities like loonies
Dignity and integrity offers granite to malevolent duds and hooks
that feeling in the pit of your stomach as you raise your eyes to look at them, it's lethal

my love is like poison and the second upon exposure i'm left vulnerable but you're left affected forever, one step forward, a single blow to the lips and he has to open his eyes to see her face and remember this is real, she is real

it won't be movie love, it will be real love, and for that you must be warned - do not engage if you don't want after-*** cuddles and life contemplations, hot chocolate runs and holding hands without gloves since the heat from your hands are enough to warm the lack of oxygen reaching mine, late night laughter and cheesy dancing

do not engage if you don't want to let yourself fall in love, because it will happen slowly and if you realise when it's too late that you need to back out you need to know that like a bee who stings and dies, pushing me away from you after i've loved will cause me to be crippled not only by the weight of the falseness that i've been living in, but also the dense, crushing weight of my own love, of the letters and the kisses and the laughter

if you see me contemplate running after you when we say goodbye because i've always had a fear of departure, if you see my eyes light up when you walk into a room with an expression that can only be described as warmth and admiration, if you see my hand slowly make its way to yours in a desire to be held and comforted, if you see me love completely, depressingly, you need to stop me, because i'm warning you that if you don't i will get hurt and the pain of being locked out of my life forever will hurt you more in the months proceeding than it will hurt me as i learn to build myself up again for somebody else

you can fall in love with my lips, my humour, my dresses, my laughter, my smile, the emptiness of my eyes, the constant fear, the happiness when food comes, and anything else and everything else - but please, remember that it's lethal

it's lethal to love and to be loved, but it's the best poison i've ever really known
Dear last meaningful kiss,

It's hard to start this,
because long ago I was in such a bliss,
I dont know what to write,
but this cigarette in my sight,
is counting down the end of our night
The guitar is playing its final thoughts
and I reflect on the what to do and not's,
as I start to write the script again.
People stare at me as I write this aloud,
for I want everyone to know, I am not proud,
that this even exists,
but it does.

Your face is what haunts me the most.
When I stare at the coast,
fantasies of memories arise,
but vanish as I feel the falseness of lies,
creep upon me,
like a villain in a play,
but these thoughts I must put away.
They won't get me anywhere.

Except a lonely stare,
into peoples hearts that I seem to try and confide,
but in this rule book I'm writing I must abide,
and leave your side.

I dont think you get what this hurts like,
to ride a bike,
into nothingness of blank words,
that I reflect upon in past writing.
But back to the script I keep fighting,
there is no shading or lighting,
just another poem that I follow.



Dear the love that was never true,

I wonder if your writing too,
or if you even know you,
cause you like to dance around this heartbreak,
like an old soul tries to avoid youth, just for the sake,
sake of wondering what to do next.

As I write this script on my invisible paper,
I have to remember too add the hooded caper,
that's nestled in the shadows, that I frankly never see,
and add reluctantly.
I will look back and think that part wasnt necessary,
but my heart and eyes are wary,
of knowing when to put down my pen.

This will be a sad thing to write,
because night,
is sadly ending,
with the stars starting to fade,
I must abide,
with the fears that reside,
that I must tap onto this screen,
and make sure in this last hurrah, you dont seem mean.




Dear the one who use to be the spark in my nod,

I hear many applaud,
but I wont let myself smile, for this love story shouldn't have ended,
or maybe it hasnt just yet, and just has bended.
Mind is amended,
the wrong doings of past fames,
I can remember the actors I write, but not their names.
As I put my script into print,
and watch the masses on their screen,

"I must say I hate the ending myself,
but it started with an alright scene."


