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KiraLili Jul 2016
Square bail flinging at 100 degrees
Arms criss crossed with scratches
Choking on brow sweat and dust
Haying every day for a week
Lunches on the backs of tailgates
Promise of a beer at the end of the day
We're just kids not even teens
Grandfathers drive the flatbeds
And fathers operate the bailers
Cousins fling and stack the hay
It goes from dawn till dusk
Supper is brought out by mothers
All farmed then brought to flatbed truck table
Buttered corn and schucked peas and burgers
Galvanized buckets of iced beer and pop and watermelon
As the sun sets I'm leaned against warmed 5 ton tires
Old men wreathed in pipe smoke pick on young men with cigarettes
Shad flies buzz around headlights
As the evening cools you can smell the warm river
Tonight's shower comes from a sunwarmed hose by the back porch
And a late summer sky opening deluge
Square Bail Haying Kootenay Valley 1980
Nadia May 8
In that moment she transforms
Unquenchable pressures rise
Rage flares into firestorms
Fury thrives, amplifies

She dances on recent slights
Flinging words of blistering flame
Fires fuelled from yesterday’s fights
She wields with unerring aim

When the fury burns to embers
When logic eventually returns
No one left remembers
The cause of her righteous burns

NCL May 2018
zebra Jun 15
angel's can shout through demons
if they have to
here in the valley of time slips and air borne rock
land of meteor splash and ufos

sprit friends
a fantasy gift you give yourself
but if you see some of them
its the worst day of your life
those streaking trajectories
as straight as a pencil path
sending a migration of aliens
weird ovoid's with ****** binocular vision
like Helix pomatia
****** crawlers
while eight legged locomoting moss piglets
that look like a thousand blinking
one eyed gob worms
hurtle in decent
perhaps landing in the Yucatan

barbarian headed asteroids, critter ridden
mixed of spirits and denizens of deep space
from the parametric edges of Bals  
glittering kingdom
shoot suns down from the sky
far flinging those crater bashed demons
into predatory gardens
elixir's of war and death
wave screaming reveries
through red cities
of nightingale floors

nautilus agents plummet
into brawling plots of ash
shattering a million spines
of **** ***** monsters
in a bulls eye break neck rodeo
but unless you integrate
really do the inner work
not just Be Dazzle your ego
with illumination memoirs

after something
skims your surface
you might go from repping
solfeggio frequencies
to singing, get on my level ***
finger flinging in the face
of head-spun girl wondering
what the **** have I done
got to Ctrl + Z
trapass stuck keys

undo
undo
undo

patterns will reemerge
unless you hack the ****
outta perspective lit up

(be it LSD or other
luminous peaks)
Monika Layke May 31
Popping colorful bulbs
flinging their round heads
up, growing toward heat
Nestled nourishingly
in thriving darkness
dirt-y penetrates
light vibrations
.
.
.
.
Tasty pickings
tantalize tongues
Blended milky smooth

Down I ****

****, it’s hot as ****.
I'm growing exotic hot peppers this summer. I have several started from seed and am looking forward to a great harvest.
Lawrence Hall Jul 23
Is reality filtered through one’s culture
No longer reality? Or is it
That reality without a cultural filter
Is not reality at all, but only
An unobserved function of biology
Chemistry, geology, or radiation
Whose purpose is unknowable because
Without the perception of God or man
It doesn’t exist

And neither does the snake, which might have been
But then, maybe it is Schrodinger’s snake
Or was
Or might be

They say that the first cultural bias you ****
Is the most difficult, that it becomes
Easier after that. But it isn’t so.

