Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Graff1980 Jan 2015
It never ends, fragments of visions collapsing upon themselves painfully. Her swollen eyes opening, and bursting with orange fire. Then closing just as fast. In between those agonizing seconds she sees everything. Thousands of years cycling over and over. Visions of visions within visions.


Cassandra saw her city razed to the ground. The wall which once stood firm against the onslaught of enemies crumbling with the ravages of time. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again she saw her own grief. Her cousin had fallen in battle. She closed her eyes again, and scratched at her itchy eyelids.



Ten weeks passed without a blink, not even a fraction of an opening. She was disciplined, but the longer she fought the more her eyelids would burn. One blink to ease the agony and she was forced to see her father’s skin. A purple mass of dead flesh bubbling swelling, exploding, and rotting, with maggots squirming in out and around till flies formed and flew away. Another corpse left out in a burning city. One among many denied a peaceful death. Buildings crumbled to dust, the bodies became one with the earth. Cassandra cried without opening her eyes. Her father stroked her long soft curls, whispering reassurances. “It’s all right my child.”


Another three or four weeks passed. She had become blinder than Tiresias the blind prophet. Unable to recall if that was a story she had heard, or would hear in the future.  She sobbed spilling each and every sorrow she could. Every tragedy yet to come. Her father smiled gently placing a warm cloth upon her brow. “Shush my child these nightmares will fade soon enough.”


The young girl opened her eyes again. This time a years’ worth of history unfolded. She saw soldiers gathering arms. Battlements born of the Bronze Age burning with righteous rage. Steel blades clanging against bronze shields in preparation for war. Boats fully loaded departed.


She closed her eyes once more. It would be another two months before she opened them. In the meantime she pleaded with her father to leave the city. Day in and day out begging, sobbing, and screaming until she was sent away.


It was becoming harder and harder to keep her eyes closed. There was a burning force aching to escape. She managed five more weeks until she could bare the pain no longer. As her new sisters bathed her pale dry skin with the sweetest scented oils the young girl recited all that she saw and felt.


The first footfalls of the first soldier’s feet to touch the beach. The feel of the sand as it swirled in, out and around the soldier’s sandals. The general howling commands. The green eyes hungry for battle. The faces contorted in controlled rage. All that intensity burning under the once civilized façade. She closed her eyes again.


Cassandra sat silently in exhaustion, as the sisters slowly brushed the knots out of her long brown hair. They brought her a blindfold, which allowed only a small comfort. This time she only managed to resist for two weeks. The vision came upon her with such force that she cried out and collapsed.


Now the city was burning. Citizen screamed as they ran in terror. Brave men rushed forwards to be impaled on the spears of other brave men. Arrows swallowed the moonlight picking at the earth and scavenging for some bare flesh to devour. Blood ran like red rainwater. Streets streamed thin crimson pools diluted by warm summer showers. The stench oh, the stench, it made Cassandra ***** up chunks of soggy bread and half-digested beef mixed with red wine and stomach acid, while she tried to force her eyes to close.


Finally, she closed her eyes again. The sisters tried to sooth her sorrows, to no avail. Within a years’ time the young girl lost the ability to close her eyes. Cassandra eyeballs slowly burnt out until there was nothing left but charcoaled eye sockets. By the next year she could no longer speak. Cassandra became paralyzed by the futility of her existence.


In her mind the war had come and gone. The sieges were no longer an issue. She no longer felt the urge to cry for the dead. What was, will be, and what will be cannot be undone. What cannot be undone has already happened. Apollo had cursed her. Her beauty had enraptured him, her wit had charmed him, but her will had enraged him.


She was only thirteen with brown eyes and long hair of rare quality, soul so powerful that almost anyone who met her could feel its energy. She shamed the gods with her purity, and unwillingly ensnared their affection.


At first Apollo came with strong arms and tender words. Wooing to the point of painful pleasure. Her eyes could not handle such radiance. His skin burned as his chariot burned. Hair golden flames, skin solar yellow, eye orange as the sun. Each kiss burnt like the worse fever, taking her against her will, savaging her sanity. As if, as if being a god gave him the right to take such liberties.


Apollo viewed her early rejections with whimsy, believing them to be some cute token of her modesty. A god can afford to wait, after all eternity was on his side. After the first hundred no’s his affection gave way to anger. Until his desire could not bear rejection any longer.


At last he cried out to Cassandra. “I will have you or else.”


With a firm but fiery hand he swept her up.  Forcing his mouth against hers. Parting her pursed lip with his powerful tongue.  He shoved his tongue into her mouth, until tears streamed down her cheeks. She could not resist with words, because her mouth was occupied, so she took the only action she knew available to her.


She bit down as hard she could. Lava spewed from Apollo’s lips, roughly singing the inside of her mouth. Without realizing what was happening she swallowed. Her skin began to glow, tiny childlike limbs lengthened and tightened. From her eyes radiated the most powerful light ever seen by man or god. For a moment Apollo cowered beneath the awe of her power, stumbling backwards to the ground dumbfounded.


Regaining his composure he slapped her aside. Scowling in rage “How dare you. You. You worthless *****.”


Her lips parted now of her own volition. Her voice raged with a deep and powerful resonance. “How dare you, you whimpering fool.” The power still flowing inwards filled her with confidence. “I see you for what you are. A tool, a man made invention.” The radiance of her skin was slowly fading. “I see too much now.” She cried out in an ******* fury. A smile crossed her lips. “I see what will become of you and your ilk.”


With strength previously unimagined the young girl thrusted her small hands out throttling Apollo’s throat. He trembled in fear. “You cannot hope to contain the power of me. I am generations incarnated. Passing power from one age to the next. I will not be enslaved.” Her skin began to blink, her voice loss much of its force. “I am Cassandra, and you a merely a passing phase. I will tell the world of all I have seen.”