From the heartbroken kid,
with love.
So I wrote this when I was a wee teenager going through heartache...I always really liked tthe title and some of the lines *straightens tie* are most badass....If I ever do a compilation book, I'd split it up into sections, and my heartbreak/ache poems would be called...you guessed it, "the heartbreak letters"...I hope you enjoyed it :]
Alexander Klein Oct 2011
Thou stars who burnést sore unto our realm,
Why lay such laurels cruel about our ears
And hail misfortunes from the noxious clouds
To break our will? Was it not thou, thou star,
Who shone the speech of Delphi on Aegeus,
Shone likewise on his simple mind when fail'd
To find the veiléd seer's second truth?
In deed, by words son Theseus was wrought
And carried newborn from the grasping surf
In soft-eyed mother Aethra's arms, whose face
Like sprite, which King of Athens knew. The boy
Grew warm and noble, olive branch and fig
Did blossom at his fingertips and fall
When hunger or desire reared their heads.
'Twas time of peace when shone your sister stars
That hang in clouds of gas or nebulae
Far from the grasp of Dodekatheon.
Shall not benevolent stars keep kindling flame?
Young Theseus did sail away, some spark
Of thee caught in the sky when Athens rul'd
By silent father missing roaming son.
Long passed the years when Echo was sole friend:
Repugnant Stars who drool malignéd light
Wax'd strong in endless cloak of mother night,
Bestowing jinx and turn of luck on man
And all his ways. Long pass the years till home
He sails! The slayer of the minotaur!
Victorious and bathed in Pallas rays -
Neglectful to the shade of trecherous sails.
O father, father! Where was thy patience
So long control'd when rul'd the world of men?
Chanced she on silver winds and flew to sea?
Or swallowed by thy famished heart in grief?
Or was't the curse of evil stars that led
Thee to thy end? O, there are none who know.
Pay heed, thou stars, for still Aegeus fled
To coast, and from the stony precipice
Lay ancient eyes on blackest slaver's sails.
On oracle had he but thought again
The pain of murdered progeny be dulled
In falseness and in truth, and he'd have stayed
Still breathing on that windy cliff. And yet
The meddlesome magic of vexing doom
By constellation born caused tears in him
Who had birthed kingdoms into fiery being.
His sandles part from lip of cliff, he falls,
Belov'd of all the winds while through the air,
Until Poseiden's realm at last he finds
The greenest dream he ere had known. The reefs!
The fish! What sweetest realm is kissed by him
Beyond the veil! Those two great fathers meet
At last, both loving boy in ship above
Still goveren'd by the waning stars of hate
But sailing on till morning come.
Dylan Apr 2012
How is it that all I see and believe
isn't more than what one can conceive?
Trapped inside these bound'ries of mine,
flipping and flopping down the stream of time,
my thoughts not more than the glint of sunshine.

So I laugh! I laugh! Great boisterous humor!
To laugh and to giggle at the falseness and rumors;
to snicker and snacker  at the play of all forms;
to chortle and chuckle at deviations and norms;
I will laugh at the process as my soul transforms.

So I laugh! I laugh! Though pains may embitter!
To laugh and to giggle at all senseless chatter;
to snicker and snacker at what's caught within;
to chortle and chuckle at all that is sin;
I will laugh at the moment when nothing begins.

So join me, my friend, and forget of your fears!
We'll both laugh, together, at the grinding of gears;
we'll both giggle, together, at prophets and seers.

So join me, my friend, and forget of your aches!
Laugh with abandon at this game and its stakes;
laugh with abandon as this machinery breaks.
Hayley Neininger Apr 2013
It would behoove my grade school bible teacher to know that I have finally found Jesus.
He sits alone at my neighborhood bar,
and in a fashion that is not unlike the line
at a New York City Jewish deli shop,
he takes questions.
Ticket number 347. “What kind of man will I marry?”
Ticket number 7623. ”When will the end of days come?”
My bible study class, oh,
how they would shake inside their buttoned blouses with envy
that I was the one to find Jesus,
between drinks, between cigarettes,
with beer and peanut excrements on bottoms of his sandals.
Handing out answers like pork cutlets
to mouths that haven’t eaten in years
because they have filled up on the empty appetizer
that is stomach-churning worry:
the gutless and gut-full sin,
of having problems without the hope of solutions
of having questions with silent answers
that it shakes believers so hard in the night they fall off their beds
and they land conveniently on their knees.
They wake up in the morning with bruises and scratches,
external hurts treated with
a mixture of peroxide and stuck-on-you band-aids
that hug tight their stinging cuts until the next day
when the Band-Aid losses its glue and falls off
when they land in meat grinders turning out sausage links
that no one even has an appetite for.

I found Jesus in a bar.

When I see him
I remember Sunday school
and how I stood up on the sweaty palmed stained pulpit and yelled,
“He is not real!”
and now that I am confronted with my falseness
I wonder was I wrong to try to cool the fire of questions unanswered
by answering them myself.

I took a ticket.
I stood in line.
I waited.
The knot my Sunday school teacher tied with my intestines
years ago tightened itself and pulsated
with the influx of another beer
and growing bowel movements that only made me more unsure
of the source of pain in my belly.

I watched
as Jesus nodded politely in between
admissions of sins and proposals of betterment
a gentle, deliberate nod
like his neck was the waist of a Hawaiian girl
on the dashboard of a Colorado trucker,
or maybe like aged fast-food wrappers that tilt forward with the inertia
caused by strategically placed speed bumps.
Each nod, a mini-bow that seemed to contradict
his devotion to his divinity and his authority
over the bleeding-kneed and hungry-stomached servants.