After a hard life along existential trails
Of assumptions examined to dust, you want
To put away your Hegelian dialectic
And settle down in a little cottage
In the country with a few good books, a garden,
And Aristotle’s unities, but there’s
Always a young concept-slinger who thinks
He’s faster on the synthesis than you
And calls you out on your legendary denial
Of the knowability of objective reality

For the rest of your life (but do you exist?)
No matter how carefully you sharpen your syllogisms
Somewhere out there in the darkness it lurks:
An ontological proposition with your name on it
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  THE ROAD TO MAGDALENA, PALEO-HIPPIES AT WORK AND PLAY, LADY WITH A DEAD TURTLE, DON’T FORGET YOUR SHOES AND GRAPES, COFFEE AND A DEAD ALLIGATOR TO GO, and DISPATCHES FROM THE COLONIAL OFFICE.
There’s a song in my soul
That I try to control
But it won’t be directed
Or infected by me
My higher self singing
and flinging me
forwards into the light,
with my dreams in sight
There - where I am awake,
with glimmer and gleam and
in sync with my being.
Time catches on my shoulder bone and I pull,
youth flinging years through
my heart humming with the velocity of God, or "Imagination", keeping my cells for flint rock firing  so i can see
Infinity for sunrises stirring color into red clay, pine trees,
skinned knees;
all the depths I can reach.
Kim Essary Sep 2018
The fire raging from my body is filled with hate and memories of a man I rid myself of years ago, only this fire is so different, filled with numbness  for the man whose now supposed to protect me now of the way he's become with spit flinging from his mouth , his body engulfed in raging veins and words as he stands in my face like a king with all control when he is now just a coward in his own flesh .
Am I bound to a curse , certainly this is not the life God intended for me to live . Life is free will. The creation of the evil that surrounds this life it haunts some like myself, it  is powerful but the fear isn't what they can do to me , the fear is what I am capable of doing to them .
©KimE1105
Being scared of someone holds no fear being scared of myself does .
Lawrence Hall Aug 2018
Where, then, do I apply for bribery?
Russians are everywhere here, we are told
So why aren’t those nefarious oligarchs
Flinging dollars and dachas at poor me?

And the Chinese, poking and hacking about
(My last water bill was in Mandarin)
Have yet to pad my secret bank account
Or park a Porsche on my patio

But if they will…

I want to spy for the cool FBI
And party away with the CIA
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Panda Feb 2018
Listen

I know I'm not
What most would see to be sane

But you see
I don't see
How faking a love of romance and passion
And beautiful things

Can truly be so bad
If it's the only way he'll stay

Best Friend of my universe
The only person
I couldn't imagine a world without

When he laughed
And then nearly cried

"I don't love you anymore"

I saw the pools of hurt arise
I knew right then his words, all lies
And knew that this was my last

Chance

To keep him in my life
And as I'm selfishly afraid
Of being alone again
I took it

"I was afraid"
I swallow my self loathing away
"Because I love you"

The hope swells, he smiles wide
Laughing, he grabs my hands

"I knew you loved me"

Pang, I shut off my emotions
As he grasps my *******
And slobbers his lips on my own

Boom, my head beats in disgust
Goosebumps rising in panic
My every nerve ending wanting to run
I smile at him when he says

"Tell me you love me"

I feel bile rise, why do I do this?
Is flinging my clothes to the floor
As he leads me to my bed
The necessity to keep my last Friend?

****, why do I do this
Again and again?
Self destruction behavior, big surprise

Right?

But I swear I've never stooped so low
But I've never felt so alone
But I can't recall loving a man
But I've never rejected lust
But with him the touch is rough
But now I'm 3 months pregnant
But it's with a person I choose
But he thinks all this touching is normal
But I can't seem to ever say no

"I love you too"

I refuse to loose you my friend
Not ever again
No matter the cost
I miss friendship, innocent friendship in which you were you and I was me.
The Dedpoet Oct 2018
The Sun flames a lumen just below
Horizons breath,
Flinging the air at its
Frosty breaths
The need to cry
In dew drops on a cradled nature,

The light is the end of me,
I become cemented,
Enable the chorus to sing
Forbidden in the words
Never sung,
A boy hungry smiling
At at the epitome,

I feel pathetic waves crashing
On sullen rocks,
Pity me not, I i already cried for
Myself,