The last bit of godly energy faded from her skin. Cassandra collapsed. “I still see it all, and you will never touch me again.”


Apollo brushed bits of earth off his person. “See all you want, I care not.” He lunged for her. A flash of thin white light flung him back.

Confused, Apollo rose. Glaring he screamed “You may see all now. It is a gift my blood has given you, but soon it will become a curse. For no mortal wishes to believe that the fates have already written their story. They will ignore you, and in doing so you will find that this power you have gained will be for naught. Thus will be your curse to see all, with no power to stop it.”


Cassandra’s eyes opened wide, seconds split into eternity. She felt the passing of all those around her. She felts time’s stench and rot all around her. Her skin would wrinkle to a certain degree but she would be eternal. She saw cities rise and fall. Some to rise again others to be forgotten. She saw herself seeing each of these visions again and again. She lived her immortal life over and over, events unchanged be anything she said.


The only real comfort was that she saw Apollo wither away. As the old gods fell to ruins weakened by the rationality of new gods, then the rationality of structured reason. Then came the rise of something new and better. Reason with abstraction, abstraction with order, a cycle of energy which emboldened and empowered man. She chuckled.
“Go away little godling.”
And like the little thing he was, Apollo ran.
Her father shushed her, wiping the tears from her face.
The sisters bathed her; singing songs of love and adoration.
Troy fell under the onslaught.
Apollo came and went again.


Cassandra’s eyes opened wide closed and open wide once more, seconds split into eternity. She felt the passing of all those around her. She felts time’s stench and rot all around her. Her skin would wrinkle to a certain degree but she would be eternal. She saw cities rise and fall. Some to rise again others to be forgotten. She saw herself seeing each of these visions again and again. She lived her immortal life over and over, events unchanged be anything she said.


The only one real comfort was that she saw Apollo wither away. As the old gods fell to ruins weakened by the rationality of new gods, then the rationality of structured reason. Then came the rise of something new and better. Reason with abstraction, abstraction with order, a cycle of energy which emboldened and empowered man. She chuckled.
“Go away little godling.”
And like the little thing he was, Apollo ran.
Her father shushed her, wiping the tears from her face.
The sisters bathed her; singing songs of love and adoration.
Troy fell under the onslaught.
Apollo came and went again.
jeremy wyatt Jan 2011
Biccets and pizza for our tea.
Blankets and toys that talk to me.
All this fun, what a world,
full of cakes half eaten, hurled!

Coloured  in with a felt tip pen.
Was my new game, in trouble again.
Green on the face and in my ear.
Thought it was a good idea!

Two years old and full of beans,
no time to sleep, the tiny wean.
Imagine how much fun She'll be,
next time she gets to play with me!
So happy,  Denise was the 500th reader of one of my poems, and it was about the cutest wean in the world!
Now
I laugh when I cry
Poison in my eye
Crazy fuggin guy

He who looks ablauf
Could never figure out
What clouds cry about

Cause a dream I wanna had was raining on my best days, and every boring morning there was a blue moon, started after meeting lost souls

Names locked in poetry
Immortal permanently
Unfortunately woe to me

Mind melts
Star belts
Deep felts

-Luca Ivaldi
Ablauf means up but specifically to the sky i guess, couldn't think of a word for it. I'm sure there is one. Root words are "at (ad)" "blue (Bleu)" "up (auf)".
Michael Parish Sep 2013
Is this raining sumer ending into september
With the bang of thunder coaxing the
Eight ball into the felts green exit rolling down the tubes of
Las vegas like red boxcars rolling away with
All the cash.  
I hope so
I want our team to play
And shake cans of raineer
Beer in the pinical moments
Sucess.
And spray broken chalk conversations after
We harpoon the no 7 whales with our maple
Mcdermits.  A universe of of black hole eight *****
Will mark are sucess in the end
When we shatter the rack like
The uviverses biggest bang
The sound creating the foot note
Of imtimidation after sinking melodic
Rythems and strokes in to
The corner pockets surrender.  
This is how we win
This is the unicorns
Hope
We are and will
Become
One of the silver dollars
On the glorified bar.
Mackenzie Vieth Jun 2013
I've got this frozen heart inside-
at the same time,
that fire of desire is still burning me alive.
I couldn't level out these feelings if I tried,
so for now I'll cling to the few good memories you left behind
just to survive.

Thinking about those nights that felts so good I could've died,
and I did, now dealing with this ghost called conscience in my mind-
telling me I should quit this.
We were with it,
now "we" isn't,
and I was just one out of
God knows how many so-called b*tches
that you played, and now I'm enslaved-
by the idea of you and I.
Which now I know can never happen,
I realize everything you claim to be is one big lie.

But I am stronger than I know,
I am not your precious little prize.
I've got the courage to look right into your manipulative eyes.
I see straight through you,
through all the arrogance, the wrongful pride,
I look at the kid I thought I knew and see he never even existed,
so we can never coincide.