I am the last ticket before the last call and
being this close I can see sweat stains under his arms;
my mother would say they are extra halos.
“And your question, my child?” he says, and
I think I should have been more prepared
or at least not have stuttered like the elementary school student
one stuck playing the under appreciated Pluto in the graduation play.

“Was I wrong that day on the pulpit?”
It was rudely put. I was embarrassed.
He said, “Did it ease the hunger pain of uncertainty?”
He knew it did. So did I.
“Then no, you answered your own question.”
He seemed drunk when he said that,
so I trusted it as a sober man’s thoughts.
Then I walked away full
with knees unscathed.
Kaden Mar 2019
Insanity is not the isolation we suggest it is
Insanity is not happy smiles in dark places
Insanity is not happy smiles
Insanity is never happy smiles
Insanity is not the product of falseness
Or abandonment or anything man made
Insanity is not what we perceive
Insanity is not an mask behind the truth
Insanity is the truth
Insanity is complex
Insanity is the most real thing you may never experience

Insanity is a blank face , expressionless , emotionless , empty
Insanity is the silent screams in the light places
Insanity is the feeling of the earth crushing you in its every breath
Insanity is beautiful. Something to savor.
Insanity is not selfish
It is not  greed
It is not false hope
It is not war
It is not hunger
That is reserved for the real world
While i enjoy my house of madness
We’re not abandoned here
We’re free
#insanity #depression #isolation #empty
A B Perales Feb 2014
"We'll" I said before slowly hitting the burning joint I held clenched between my scared and calloused finger tips.
"I my dear am a friend of the cold",I exhaled and enveloped her heart shaped face within the cloud.
Her eyes squinted against the smoke but never left my face.
"You can call me akin to the empty.A first cousin to the cold and
uncomfortable wetness."
I ran my wrist under my runny nose and smiled.
I scratched the stubble along my chin and smiled.
The dope was always good at this time of year,I was high and the wind was warm.
Almost as warm as the opiated blood that raced throughout my tired pain free body.
She stared at me and waited on a word,a line of some false greatness to fog her mind a little more.
She blinked once and only once and with that movement in time I felt a little bad about who I was and why I was here.
I quickly recovered as I always have and filled her line of sight with a forced smile and a lazy eye brow raise.
"But be that as I may be,I am indeed in love with the warmth."
I said to her and watched her o shaped lips break into a smile.
"I like the warmth too "she said, her grey eyes now filled with hope.
"I know you do darling",I said then reached my hand out and rested it on her bony shoulder.
I managed to bring forth another smile from a place deep beneath all of what I used to be,and when I did she smiled with me.But in this version of reality she was truly smiling alone as I stood and wore the deep lines of falseness across my face.
"I know you do sweetheart",I said again attempting to sound like some type of sick caring father
"I know you do ....."
Molly Coates Apr 2013
WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP

**** it’s only 2.
Well, now that I’m up,
Lemme watch that slide show
That has an automatic timer for switching slides
Because I’ll be ****** if I ever want to see those things again
And so I just. Can’t. Hit. Next.

Lemme curl up in my bed under the blankets I stole from my basement.
Let me take a few deep breaths because I know for the next lifetime I’ll be running,
And Alice macartney knows you don’t get to breathe this deep on a run.
And If you have to ****, it better take a second because anybody can see you
And I know it too because, hell, I’ve been running my whole life until now
And it’s time I had a break.

Well, I’m already up
And it’s always sometimes helpful maybe
When I reread the script in my brain that begins with
“I’ve been physically abused for most of my life”
and ends with “I don’t know, but yeah.”

Three feet from the ceiling under two blankets
And the crushing ticking of two clocks that are never the right time
I lay down in a desperate attempt to be able to say tomorrow “yeah I got some sleep”
without feeling like a ***** liar.
And when I do lie, I’m gonna lift my mug of caffeine with a splash of dirt and milk to my lips
As if by blocking my mouth I erase the falseness of my words.

And after I reread my script and reread my script
And watch the slideshow titled “what the hell happened to your ribs?”
With an italicized subtitle “don’t tell anybody, okay?”
I scratch at the TO DO list of favors and assignments
And required events and obligations
That seem to crowd over the curvy crayola cursive that reads
“Please sleep. Please eat.”

And then I walk out of my room and down the long long hall
As quietly as I possibly can
So that I can listen to keyboards click, or floorboards creak, or pencils scratch
So that maybe I can count how many others are up with me
In the Twilight Zone.

And maybe by the time the grandaddy clock downstairs chimes one two three
I’ll have washed my face enough times and brushed my teeth enough times
And read my script enough times
To have a pounding headache just heavy enough to shove down my eyelids.

WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP

****, It’s only 4.
Luckily I have a new slideshow to watch
And this one is called “the Fourth time my brother died”
With subtitle “flowers in my chain lock links”
And a dedication to Oom, my cow stuffed animal that has a bit of blood on him
From that one time I don’t remember.

I walk back down to the bathroom
And wash my face for the upteenth time.
Surely by now my skin is chemically burnt because
If I’m not going to wear make up, then I better be perfect!

A palmfull of water might irrigate my dust-bowl throat.
I must have been screaming in my dreams.

I slither back under the ceiling and the blankets
And I hold my fists against my eyeballs
As if a ravaging beast is trying to burst out.
I try to breathe silently so that I can pretend I don’t exist
That I’m not alive.
Because my heartbeat sounds disgusting
And my lungs were never that good.

One Two Three Four Five
And I’m ****** because I’ve been counting
From 72 to 248 for an hour now
And I know there is only one hour and fifty minutes
Until I have to
WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP
Again.
Paul Verkouteren Feb 2013
I hear the drums beating a long the ****** city
Hearing only the whispers of strangers
I hear only hear talk of war and misanthropy
Nothing good on the news
Fear and panic is rampant through my mind
The complacent the happy ones hope for the better future
and here I am seeing the evil side of humanity
the apathetic side of humanity
the falseness the false hopes
the ugly truth falls on my head like the mid morning rain
it’s like yesterday my friends withered away
I feel this sense of estrangement for others that i can’t begin to fully understand
it’s like a never ending maze that is making me a blind social outcast
breaking me down to my very foundations
stirring up my inner feelings of anger ,hate ,self destruction
detesting logic for emotional rage that I somehow need to tame
thoughts expectations emotions racing through my ever vulnerable  spirit
I gradually become more withdrawn from people as I age
I see sometimes only frauds and selfishness
fates knocking down at my door
is there a bright essence of happiness that I will find a long this peculiar road called life ?
am I meant to fall by the wayside; to serve as warnings to the rest of us; signs posts along the way...... these thoughts are racing in my awakened mind but in vain I’m silent
Revised version
GaryFairy Nov 2016
The television blinds us from seeing
the real ways of the human being
it only brings falseness to our minds
these are such troubled times

leaders speak of peace, while killing
those words are only filling
convicted of their human crimes
these are such troubled times

preachers preach, but ears won't listen
there's something gone, something's missing
so many caught up in life's binds
these are such troubled times
Haydn Swan Apr 2015
Oranges and greens
go paint your dreams
but I'll wear my shroud
under a dark black cloud
your equitus smiles
and falseness beguiles
ashen faced frowns
on the face of the clowns
the paint that you wear is a thin veneer
a veil of crimson over all that you fear
so sup the wine and let it flow
for what you shall reap is all that you sow
Big Virge Jun 2015
You know ...
I'd rather ... Stand Trial ... !!!
than ... " Live in DENIAL " ... !!!!!
  
cos' ... "Denial" ... is a ...
..... " SICKNESS " ..... !!!
  
that's groWING ... with ...
..... " Quickness " ..... !!!!
  
Denial ... of ... "TRUTH"
makes me ... Hit the Roof ... !!!
  
But ... is ... NOT ...
.... " A Problem " ....
I have to ... go through ... !!!
  
Is ... " DENIAL " ... You ... ?!?
If it is ... You're a ... FOOL ... !!!
  
You must have ... " ISSUES " ... !!!!!
  
DON'T ... Lie ...
to ... Yourself ... !!!!!
  
Why be ... " So Untrue " ... !?!?!
  
I haven't got time ... !!!!!
to feel ... " Sorry " ... for you ...
  
SEE …… !!!! …….
That's what I mean ...
  
I Don't ... Lie to people ...
My Conscience ... is ... CLEAN ... !!!!!
  
I've Lied ... in this life ...
But ... Don't think ...
that it's ... Right ...
to keep your opinions
  
"well hidden" ... from sight ...
  
So ....
Let's talk about ... WHITES ... !!!!
  
HELL YES ...
It's ... THAT TIME ... !!!!!
to deal with .... " Racism " ....
in ... " Poetic Rhyme " ... !!! ...
  
Some white folk ... are ...
  
........ SLIME .......... !!!!!!!!!!!
  
These people are ... " Primed "
to ... " LIVE IN " ... DENIAL ... !!!
Pretty much ... " All The Time " ... !?!
  
I just can't ... " COMPREHEND " ... !!?!!
why they try to ... " Defend " ...
  
"I'm not a racist !
I've got some,
Black Friends !!!"
  