The hands do not reach out to me,
I cast no shadow,
Approach me ,guarded,
I dont know who you will meet
When we do.
Chris Saitta Jun 26
The Trojan dead are whispering
Indecipherable secrets to sodden-eared earth.
The wind has eyes and sees beyond, Titans outremembered.
Ajax and his oft-turned back
Carries again the fallen from the fields:
     The ******-slept clouds, unsuspecting;
     Slumped Achilles of disbelieving-godless eyes,
     Flinging the final spear of his own blood.
     Soldiers all now of the green husk.
Titanic silence engulfs sound,
Except from those who mourn.
The storm is only a storm
As long as the leaves are lost.
Such is the untimely, timeliness of war.
In the post-Illiad Homeric world, Achilles was struck in the heel by an arrow shot from Paris, brother of Hector, whom Achilles had defeated in battle during the Trojan War.

Though there are many variants to the myth, Ajax who was known as much of a warrior as Achilles, in many of these tales carries his body from the field in a show of honor.

For a slide video of this and other poems, please check out my Instagram page at chrissaitta or my Tumblr page at Chris-Saitta.
Bardo May 25
Well I guess at this stage of my life
It's unlikely Fame will ever find me
Guess I must have missed my Boat,
    sailed off without me
Must have missed my Train too, left
    me standing in the station
(Did I ever really want to go anyway ?)
Probably missed the Bus as well, by
    the look it.

I guess you might say things are
    looking kinda bleak
But y'know, I've been thinking...
    maybe...what if...I wonder ?
Supposing I was to spice things up a
    bit
Add a little controversy to the mix
Like a mischievous Madonna or a
    Prince (R.I.P).

I read somewhere once that some
    artists before they can create
They gotta set a scene first, gotta
    create an atmosphere, a certain
         ambience
So they do weird things, they light
    candles, burn incense
Put on strange music, wear strange
    outfits of clothes.... a favorite hat
         whatever !
Helps put them in an altered state of
    mind.

But y'know Me! No! I don't need to do
    any of that
Me! I just like to keep things simple
    yeah
Me! I just like to, well, I just like to do
    it in the ****
No!!! Not when I'm in the mood
In the ****!! IN THE ****!!!

Yea, I like to get it out when there's no
    one about
There's nothing I like more when I get
    through my front door
Than flinging my clothes off
    everywhere
My knickers they land on a picture,
    my pants their down the hall
My shirt's up on a lampshade, my
    vest's up on the wall
Gotta bare my body before I can bare
    my soul
I like the freedom it affords;
And like a Scotsman and his kilt
I like to wave it around a bit
Till I'm ready to take my seat, my
    Muse for to meet

Descending like some beautiful
    winged Pegasus from the sky
I wait till she alights, then I surprise
    her
I jump on board and ride her
Rising way above the Earth, the two of
    us
Wild and free, with nothing at all
    restraining me
Together we traverse, yea! together we roam, the wondrous skies of the
         Imagination
Like some incredible!...amazing!...
    Lady Godiva!!!

Wait a minute! what's that I hear
    outside my door
A Big Ship's ****** a hollering, a
    Train's whistle a wailing
A Bus's horn too, beep beeping... all
    furiously sounding
And jostling with one another to get to
    my door
Man! Their coming so fast I think their
    gonna crash into one another
All wanting to take me away with
    them, take me away from here
And promising me all kinds of crazy
   wonderful things....

Just goes to show.... But remember
It ain't lewd and it ain't rude
To be a Dude who likes to write in the
    ****
In fact... in fact, it's quite cool
(actually it's very cool Brrrrrrr....hey!
    someone shut that door!).
A bit of fun. Would do anything these days for Fame or Infamy, anything to get me off the old 9 to 5 treadmill. A poem about, well, freedom. Next time a politician speaks of freedom, you can smile knowingly.