Perhaps none of this is true,
maybe it's not your fault or mine,
and you didn't intentionally ***** me over-
you're just
devious
by
design.
Jude kyrie Feb 2016
In her Easter bonnet

It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats
in those far off years.
In the spring
the hat maker came to our home.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I still can see her lovely smile.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
representing one more Easter.
The hat maker came until the end.
Then when the
chemo took her flowing hair.
We sat outside of her bedroom
all of her children.
The hat lady came that year
for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
her old eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in her bedroom
to see her last creation.
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers and fruit
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered.
Not even a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw my mother smile
betterdays Jul 2014
..over ....there..    ..... .. .    ...
in the fogged....corner ...     ......of my mind.... ..sits.........
a ragged girl... ..making.. knitted scarfs. ....out of archaic thoughts... of fear and darkness.. ..she knits .. on rusted steel pins....
with sinews of .... scar and ...mis-threaded ... ......thoughts of disdain...the scarfs..... great.............spiderwebb-ed ...........things designed ....not .....for warmth....but to catch ......and.. choke...and.. confound......the ....mind unwary. ...she...... the girl ragged and........unkempt .....plucks
              ......   ..   .fluff..
and ........lintcrap ........and ....feared.. ...sacred.... fuzz. ....then felts and twists it..... ......into ....straggle-taggle, tangled...... twines.......
she is .......the keeper.......... ...of the ..drives..... i.. took.... with my father.... of the nights..... stood upon ledges. .. gleaning courage to stay...or ...to leave same...     courage .....different
                           outcome....
of the ......blackouts.... and ............grey days of the words... ........
.....spoken........................
. ......................unspoken..... that stripped ....my youth... of meaning and life....
and joy... these are the ragged ...straggled......scarfs of memory....
i will not wear.... .
........  .....this is why........  ..... she.........the ragged unkempt .... relic..... of my youth .....resides..... unloved.....
in the ...back... alley..... ............corners of my mind... so that..... ninety five ...percentofthetime.........
i can forget .......
               .....she is there...

....itisthefivepercent.....
                                         like .....tonight ....when she raises her eyes...
     .... and stares me down..... that it is the time...... for the tide ....of regret to run.......... .....for a short while.....
before.. the ebb...of memory.
this is another old work....
2005ish..before meeting ben
when i had time to mutter and muse over past mistakes
Jude kyrie Dec 2015
The hat maker

It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.
Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in to see her last creation
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw her smile
Mark Boucher Apr 2012
I'll sort out the regrets of tomorrow,
And look forward to yesterday,
Heart-felts are expected but,
They do nothing for my heart, I felt,
For now I want this dying to stop,
But I won't speak until it starts,
I thought my heart was only theft,
The way you stole mine for joy and used me for less,
Now to rescue a time so divine,
But it moved me like a statue,
Forever to look forward to my next,
For never to look beyond my best.
How it feels to be abandoned.
Jude kyrie Feb 2016
It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.
Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in to see her last creation
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw her smile
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
the older i become the more it hinders my output:
volume, quality, whatever you want to call...
perhaps it's censorship (in a way) -
a ****** lenovo keyboard: not wide enough
to properly place my hands to not look down
but ahead at the genius of QWERTY...
since... believe me: the classical order of the alphabet
conjured up by the French (perhaps i'm
remembering incorrectly) is not really important:
what matters is the entire body of the scripted
language... words don't unravel from a prerequisite
of abcdefghijklmnopq...rs...t...u...v...w...x...y...z
is that all the letters?
i actually don't know fingers dart backwards &
forwards... or, not really... when playing this
"piano" anyway: as long as all the required
letters are invoked in the required words:
hey presto! meaning!
                      there ought to be 26... funny...
there are 32 letters in the ****** (western Slavic)
alphabet... the same number as the teeth
in my gob...
but sometimes i "lose" a poem... whether it's censorship
when i make a post: ****! gone...
or whether i'm callous with the ctrl + c / + p / + a
scenario when i drank a little bit too much...
i don't know... perhaps i'm writing for
some elite that doesn't want the public to read
my work... i like to think of it that way...
but losing a poo'em can become so disheartening
that i i sometimes want to forget that i speak:
let alone write... now longer periods when
i can rekindle a makeshift monologue:
but then i have to find something technical in language
to reorient my purpose...
it's becoming less & less easy...
esp. since i'm not writing fiction...
  just... grass is green... butternut squash soup is
more than hearty: but it will never match up
to my better take on the Heinz canned classic... period...
not enough chilly in the Heinz... canned classic...
& never eaten with a slice of bread...
it requires vermicelli... like most soups do...
like a decent ****** chicken broth...
which also requires... well: poaching the carcass
but  base set of vegetable...
a leek... a celeriac root slice...
parsley root... a carrot... garlic... celery stalks...
parsley - the green leaves...
salt, pepper... & vermicelli...
oh... & plenty of time...
i'm disheartened when i lose a piece of script:
it's not Shakespeare (obviously) but so much emotion
can flow into the cascade that:
tabloid newspapers are given bragging rights...
are, ahem... "important"... so... my writing...
whether by censorship or not...
or my clumsy fingers when putting across
a body of text from one canvas to another... goes wrong...
hours become days when i find a new:
desire to write... since... writing is much easier
to thinking...
writing is much easier to thinking...
as thinking is much easier to speaking...
- but all of a sudden my life has changed a little...
writing is so much easier when you're
not "doing" anything...
mein gott... poems flow & flow... snippets
of narrative arrive at your forehead & fingertips like
postcards from your ex-girlfriends missing
you dearly from exotic locations: as if being married
& having children is still not enough because:
they didn't have your children & aren't married to you...
the poo'em i lost was about... two days ago...
travelling to Wembley Park for... an induction...
the role? being a steward...
i figured: enough of youth can be wasted on dreams...
literary dreams...
let's inject some... proper... grass-root ambition
with... RE-AH-LI-TY (****... phonetically that's
REE-AH-LEE-TEA/EE/AE)...
this writing "business" isn't going at the pace
i want... sure... i can brag about...
wow... almost 40 thousand views of one poem...
there are over 6K poems of mine, just here...
Wembley Stadium can host 90,000 spectators...
one poem of mine can muster up... almost half
of the capacity?
not bad... but... not good enough...
lucky for me i can relate for this sort of thirst when
drinking... sometimes i'm content with
a bottle of wine... at other times i need a liter of whiskey...
go figure... but not when so many idiotic pundits...
when there's this media masquerade happening...
i'm in the shadows: i'm listening to what people
are listening to... i never leave traces in the comment
sections: a waste of time...
makes thinking about certain things easier:
when you don't air your opinions...
after all: that's pseudo-rhetorical...
the true art of debate is... withdrawing from:
debating... the dialectical position is:
first mind diacritical marks (sorry... none in English,
& yes... it's still more ugly
when phonetically charged with graffiti "mishaps"...
misnomer: "shortcuts")...
- where was i? oh right... perhaps i "missed" something
in my original lost sample of a narrative:
although (last time i checked)
this website provides automated save as drafts
when you stop typing - after a prolonged period
of typing: my bad...
writing is so much easier when life is uneventful...
i could tease that word: uneventful into
a katakana syllabary: i almost want i almost have
to i therefore (not almost, but) must:
un-eh-vent-ful...
oh look at that: sitting pretty like a toddler
with a drumstick of a chicken (leg)...
**** it: my writing is going nowhere...
i have more ambition to simply let it... sizzle in its own
juices: or whatever better expression is handy...
none come to mind...
i need to look at people: i need to study people...
the internet is an echo-chamber to begin with:
it used to...
a jukebox narrative... such freedoms were
once available... mein gott... what music
i discovered when foraging on youtube...
in two years... gone... the algorithm got ******...
period: bad grammar is an exemplification
of this load of: hot-steaming... mix of **** & *******...
i need a real job... wasting my youth on writing
is not enough: perhaps my writing will catch up:
or my readership will... either way:
i'm not aiming for anything under
the title-weight of a Bukowski:
lucky ******... but i'm also not aiming for
the almost near obscurity of... the Black Mountain poets...
who was their leader... Larry?
Lee-rrr...       eh... it's not like a tarantula didn't
crawl into an English mouth & "somehow"
numbed the tongue for the end result of:
nein zu tremolo! ****'s sake... if i only asked:
why the French Fwench... but they hark so:
never mind...   yes, yes... Larry Eignar...
**** me... that took a while...
but there's another... a "renegade" on the...
ha ha... steppes of "Cambodia"...