See ....
"These" ... are ... The Ones ...
who make ... " Racist Comments "
  
LIKE .....
  
"Why can't black people ?
stay out of prisons ?!?"
  
Maybe because ... ?!?
We have to contend ...
with ... " People Like You " ... !!!
  
who are ... " POLICEMEN " ... !!!!!!
  
or classics like .... THIS .... !!!
  
"Black men have, no brain,
but, one thing they can do,
is sure, Entertain !!!!!"
  
See ...
" This " ... is ... " DENIAL "
All Over ... " AGAIN " ... !!!!!
  
It's ... simply a ... " Version "
Let's say ... " A New Strain " ...
  
These are the ... White Folks ...
Who ... " NEED TO " ... Refrain ... !!!!!
from saying ... such things ...
that could bring them ... PAIN ... !!!!!!!!
  
cos' ... " Many " ...
Young Blacks ...
now ... want to ...
" Cut Veins "
  
or ... Pick up ... A GUN ... !!!
and quickly ... " Take Aim " ... !!!!!
  
So ... let's talk about ...
....... BLACKS ....... !!!
and let's talk some ...
........ FACTS ...... !!!!!!
  
How many ... Young Blacks ...
are now ..... " Selling Crack " ..... ?!?
  
More than we ... "Mention" ... !!!
just check out ... Some Rap ... !!!
  
They ... " CLAIM " ... !!!!
to speak ... " TRUTH " ... !!!!!
  
So ....
Let's ... NOT ... " Pretend " ...
or ... try to ... " Defend " ... !?!?!
  
Too Many ... of us ...
are ..... NOT .....
Living ... " COOL " ...
  
We do have ... " Some Blacks "
WHO DO ... " Act The Fool " ... !!!
  
What about ... Black Men ... ?
who ... BEAT UP ... Black Women ... !?!
  
and then ... " Like to Say " ...
That ... " Black Love " ...
..... Is The Way .....
  
What about those ... who say ...
  
" They don't like white girls !!! "
  
But ... sleep with white girls ...
Under ... cover of night ... !!! ? !!!
  
What about those ...
with kids ... They Don't See ...
  
Telling their girl ....
"Baby .... I'm ready !!!"
  
They've got ... ALL THE TALK ... !!!
to get the .... " ***** " ....  !!!!!
  
Some black me do ... RUN ... !!!
and shun their ... " Duties " ... !!!!!
  
No wonder some children
are ... RUDE and ANGRY ... !!!!!
when men ... " Drift Awaaaaayyyy " .........
like ships ... " Lost at sea " ...
  
In truth ...
these are problems of ...
  
........ " Humanity " ..........
  
Affecting ... All Groupings ...
All Colours ... and ... Creeds ... !!!!!
  
My wordplay will ... RILE ... !!!!!
if you live in ... " DENIAL " ...
  
This isn't a movie ... !!!
We're not in ... 8 Mile ... !!!!!
  
But ......
Before I go ...
Here is ... My Last Flow ...
of .... " Poetic Prose " ....
  
" Denial of " .... " REASON "
is basically .... " TREASON "
which is a ...... " Betrayal " .....
of the ... Concept of ... " BEING "
  
" Illogical Thinking "
can leave people .....
  
..... " SEETHING " ..... !!!!!!
  
Here is the ... Subject ...
  
So people ....
  
" Deep Breathing " .... !!!!!!
  
This idea of ...  " Black Rights "
and ... " Gay Rights " ... as one ...
is ... CLEARLY ... Quite Stupid ... !!!
and basically ... " DUMB " ... !!!!!! ...
  
Gay persecution ...
is NOT ... A solution ... !!!
It's ... CLEAR ... !!!
that some think ...
  
It's a form of ... " Pollution " ... !!!
  
" Racism " ... is ... " HATE " ... !!!
Racists ... have it ... EASY ... !!!!!!!
They ... KNOW ... A Black Face ... !!!!!
  
But ... how many people ...
Can TELL ... Who is ... GAY ... !!!???!!!
  
I'm ... NOT ... A Gay Hater ...
That's just ... " How I Stay " ... !!!
  
Remember ... Those Words ...
Have a ... "Water Tight Case" ... !!!!!
  
So ....
" DON'T " .... Try to say ...
that i'm ... Brandishing Hate ... !!!!!
  
cos that may result ....
in me getting ... " IRATE " ... !!!!!
  
..... " THE TRUTH " .....
is ...... My Style ......
  
All this .... " FALSENESS " ....
is ............... " VILE " ......... !!!!!!!!!
  
These are .... " The Reasons " ....
  
I'd rather ... STAND TRIAL ...
than be a ... " Fake Person " ...
  
and ...... Live In ........
  