Lady Godiva, legend has it rode naked thru town as penance for her husband's harsh taxing of its inhabitants. No one was supposed to look at her, but one brave soul named Tom did, hence the term "peeping tom". And not many people know that. (read this somewhere on the web whether true or not).
Dennis Willis Jul 21
the oscillation of anger and you
frequents my day my night
my fuel injected gut muscles
my rocking back and forth rhythm
and limbs that squirm and writhe
-pause to drink-
hit and wrestle this day down
and it is up again flinging desire
and **** you where are you
all over the moon and the sun
and this desert of and this desert of
-pause to drink-
enough of my brain leaps out at a thigh
nails on a red table cloth snag moments cause chills
powers flow through my thoughts and laugh
the laugh of old certainty on new foolishness
i am renewed in my stupidity of aim vs landing
vibrating rattles clanking down some mountain cliff
-pause to drink-
keeping keeping keeping
arms in hands close parallel to myself
not, in this case, me not in this case anyone
is grinning and gripping and grinding steps
and you are out there circling something            
with something lit and sizzling ahead no matter ahead
-pause to drink-
i am behind the sound has moved on banging
Yenson Jul 19
If Reality sat in the chambers
a Presiding judge with wig and gown
and Honesty and Sincerity were supporting members
the case would be heard and decisions made without a frown
they would consider the facts as it was in that month of November
their verdict straightforward hold we see no discord irresistibly sown
if  absence of 'mens rea' why not just apologize and douse out embers

So with reality presiding in the Courtroom
the matter before has dragged with no conclusion
plaintiff harbors no guilt, intentions were pure with no gloom
merely sought mutual agreement 'n believed we shared persuasion
my Lords, on my part all required met, there exist no reasons to fume
there rests my case, redress is neither here nor there I seek no evasion
Lords Honesty n Sincerity knows as you Reality sees truth has a room

In the verdict of Reality and supporting Lords
guilt would never be on my side and should not be seen
if the Defendant genuine and real, dare I say amendments easily forged
simple heartfelt relent, warm words as balm to soothe that fiery scene
where deceit n craven lives, positive nuances seem destined to dodge
in fear the sinner hides flinging blames and retorts to that not serene
my coast is clear let my truth be known, that my Lords is what I lodge
JeanieBeth Oct 2018
1.
Don't let memory run away with you
and make moments of loss not true
dreams of joy may turn to ash
and the mistakes you've made to few

It's not lies that protect, but joy:
no need to run away, but employ
your six senses to know the woman
you're becoming from the boy.


2.
I was all hung up before
all hidden in fakery and gore;
now so unsure I'll not pretend
I'm new to being girl-friend.

I'm new to being a woman
and I'm trying to find
all the reaches of my heart so human
how I make up my mind

Testosterone and lies an evil mix
Years of misery with only one fix
Let me join with you girls
Dance arms linked in great whirls

I'm so knew in this lovely air
let me be your newest friend
Heart to heart so we might share
We've good messages to send


3.
My path is all that's certain:
Only truth will I be blurtin'
And with you I would be flirtin'
flinging aside so every curtain

Steady hand and brightest eyes
The time is short ere spirit flies
I've gathered my pains like raspberry pies
And keep them without compromise.
yosemite Apr 16
spinning through eliot circle
the wind gyrates above
flinging pink petals to my lips
4/8/2019 in pitch black field notes
Ken Rafiñan Aug 2018
Her flamingo feet flinging,
tipping, and kicking men into a flutter

It’s them or me—that thunder; I’ll ******.

I’m stirred up and monologue-ing:
smoky lungs deeply stroking hot fires freely stolen.

Exhale, esteemed son.

******* then concentration:
spot all the dealings—
drop-top feelings.

Our collective discourse;
collaborative, of course.

Force a real proper steal,
and linger on a plate we should sit down to, chew, perhaps do a few…
clarinets blow.

Meditations of the wise ones on the side:
low-key surmising ways to go in—
flipped-up mentality—
and come out: hot pop quality;
positively in great quantity.