          Russell is a likely connotation...
but incorrect... let's see....
     wait... Charles Olson... ol' Ollie...
he? he was a black mountain poet?
you ******* kidding me...
no chance in hell that will pass by me
given.... concerning his Maximus poems...
like: **** no...
i'm a critic i'm a nobody i'm a porveurour...
now i remember the ******'s name:
Robert ******* Kreely...
him! Kreely: Creely... Creeley...
**** it... fling in the vowels...
lets see what sort of a trebuchet **** master
you... ought... might... make.
oh.... wait.... important "news"...
an... apostrophe "missing": plain Jane typo....
where?LET(')S i.e. implying the shortening of:
the inclusivity of the collective... "US"..
      wunderbar!
                 schön!
that's the umlaut O... ergo... shoo... shoon...
great!
                           kaninchen und...
                        rosa ball-ons!  
i know a ******* balloon from a *******
ball-on... it's like telling me...
what's the difference between an omicron
and an omega...
i.e. do you really need to tell me
the difference?
sure... if it was an upsilon: you *******
clueless Greek!
what audacity:
you ******* clueless... Greek...
what... better some Iranian...
arriving from... Belarus?!
oh sure... i really want to live in Kenya...
among the ivory beauties with skins
that hide their bodies...
******* milk on toast... some chocolate:
sprinkled... i see teeth & sclera...
& some mahogany...
  ****? i'd **** anything that moves...
even south Korean girls geared up for a game of....
ping-pong....
my bad... what?
or is that: WAT like... WATT...
the energy unit or the Samuel Beckett novel
that over-competes James Joyce's Ulysses?!

your is the roulette... yours... hmm... your's...
for a while... the latter was underlined...

life used to be so much simpler when...
language could speak for... "itself"...
no one could use it: somehow, "somehow"...

i applied for the role of a Wembley Stadium
steward on a whim...
i thought: **** it... writing is not going toward
a projected: Ginsberg stastus...
i'm not going to compete with the leftoid jargon
of the 1960s... lucky me...

i'm just a terrible "millenial"...
i use an apostrophe like i migh5t secure understand
of the Pythagorean hypotenuse...
some C "squared"...
Wembley Stadium steward...
this... cacophony of hierarchy "suddenly" hits me...

i can understand authority...
tier one, tier two... vampire... zombie...
sure, sorted...

of the supposed 12 rules for life...
one of them reeds... i suppose that's reed: read:
reeds... sorry.. n'est ce pas...
pet a cast on the sreet?
you know, how hard it is... to pet a cat..
on the street?!
if you lived in England...
wolves... what wolves?!
foxes... oh yeah... plenty of those...
but... petting cats?
a bit like explaining...
a jpeg. take up less volume... ha ha: "volume"
than a pdf. file...

why i was mo4e than ready: i'll never known...
perhaps i'm a closeted fan of Ed Sheeran,
perhaps i like children in the role of:
a fathering figure...
perhaps children like to
poke my beard & lips...
perhaps this... perhaps that...
perhaps i'm ******* Santa Claus...
or what's Satan's Claus(e)....
all these freebies... cough up!

or... i just like making people "feel" included:
"feel" is one "thing", REALISED... another...
it might sound like newsspeak...
but... i don't want to ingest another...
Manchester Bomb Arena spectacle...