…….. “ DENIAL ” ……..
Chuck Kean Mar 2021
After The Rain

    He’s got you wrapped around his finger
You’d follow him to the edge of the Earth
You’ve paid your price for love
But you’ve yet to know its worth

And all that you’d do for him
I would do for you
But his love for you is a falseness
And  my love is true

One day you’ll  see all of the things
That love has you blind
When you wake up one day and
Realize you’ve been left behind

He’s got his world and you are
There just to play a part
And one day you’ll be all alone
With nothing but your broken heart

The clouds will roll in and tears will fall
You’ll be overwhelmed with sorrow and pain
And when the storm subsides, I’ll be
Here waiting for you,  after the rain

Written By:Charles Kean
Copyright © 03/13/2021
All rights reserved
Oli Mortham Sep 2014
How can I search for Truth in a world that's built on lies?
A lid resting heavily over a once glistening eye:
Shielding, masking, concealing
What last droplets of wonderment are trickling and asking to pierce the concrete ceiling...
...Instead I cynically note its off and aging colour...
"Yellow: Choice Number 4!"
Relays my proud voice, with a more
Assertive tone; I, the host...
Discussing aesthetics to collectively pathetically awe-struck guests, over specially served toast...
"Yes, I'm an impulse shopper, so it seems"...
...(Well, according to the ******...something article I read in my monthly subscribed to magazine)...
Happily consumed by consumerism...
But still unable to consummate
Anything really, Truly sacred...
...Unless I'm exactly half naked...
(That includes wearing Calvin Klein SoCKs)
And crucially still sporting my brand-named top,
Designed for tight fit to cull any ounce of shoddiness,
Whilst giving the impression of an existing healthy body, no less,
And then, due to superficial attraction,
An end will occur, hopefully, of distraction,
From the absence of my once healthy mind...
...but that never happens...
So then, how can I search for Truth when the bricks of my own guise
Only resonate deceit, sealed to create a facade of falseness?
Sure, I can articulate,
Wielding words like swords,
Pure, planned alliteration...
Baffling the bemused by barraging both beautiful and brutally belligerent brilliance...
But...
Showmanship is the tool of the restlessly minded,
Those who search the hardest for the key to authenticity but yet cannot find it,
And then paint their walls with vibrancy set out
By observing the mass hysteria of the layman,
Because nobody wants, Truly, to be classed as grey...
Do they?
Or it may
Be that that is exactly what we're all tactfully missing:
The fact that appearance, in some sense,
Is reliant on one sense,
And thus, in defiance of what we're meant
To wholeheartedly believe,
It is, in its very nature, subjective.
We were not designed
With a panel of judges judgmentally judging what pair of shoes should be selected,
Our mind's
Blueprint was principally a highly charged and thirstily receptive
Open book, with no printed prose,
No preordained guide to "Truth",
Merely a transient vessel:
A glowing red beacon of vulnerability in glorious, continuous distress,
Uncompromisingly afraid of its own ignorance, which, through an act of defense,
Strives to follow other's paths,
In arbitrary hopefulness that someone knows the meaning of it,
The answer to it,
The code that locks it,
The spark that drives it,
So in our fearful and ever conscious lives it,
Makes us want to hide behind this
Fantasy of an apex being,
Where our car seats vibrate and our carpet is soothing,
So that we seem to have a clue of what we're doing,
And instead of resting our ego-bulging heads and choosing to accept,
That we're just not quite, you know, as adept
As we might have thought, we choose to reject and neglect
Our opportunities
In communicative
And interactive discoveries of the beauty
That goes beyond and lies behind that neatly fashioned fringe,
Within.
Love is humble as we are stupid:
We'll see that one wise man has cottoned on, and knows
That even though
He hates that smell that his wife
Adores, he incessantly sprays it lovingly from a canister for the rest of his life.
But he'll never say a word,
Because, from what he's heard,
Truth no longer exists:
In fact, as soon as the larynx allowed the habit of opinions to persist,
It became a frozen entity,
A vague depiction of pure, untampered quality...
A poem I wrote 7 years ago on the back of an envelope in terrible handwriting when I was struggling to sleep.
Tammy M Darby Aug 2013
I pledged my love
I pledged my youth
It would be many years
Before me stand truth
The face that smiled with kindness
The loyalty I bore
My word given before god
Maintained the blindness

This perpetrator of violence
The need for submission
Ground grateful and willingly
Underneath hard heel

This life of falseness
Living in crimson fear
Distorted
Drops of blood so real

Then from the blows of darkness
Rose a stranger
I had yet to know
Pen in hand
Stack of paper
The ink of sadness
In rivulets flowed