Society watching the mood I’m mixing: an addiction
feeding her every volition.

Feeling just a little out of place
in that space—
convicted of an ****** condition.

Shaded off-site: centered.

Focused.

That cocktail’s swooping in slyly,
cold-sweating,
then creeping on hot.

No choice but to vibe to it,
ride through it,
and arrive at a certain point.

Cursive lines make me curse the times
where there’s nothing left
except rational satisfaction.

Her lips unfold—were they really yours to hold?

Choose: tonight or tomorrow?
Sleep or sweep her off those feet?

Slowly dose it.

Easy swinging,
steady hanging;
chasing wonder.

Always the smell of rains
staining them wavy blue.
Poetemkin Sep 13
Look at 'em fuming—check the folly!
All of 'em top dogs set to loose a volley!

Scheming,
frustrated,
conniving,
fixated
on flinging from they back
God's Son who gots 'em prostrated!

They saying,

"We don't need no God around here!
We don't want to live our life in fear!
We will break the chains of *******!
We won't take the knee in homage!"

Then God's like,

"Ha!
Ha hah!
Ha hah!
You tool!
You think you all that?
I played you like a fool!

You think you can do without me?
You think life away from God is free?
You so blind that you can't even see
my Son's death really did buy liberty!

You won't have this man reign over you?
You won't take him as King of the Jews?
Listen fool!
I've got some news:
Listen good;
don't be confused:
he's the one to keep your eye on;
he's gonna rule the world from Zion!"

Then Christ say,

"Let me quote Almighty God to ya'll:
'Go, my Son, and ransom from The Fall
men who trust that our gift is the way;
men whose sin you'll give your life to pay.

Some won't bend the knee and worship;
some won't heed the call to sonship;
some will hate and **** and wrestle:
but you're gonna crush 'em like a China vessel!'"

Now let me tell ya',

You don't want to be a fool;
suffer this child to take you to school:
Serve the Lord!
Rejoice and tremble!
Fear the kind of wrath even demon's can't handle!
He holds a sword;
he's ready for battle,
and anybody counters him is nothing but chattel.
Trust his Word;
kiss the Son:
those who rest upon his arm will not be undone!
Yenson Jan 1
If all is ***** dory
with golden, two or three silvers
and all the pinks

Why are the Weavers worried
Is there not the finest gold thread
from Italy
Silver of Green and the East
Stunning pinks
like elegant flamingos

So why are Weavers panicking
desperate throes
frantic useless moves
flinging all and nothing

Is it that hardness like steel
or the moves of rhythm and timing
or the smooth mahogany sheen
or the stout enduring waves
or the amazing ride

So maybe Gold is not enough
Silver and pink not quite there
Numbers means nothing
just so and so
They all just do not compare

And Weavers are panicking
Weavers are panicking
panicking about what may surpass

Weavers are panicking,
They fear superior quality

If all is at it is
Pray tell us...WHY are weavers panicking!
Jamison Bell Sep 28
Mired in a trance
The cigarette bites my finger
I hold it under the faucet until it tells me it’s name and who sent it
My mind is saturated with the thought of thee, I bite my thumb at you!
Flinging open these ******* shutters, hoping for a flirt and flutter
So I can squeeze the life out of Nevermore
Cursed reminder from the Nights Plutonian shore
There’s no fire here but every time you come waltzing onto my train of thought, my whiskey bottle becomes a little lighter
Summers in Maine all have a similar rhythm and
tone — teenagers, fresh from high school’s early
morning classes, driving along miles of paved high-
way into the big city (66,000 people, barely a city
at all). We were desperate to feel independent, to
escape what we had deemed boring and mundane.
We would hurtle through the days, splayed like star-
fish on beaches with salt clumping our hair, sorting
through pocket change for enough quarters to buy a
one-scoop raspberry ice cream in a sugar cone. Not
enough sunscreen, but enough time in the sun to render
us pink and sore, patches of skin we’d poke at before
flinging ourselves back into the whirl. There was some-
thing endless in those evenings spent around fires,
slapping our legs to rid them of mosquitoes, licking
melted marshmallows from our fingertips, sandals
discarded and bare toes buried in fine silt mixed with
ash. Once we sat below the lighthouse and ate cherries,
burying the stones beneath the rosebushes around us,
and when our mouths were stained red and our hands
smelled like earth and roses, we drove on, ever looking
for a new horizon.
emcol Apr 5
I am the Sahara sand blown north by the summer winds. Covering the fancy balcony furniture in golden dust.