SAA... a week in Brixton... 7 days...
but they require a cohort of at least 12 applicants...
it elevastes your status as steward to:
someone who can: "juggle"...
be legally obliged to utilised force:
if necessary...
i like... i like... i like...

first ZOOM call in my life... ******* Ludite...
luddite... ugh... that double D kills me...
surd: you don't hear(d) to: begin with...
so... what... spelling "mistake"?

oh sure... the ****** transit & traffic...
train from Romford through to Liverpoool St...
then the Metropolitan Line to Wembley Park...
great... the arch...
a black coffee from McDonald's & two croissants from
Lidl... morning... done...
no more... morning sickness....
come late afternoon Somali girls eyeing me up in a black
tie... o.k. sure... fair game: "gamble"...
hunting what?
i like this understudy of what's man...

i arrived an hour early...
waited the tad bit... of a little... we exchanged formalities... but then i watched as...
two groups formed...
the ****-shock-show of the multi-cultural urban... ahem... "class"... with one rep. & the other... mostly... asian men... with their... asian rep...

12 rules for life... seriously?! do you know how hard it is... to pet a cat? sorry... can i make you reiterate... petting a cat... lucky me... for petting two cats today... "strays"... but... do you know how nearly impossible it is... to pet cats, is?! you don't pet a cat because you can... you pet a cat out of the whims of: the cat willing you to pet it!  just like i like... sitting on my windowsill listening to foxes bemoan their lack of ****** adventures... it's England... foxes... ergo no wolves! d'uh! cull the foxes... you cull the erotica of the nights!

between... sigourney weaver... &...
mmm... winona ryder...
raven 'air...
two winners... how harems work...

Tuba Büyüküstün...

apologies for the phrasing...
if all the supposed gems not donning niqabs
that are western women
are so... *******: NIGGERCOCK mad...
Tuba Büyüküstün... oh... look at me...
you think i want some anemic blonde:
stereotype?!
raven... hair!
sure... the black male specimens are
handsome, attractive: if i were a woman:
i would... ha... "problem"...
why don't i want to...
the ****** antonym... because a white girl
really wants to... do a black guy...
do i... "have" to have the same
compulsions with regards to a black girl?!
Turkic! **** yes!
Mongolian... probably!
Tuba Büyüküstün...
or... swans probably don't have necks...
no... swans probably don't have necks
when you see this:

(although sophie skelton looks
better in the initial photograph...
papa best preached)...
swans don't have necks...
not with her...
around... to... curate... a balett of
nodding  approvals...

Caitríona Mary Balfe... i'm so loved up...
in that i once remarked in private:
bemoaned: that the Scots have forgotten
their native tongue...
swans have no necks...
swans don't need necks...

the neck of Caitríona Mary Balfe
eyes... too...
or the short-styled hair... & eyes
of Tuba Büyüküstün...
don't get me started on the hands...
those petite Antoinetes of joy...
the most ****** aspect of a woman is bound
to her hands... i'm missing a knuckle! or at least
*******!

woo-man!                         woe-is-me!
woe-is-man!             woo-man!
i'll bark i'll gargle... not for the sold-cold "soul & eternity"
of the d.n.a.:
but rather for that Muhammad never achieved when
competing with King Solomon!
then again... King David had the better tale...
the love of music, the writing of the psalms
&... defeating Goliath...
king Solomon was... compensating with
the excessing in the exploitation of women...
eh... Solomon &... proverbs can be tested...
true... or untrue...
but psalms... unconditionally...
sung... or... lost...
no antonym-synonym dynamic...
you either remember or you forget...
you don't merely remember & pseudo-remember
via changing the narrative a little: or a lot...

what a neck... on this Irish beauty...

two frotiers formed.... one side...
the cosmopolitan, readied to talk to women
in possible women in authority, etc.
whatever are the preferenfes....
i really adore the ROYAL: third person:
ONE might...
or the plural WE....
"genger plural pronouns":
not since the existence of the "crown":
i am subject to ol' Lizzies stipends!

i am her mouthpiece wherever she's:
not m'ah ******* grandma!
on zoom calll i was sked....   (scared, for sked)
what were British values....
i was asked....
i replied... universal?!
i passed some mythological...
Kennsington Test...
ooh p'ah! ******* hurah
join the Union Jack brigade!
who's kidding who?

              the red coats are coming!
last time i 'eard?
not enough of 'em are "coming"...
come to "think" of it: beside staring at goats...
"going": where?
do "we" need to "go" to Afghanistan
when... Afghanistan is coming to us?!

sorry... what?

two groups of people at Wembley...
mostly Asian men... an Asian rep...
& a group led by a Jewish girl...
talk of tortoises...
Sikh... Tamil... Sanskrit... men...
& women... ******...
Stalowa Wola: Iron Will... which is
an actual town...
Harry... the guy with tattoed hands...
Ewelina: Evaline...
**** me... another single mother...
how many more single mothers will i have to pass?!
i don't mind it:
ancient Rome replies with:
the surrogate father...
chances are...
i could be a bad genetic partner...
i wouldn't mind... raising children that weren't my own...
i swear to the only god available on such
matters...
he'd just nod approving me as
surrogate father...
to hell with it...
CORALINE - DREAMING...
ancient Rome sends you a postcard...
you'll reply?
        no? fair enough...
i could i wish i could...
a little: BAMBINO of my own...
bit then again...
investing in so much of my own...
what if... they are killed...
hell! ****** is one "thing"...
but what if by some stupid circumstance of
a traffic incident?!
ergo?
i very much like the idea of raising children that
biologically "belong"... ahem...
"elsewhere"...
not their souls, their minds.. though...
n'est ce pas?! VOU... that's not how
ALTHOUGH is assembled?
AUL: ALL.... VOU? it's not VOW...
ate the G... no, kiddy?