Writing of the hearts pain
Of death
Come all too soon
Happiness love loss despair  
The price of being human
  



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
NitaAnn Sep 2013
I feel it racing through my soul..through my veins~it’s power courses
Controlling, maneuvering...and manipulating...
My mind, my body…my very essence
This is not me! But who am I?
It robs me of my true identity.
Others see the me from the outside, and yet they fail to see the inner turmoil.
This Demon...
Can hide, can deceive and fool others.
It lays dormant inside me...waiting in the depths and shadows of my soul
Patiently waiting for the moment he has me alone...isolated
Where he will laugh and mock me
I long for friends, social connections,
Knowing if I am with others, he will stay away
He will be held at bay...but no one comes.
He fools them...I fool them...
I pretend all is fine~knowing it's not
Crying silently for help.
Why doesn't anyone hear me?
Why can't they see the truth?
Be strong, take charge, cease the falseness...
Challenge me, guide me, be strong for me...
This Demon...
He wants no friends...only me...forever controlling...
Stop this...Stop it!
See things for what they really are!
See through me, my words...my actions...they are not mine...
Don't leave me...please...please don't go...
It's what the Demon wants...
He waits in solitude, yearning for the moments I am alone...
He hates you...he wants me...I hate him...and yet I cannot let him go...
This Demon...
He thrives on my inner turmoil~ he revels in my sadness & my pain...
Stay with me...you are my only hope...
Don't you see my words are false, they are controlled & manipulated?
They are not me! Not mine...
They are the words of the Demon...
His strength is great but yours is greater...
Please stay, be my strength...reach out...save me...
Hold on to me... please don't turn away...believe in me...
Where is the light, the peace,the calm?
I feel only the storm...please~hold me; pull me away from the depths of his grip...
This Demon...my enemy...
Can you? Will you? Are you patient enough?
Can you show me... Will you teach me...
Please, challenge me...my words and my actions...
They are not mine, they are his...
This Demon...
Help me beat him...for I cannot without you...
Don't leave me...please...
When I push you...push back...for I am losing...
My strength is my weakness...this is not me...
See me! Please, before it's too late...
See me...
aar505n Nov 2014
I was suprised to see Robin
appear at the onset of dawn.
Looked on at my withdrawn self,
tucked on my shelf,
whereupon I return his look.

With his wings, he made a gesture
pointing out, out and beyond to
fields in a vesture of green.
Never I had I seen such pastal pastures,
nor known them to be so near.

Robin started to sing
of spontaneous adventure,
away from my miscellaneous thoughts.
Extraneous in nature for they did discouraged
this possible venture.

In an act of defiance,
I went to move, and felt a strain
tightening around my brain.
Denying the laws of science,
the frightening shackels restraining me
and my plumed heart from taking flight.

I struggled against the chain, I wiggled until bruised
and blood and sweat covered my skin.
The sticky heat of desperation consumes me,
wishing someone smuggled the key in
and remove these chaotic chains.

"I can't move," I cried to Robin,
expecting him to disapprove.
"I'm not like you. I can't just go and do what I want,
it doesn't work like that."

Even though I wanted to go.
My soul longs for it, to be like  the Robin
where its only goal is to go
faraway like a bird of prey, flying high
complying to no one, just like Maslow wanted.
The reclamation of self-realization.

Robin did not reply.
Robin did not leave.
Nor did he grieve for me.
He simply waited.

This wasn't a rue.
He was glued to me and thus
Proving the legends true; of how
he got the mark of Christ's blood upon himself.

For he waited in hope
'til the day when I can cleave the chains
and he'll supply the rope
and reeve the opening of my escape.

But that day is not today.

Today's untimely end neared
with the threat of an upset sunset,
warning Robin that he must retreat
to avoid being a prisioner of the dark.

Yet, before he left, he nodded,
as if tell me not to fret.
For he will be back at sunrise
His wise eyes conformed
him to be sans falseness.

And I prayed to empty skies that I was right.

From my spot, I watch Robin's flight,
as night fell with gravity, pushing the sun down
and for a split second it turned to a green jewel.
I smiled like fool at Joule's "last glimpse"
feeling the chains, ever so slightly, loosen.
Something I've been working on. Comments welcome!
Shadows on my mind
In purple images play
Echoes of words
Shimmering, silhouettic
Seductions, Hideous
Perhaps, contagious
Falseness as if in fatigue
Indiscriminate, without
Compromise in their counterfeit
Lying in wait in eager ambush
Hidden by a thought
A thin antiquated distraction
A solitary mutilation of identity
Deflecting interest in amplified displacement
Into delirious disguise, re-emerging in distraction
Pestering, problematic, destabilising directness
In their ubiquitous imaginary lie
A realisation that one is all too aware of
Yet despite this knowledge cannot help
But conspire in their captivating complicity.
Sameer Denzi May 2014
The Creator is the creator of all things,
He's even the creator of false gods.
These gods come in myriad shapes,
We see them around and within us....