I am the whisper of desert mysteries, calling to the wild hidden deep in the bones of those cocktail sipping lake dwellers. Insisting they abandon all thoughts of saving themselves from this vital moment on.

I am the first ripe strawberry of summer and the unripe blackberries in the bramble. Rumours of sweet fruit yet to come.

I am the twisted branches of the old oak and the shades of moss so numerous and exquisite as to out do the poet’s grief soaked tongue.

I am the gentle wind that makes the catkins dance and your beautiful hair whip around your beautiful face.

I am the soft rains that feed the earth and threaten to wash away your plans for an easy day.

I am the white hot embers of the fire you prayed for.
Don’t forget you asked for this, conjured this heat with your own tongue.

I am the water flinging itself over the rocks, wild with longing for the fall. White with passion and delighting in the journey, even when the destination is oblivion.

I am a troublemaker, a moon priestess, a hedgewitch.
I am a hearth tender and a grief whisperer and I am on my knees again.

Bent down low to kiss the earth and devastated by the beauty of it all.
Kristaps Nov 2018
Palaces of ****** souls
have green neon text frames
standing sideways like arches;

divine arrows, they guide
the paternal flunks, the tar-soaked offspring,
the lonely and the business bunch.

Here in these palaces, all sin is a freeze, all
lust is a spin.
Fairy lights are often flagged in a net,

to catch mischievous mares flinging
themselves against the glass displays
of overpriced clothing shops.

One finds when wondering the perpetual
lines of restaurants and cafes, the vastness of them
having a motherly touch, for

these palaces, they stretch like the sky and
they spread like the shepherded
fire ants of Gaia herself



And when ones welcome is overbid
they need only to follow  the
evenly laid out,  sorrow yellow street lamps

and bite their cheeks and bare the frost
for soon the polluted lux will lead them to
an overnight joint, a limbo of sorts,

where they can breathe a new.
On those red leather sofas- fast food
or the district kind- when the night seems

to crawl on its final limbs,
they'll lay and slip into sleep.
Some say they never do wake, that they

wither with the moon and then
haunt the attics of the dance halls
where they swirled and laughed and lived

in a previous life.
InsertPenName Nov 2018
Is hard to sleep when the mind keeps screaming
Instead of dreaming it's choosing to blur the reality a little more
Brimming with shoulds and should nots
Couldn't and could've been
But we would not succumb
Replaying the same memory of the second defeat so we don't morph into an headless hero
Ones and zeroes bounce restless in relentless persuite of the truth
You're a hero even if your greatest feat is not flinging yourself off the cliff
Everyone wants to fly but once in sky
You'll be dying to land and you land too hard you die
You're trying too hard you're not trying hard enough
Which one is it, do we take the next step of giveup
The next step is breathing
So vote maybe?
But it isn't so bad if you look closely
We're not alone but a bit lonely
In a crowd going about discredited the happening
Cutting off the threads, we can't move we're just dangling
The one thing, out if pills of sanity
Spring from attachment
We now have chose between two addictions
We'd rather be free and starve than be behind bars
So we let go
We exist at extremes
They exist in middle
We meet twice everytime
Graze by each other
A bit of refill of regret
A living reminder
We can't sleep
Can't shake the fright
The voices are back in the house
They're looking for a fight
We might let them win this time
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