i love children... esp. those that are not my own...
i could love them & love them like
an Abraham... nein... i could love them like...
a god... i could love children in a way that...
mirrors.. the moment they arrive at...
exploring the game of:
hide & seek...
there was never any playground invoked
to summon: the game of bulldog...

i'm glad i have no children of my own...
more of my seeing and less of the eyes of my "choosing"...
petty tender heart-felts: demands...
i'd rather father the children of "unavaliable" fathers
than father my own...
ancient Rome is messaging you...
dearest...
   look how much easier it all becomes!
you raise someone else's child... but...
should said child die... become murdered...
erm... what of it?
a statistic... i feel no inclination to give a ****...
i invested in the mind... the soul...
the body can ***** itself to death...
as it does... but it's not my own...
i can be as much detached from its fate as is most purposively
ridden: to riddle me...
i'm glad to not raise my own!
it dies... it's murdered... do i care?
no... life replaces life... here we go: the grand
carousel... it's not like i have name like:
McKenzie or... McDougal...
so... no... no lineage... i'm a baron of the most
atomised of times... the individualistic
sanctity: real or supposed...

ancient Rome replies:
the negativity of single mother households....
compensated with... the freedoms of...
paternal surrogacy... give me a break!
ha! it's Eden! i come with not leverage of....
ownership! i owe nothing due to
the Darwinistic impetus!
i'd be freed from whatever is expected of me...
there are no investments...
in pronouns... might we:
the royal one?

ha!

it's no much easier to have children
that turn out to be girl...
ha!

i'd rather be a surrogate father to a "daughter"...
come to think of it...
i'd only want...
to be a father... to a son... biologically....
a daughter can...
Mayflower herself... or ***** herself all she wants...
from a father: unto a son...
like that "******": Matthew & Son (cat stevens)
or... "dreaming": Coraline...

the inquisitive cat... the teenage girl...
the "felix"... the Urdu... somewhat...
the inquisitive cat... kommen die nacht....
alles ist nacht...

if there's no democracy in poetry:
then there's no democracy at all!
maxim: non-la-rochefoucauld
SassyJ Jan 2017
Count the stars ohh fairly dust
as the phantoms of love touch
in linguistic anticipation of chance
trading meanings, making winnings

In a room full of laughter and fantasy
on the different levels of unplanned
stormy felts of felt emotive response
of eons ago and pretense of the present

Count the stars ohh fairly dust
sprinkle this self sustainance in plenty
Unweighted and unchained from locks
clocks and clicks of despair and want

In a life full of obligation and expectation
Let me be within the dreamt memory
of the light casts of alone and bliss
as the night caress the unspent future
Can't stop writing. I went to watch the Phantom of the Opera at a local theatre and wrote loads during the interval. Burst of gratitude and happy overload emotions. Life is great...... hope to stay here. What's happening? Can't stop writing!
Jude kyrie Nov 2015
The milliner

*It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.
Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in to see her last creation
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw her smile.
Jude kyrie Jul 2016
It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.

I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.

Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.

We all went in to see her last creation
On Mom's head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.

Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I ever saw her smile
Gianni Apr 2019
I cant escape
My life’s ******
My mind won’t take a break

And broken
Is all I feel
Wounds and scars
That will never heal

Feels like I’m drowning
While everyone’s breathing
Gasping for air
While everyone’s looking
Reaching out
And no one is helping
Fighting for my life
All I know is this suffering

No handouts and no savior here
I see emptiness when I look in the mirror
I see this life as a reflection of self
No home no heart
Cant relate to anyone else

I know I’m not the only one
With his finger on the trigger of a gun
I know I’m not the only one
That’s felts this way and wanted to give up

You’re not alone
Let these words be your home
Let this feeling help you to know
We all feel the same
It’s all part of the show

Why is life ****** up like this
Worse and worse
Is all it gets
Like a sick joke
Made at our expense
One day we’ll win
And it’ll all make sense
Dragon tears in clover fields and purple clouds and golden coins
magic carpets genie lamps and wishes of the everlasting
Kisses, promises, fireworks.

Gloves and scarves and beating hearts
Winks and doorbells
Hopes and Dreams
Everything oh everything!

Melted snow and dazzling intricate
Roll like waves over air and sound
Fantastic fabric enveloping darkness
Swallow my soul and make me whole.

Leperchauns and green garb of irish
Brown tattered top hat and world of emeralds
Surround my heart and take me to paradise
Open grasslands making the ocean bright.

Faerie dust and technicolor
Blue shiny sand as the wings flying flutter
Something like amber and something like granite
The psychic feeling of everything manic.

Blue energy genie man
take me away to neverland
The reality of withered trees and golden paths and bumble bees
Of pink roses and lively rivers
Swirling like potions and arrows and quivers
Make me elixers and bake me a cake
The breathes in the bottles and dreams that we make.

The sadness the laughs and the corners of rockingchairs
Chandelier whiteness and gleaming silver chalices.
Green golden robes and blue tethered rope belts
Magic of zealots and fine shiny cloth felts