In celestial things, that astound us,
Or on Earth, in nature's creatures,
Or in stones, sculpted by hands,
Or in gold, whose lustre blinds,

Or in superstitions, just invented,
Or in some rituals, quite perverted,
Or in mere mortals; merely elevated,
Or in some cult; hypocrisy infested,

Or it may be our desire, always craving,
Or it may be our fear, always curbing,
Or It may be our ego; always exacting,
Or it may be our fancy, never ending.

Why do we seek these gods so false?
'Cause trust we lack, in Him who provides for all,
'Cause our destiny, we seek to control, above all.

Why did He create these gods so false?
'Cause of darkness, we learn to appreciate the light,
'Cause of falseness, we learn to appreciate His Might.
The Truth is one... false is everything else.
Big Virge Sep 2021
Now.....
When It Comes To How I Think...
I’m Just A... REALIST...
  
So Don’t Deal In Fallacies...
I’m Real Like... REALITY... !!!
  
So Reality’s What Feeds...
My Use of Poetry...
That’s Born From Big V..  
  
Or Yes That’s Right Big Virge...
A True Word Connoisseur...
of... REALITY Verse... !!!
And Truthful Spoken Words...
  
That REJECTS The... Absurd...
And Unlearns What’s Been Learned...
  
That Makes Some Humans Turn...
Into People Who Hurt...
As If... It Is Their Work...
To Deal In What’s Fake...
Instead of What’s Real...  
And Embrace Things Like Hate...
Like It’s Some Tasty Meal... ?!?
  
Like What Is These Folks Deal...
Are These People For Real... ?!?
  
You See I’m Just A REALIST...
Whose Poetic Thesis...
  
Believes That MORE TRUTH …
Will Be What Is Good...
For Us All To Improve...
Our Unbalanced New Groove...
  
Which Is Why When I Move...
I’m Aware That My Hue...
Is Too Dark For Some Crews...
  
So Always Stay Attuned...
For Those Quick To Hate...
Who Start To Make Claims...
That I’m In The WRONG Place...
Just Because of My Race...
Natty Hair And Dark Face... !!!
  
I’m Just A... REALIST...
When It Comes To Such Things...  
  
Like Why My Writing Talents...
And... Poetic Patents...
  
Are Not What The Masses...
Are Talked Into Having...
By Those In The Business...
Who Claim To Want Realness...
  
You See I’m Just A Realist...
  
So Yes Do Catch Feelings...
When It Comes To Women...
And Seeing Our Children...
Taught To Use Thinking...
Logic And Visions...
To REJECT Divisions... !!!
  
But I’m... Just A REALIST...
Who Prefers... REALISM...  !!!
  
And Sees That These Isms’...
And Divisive Prisons....
In Which Most Are Living...
Are Indeed UNFORGIVING... !!!
  
And Have Been... Since Systems...
Have Been Money Driven... !!!
  
Realism In View...
Like This Corona Flu...
Is Fuelling Conditions...
Mandating Positions...
For Working Transitions...
  
But Certain Restrictions...
Are NOT Yet Forbidden...
Like Seeing Racism...
On Our Televisions... !?!
  
That SHOULD BE But ISN’T... !!!
  
How Much Realism’s...
BEHIND These Petitions...
To Stop Racist Killings... ?!?
  
Well Here’s My Opinion...
And I’ll Keep It SIMPLE... !!!
  
If Governments Want...
Racism Extinguished...
  
When A Male Is Convicted...
of A... RACIST Act... !!!
  
Cut Off His *******...
And Keep Him Imprisoned...  
  
And For These Racist Women...
DENIAL of Children...
  
And NO CONTACT With Them...
And NO BAIL Conditions...
Just LIFE In A Prison...
Where Blacks Are In Vision... !!!
  
Then Racists Might DIE QUICK...
Or Might Just Start To QUIT...
Acting Like Foolish Kids... !?!
  
So You See How I Think...
Deals In Being HONEST...
  
NOT Resorting To Tricks...
Nonsense Or Falseness... !!!
  
My Poetic Scripts...
And Lyrical Twists...
Simply Represent THIS...
  
When It Comes To Our Lives...
And How We... Co-Exist...
  
... “ I’m Just A Realist “...
This thing I am.

— The End —