Gloss me a glass of a wine so delicious
Make me a drink made of all of my wishes.
Bake me a cake of beautiful kisses.
Draw me a bath of sun kissed implicits.
oblert pumpernickle
Civilization has an arched inflection in its regency at the head of the favorable family caste in the blessing, in whose hiding place it will have to be entrusted to a clan, having to take inquiries from those that formerly only related to consanguinity minorities from the same family trunk, thus protecting the pantries and war accessories to consolidate the economy and invigorate its commercial coffers. The land would be and would be an essential partition insignia for the legitimate transmission of epochs and their inter-seasons, which only received them from their descendants to represent the geomorphological heraldry, given their regionality and condition. In the excitement of the seventh seal, heaven was silent for half an hour and the seven angels were standing before God, and they gave them seven trumpets, the other is to be recorded in front of the altar with a golden censer, to compile it in other prayers in all the saints, on the golden altar that was in front of and in front of the throne - And from the hand of the angel the smoke of the incense went up into the presence of God with the prayers of the saints - And the angel took the censer, and filled it from the fire of the altar, and cast it to the earth; and there was thunder, and voices, and lightning, and an earthquake - And the seven angels who had the seven trumpets got ready to blow them - The first angel sounded the trumpet, and there was hail and fire mixed with blood, which were thrown upon the earth ; and the third part of the trees were burned up, and all the green grass was burned up - The second angel sounded the trumpet, and like a great mountain burning with fire it was hurled into the sea; and a third of the sea was turned to blood - And a third of the living creatures that were in the sea died, and a third of the ships were destroyed - The third angel sounded the trumpet, and a great star fell from heaven , burning like a torch, and fell on the third part of the rivers, and on the sources of the waters - And the name of the star is Wormwood. And the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died because of those waters, because they became bitter - The fourth angel sounded the trumpet, and the third part of the sun, and the third part of the moon, and the third part of the stars were smitten, so that a third of them would be dark, and there would be no light for a third of the day, and also at night - And I looked, and I heard an angel fly through the middle of heaven, saying with a loud voice: Oh, oh, woe, to those who dwell on earth, because of the other trumpet blasts that are to sound the three angels!

Being in six instants at the Golden Gate of Jerusalem with Saint John the Apostle, they reordered the majority for a protected subordination in the minor family descended from the eldest son, for the purpose of sustaining the possession of their theological morphology. In this door, being the only one that will remain closed ..., until the second coming of the Messiah. The camelids' scheme of their osteometry  tells us that their heads before Advent! Distorted their calypso lights on the surface of their skeletons, locking the jaws of other camelids, thus bypassing the Apostle's strap, which through the foramen of the supraorbital, thickened the strides that pretended immobile before the opening of the Golden Door. Of course, they were reclusive of their self-denial for the length of their footsteps to the rhythm of the sensitive skulls, leaving them the infra nasal root and the folds of felts, which rolled up like a tuberosity, leaving the dystonic dental alveolars, appearing contemporary consonance with those of Vernarth.

In the fourth camel Raeder, he cleared the margins that allowed them to increase their attempts to withdraw them from the golden doors, but the dislocation of the orbits of their ocher eyes, denoted them holes in the condylar fossa, distancing the vicinity of the Tehilim that he advocated  King David on the Seventh Seal of a stuck Giga Camel. The metric form innovated them of ubiquity, for an omnipresence in the camels before the gates and after the gates, thus leaving the site of the eighth gate, deserting the camels behind the gates and arcades pointing to the ancient cemetery of the prophecies that Elías holds and in procuring generational stoning of inter camelids, which would be channeled into twelve plus another dozen, but behind all of them, seeming to be six, later joining King David, would endow the homology of the Seventh Seal. This caravan was numbered from one to six, saving the vertices of the Golden Gate that joined modestly at the odd vertices, under the odd cross of the same vertex, which made the equilateral consistent with the three angles where Vernarth and Etrestles went, to later join other pairs of vertices in a crucified chain in the flat and secondary complementarity of the seventh angle, but with epilogue character of the Seventh Seal. Thus it would be numbered according to the Camels Gigas, the Golden Door, governing them for a family of six family angles and a seventh seal, for the performance of the family support of primogeniture, in the reinsertion of Saint John the Apostle, since he was exiled by the emperor Domitian.  Making themselves succulent of the gold of the Seventh Seal, on the collective unconscious of the first-born, for the good of the sub-genitor son. Here the indication goes for the purpose of populating the consecration of granting greater goods to those who support and could lead forces of abandonment and secular sedentarism, for the need to welcome sacrifices of goodness and preferences of lay annoyance and earthly secular strengthening. The kinetics would move the six numbered over the vertices of the Sun in three bevels, joining the pairs in vertices covered in the circumscribed mesh of vehemence, which is impacted with the solid Golden Gate of Jerusalem, depositing the concentric radii of the polarized magnet on the struts of the camel of the central ram, for the affinity of contraption of a trajectory for all Judah, in six predestined latitudes to Ein Karem, in the Hexagonal Baptistry of the Shepherds.

With the symmetrical scrupulousness of a certain out of time, the rounded bisector of the psychic lines of the peritoneum fold of the solitary flanks of the Camels Gigas, towards a vocal peritoneum set six times more than a seventh, was estimated, in the apothem of the two-dimensional figure of the hexagon ephebus Angel with a shorter centrality path, for the foundation of the Apostle and Vernarth, regulating them by points and sides, on the perpendicular bevels, prostrating towards a more orthodox and straight line, mutinying radial phases on the bisector ..., giving odd quotations , that cut the first round of anointing, among all those that were retained in the vagaries of being caught by involuntary deaths.

From Gaugamela's stratagem, three thousand muscular Hetairoi descended, towards the implantation of heart nuclei in the camelids, on the Susa Gate and the oblique break in March towards the war site, creating a gap between camels and the sphinx of Alexander the Great breaking into the wing left of The Golden Gate. This was the casuistry of Vernarth's psychic outpost momentum, who once was at the precise moment of stalking, hypnotizing the gap of the Achaemenides, but unaware of that mechanical moment, persists in pursuing the Giant Camels. He guided them with his right hand to both sides and equipped with heart irons that exaggerated the whisper of his pectoral channels, breaking the dawn of the Cinnabar, with the antigen, readjusting the door hinges before falling untimely. Vernarth, with his sinister, summons the Indian family who tried to open the gap of Alexander with his Macedonian baggage, thus preventing him from lying in the reliquary in contrition towards himself. The infamous moment must have passed through the swords of some who resisted when fleeing from the held Golden Gate, giving up the rear of Vernarth with the camels recovered and saved from the abandonment of their afflicted hearts, resigning themselves with empty hands and with outpourings of victory, but with two units confronted in his Portal of Imagination.
f) Hexagonal Birthright  part 6
PawanTube Jul 2019
There's nothing left to heal
though most of pathetic anixety feel
no longer love would be rotten
quite after you betray.
all i do is screm to myself
Everything, Doing everything I can,
It's all about part of my pride...
but, i hate to say I'm proud
still i say, do you hear my echo aloud...

Which type of mesh is it?
too much lye between in pain,
nobody beware it's vain.
for these pleasure SCARS,  
i never ment to spites...
i went out of my insane
heart felts torn apart
too much bad at goodbye...

Need to take off "circumstances"
wishing for time machine
to change the past of we
yet it hasn't built...
no magician can do or so
do i shut up? god !
-clean up all the mess
"Lit, the flower
Dare to expell the fake,
SHE'LL back with the asthethic face"
There's nothing left to heal
though most of pathetic anixety feel
no longer love would be rotten
quite after you betray.
all i do is screm to myself
Everything, Doing everything I can,
It's all about part of my pride...
but, i hate to say I'm proud
still i say, do you hear my echo aloud...

Which type of mesh is it?
too much lye between in pain,
nobody beware it's vain.
for these pleasure SCARS,  
i never ment to spites...
i went out of my insane
heart felts torn apart
too much bad at goodbye...

Need to take off "circumstances"
wishing for time machine
to change the past of we
yet it hasn't built...
no magician can do or so
do i shut up? god !
-clean up all the mess
"Lit, the flower
Dare to expell the fake,
SHE'LL back with the asthethic face"
Check the gangstas cameo slammin' sammy
Steelo check the belt buckle below flows cycles
Around those haters who can't grow snow
Ya thoughts I been caught without a chase
Hip hop face erase the bass line rap divine
Wore hells trails on my spine one of kind mankind
Blind ya shine all out never stand in line
We making moneys rappin' yummys to honeys
Don't play me as I hop like a bunny tracks crony
More yey than Tony dopest beats bars elite
Repeat massacre coming after ya spectacular
Octo- tarantula
Standing ovation from rocking the arenas
Beats like Tina from Ike sike let me rewrite fright
Nights thriller cold chiller hanging peelers
Scrapin' for scrillas much love to J Dilla
Platinum fillaz lookin' for Mami Quintanillas
Thick body rowdy rowdy flex rubbers Audi
Engineer chocha buccaneer souvenir adhere
Closely makes mostly keep the breads toasty
No boasting from me only when I spin the LP
Healthy unhealthy to those who tried to play me
Spitting 380s blazin' ***'s to doobies jacuzzi
Froth the scene hot summer greens fiends
Out and about rap ****** still aiming for snouts


Difficult acquired taste hard to copy and paste
This ain't a fame chase this is a razor chafe
Digging in ya corticals of ya front page articles
Miracle whip you with the material stacking serials
killaz Bodies by the ton that's on the one
no fun ever entered Americas Kingdom projectin' wisdom
For other emcees spitting wack bars stars
Above I lay those once the guns rose toes
Froze pose for ya final resting as I glow
Through making ain't no shaking a faking
Patriot Douglass Toussaint make em faint
Rise a nation black Mason form a cremation
From sticky situation pillars of salt malt
Over my enemies with the drunk karate
My crew right behind me gun blind side me
So ya can't catch me slippin' put a button to ya lippin'
Still crippin' suckas who ain't really listening
Wind stencilin' my universal path lays math
Occultic wrath feel the blood baths  
I shaft suckas couldn't dodge the draft
Macks breaking chest and backs racks
Up my reps cold heart felts from living sickin'
Negative degree earth sins spreads evil within
Self acknowledge real wealth mental health
Lyrical beatings leaving welts melts
Any wax I step on step down son
You in the presence of a Don Al Capone
Got it goin on rappin' til the break of dawn
Keep stacking until I'm put on but then again
It's hard getting answers when I really just needed a friend
Infamous one Jul 2021
K71
He put in work back and forth with the gloves going through the motions. His memory was sharp. He felt free from all those things that burdened him. The people who didn't believe, or think highly of him.
Clearing his mind doing it for himself. Even if he failed, he had to prove it his worth. Prove them wrong shut them up. He knew his abilities was tired of the extra pressure tired of being set up to fail. He gave his all even if it's not enough. They'll call him sensitive because he cared. They'll make him out to be entitled because he had a different perspective.
He questioned things and everyone was mad because he didn't follow or mind his mouth since he didn't agree. He wouldn't turn a blind eye the truth was told now everyone is mad holding a grudge. He didn't want trouble but they came at him when all he wanted was to be fair. He felts wiped out and pushed it did hurt but he learned to be okay with it.
Orakhal Nov 2020
Magnetics dream

live hollows chest light space
pales bone colds weigh
hung open on worlds light dominion
wept wide a moments leave

felts flame prepped  tangled
hums apparel plum lumped on paddles person
lept tuned to commons company heat
ramble round a hazes wake
Graff1980 May 2020
I’ve seen one fragile body
go from zero to sixty,
go from nothing to anxiety
and shaking
then to thin arms of rage
and a voice made for breaking
those she loved.

I’ve seen the thin lines
on her skin
as the child tries to
take what tears her up from within
and pull out all of her feelings.

I’ve seen a grown man
break down and cry
unable to verbalize why.

I’ve watched the world
and felts its pain
but seldom got up
to save them all
and that is my personal shame.

— The End —