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where shall I send my poems?**

to my eyelashes,
for they beat irregularly
unconcealed and unconscious
like my poems

to my fingertips,
where they are released fluidly
they grasp, strained and staining, tapping breaths
like my poems

to my smile,
fleeting and happy weeping fortuitously
a lifetime of a whisper, glimpsed and gone
like my poems

to my brain,
where they are symmetrically born only to die ceremonially
a fireworks duration evaporating into a rich velvet
like my poems

like my poems,
none will survive me,
blemishes, pockmarks, beauty marks, residues,
in a flash bang born, in a flash bang consumed

3:08am dec. 9 2019
entropiK Nov 2010
i.

a girl once told me that sad people close their eyes
so they do not see the world anymore,
and that i should count sheep when i cannot fall
asleep and that her favourite flowers were azaleas.


she also told me that she keeps scabs
on her knees, and on sundays
she comes to me with bleeding wrists.


another girl paints artifice out
of artlessness and human flesh. she
has scalpels for arms and a tempest on
her thighs and she lives in the
mirror and when i blow



ii.


on her i understand, through air condensation
and self- anathema, that i am the girl that she  
de-fleshed maliciously herself, slit out of the cardboard
and painted out in artifice and artlessness and


i am the girl that once told another girl to ******* cut
her arm off and i meant it so she would not hurt herself
again because


i am the kind of the girl with scabs on the bone
of her halo, because i believe halos are made of
nothing but cartilage and helium bones, and a heart
as transparent as a vampire and its split opened like a monarch
butterfly, ******* off


azaleas or malarias or other pathogens
giving infants cancerous proclivities and my eyes are
swollen in mauve from divestiture because i know too well


those sheep won't jump over the fence
anymore because they have been ****** raw
in the *** by inhumane prospensity and i understand that


sad people close their eyes because it reminds them of death.




iii.


death is a scientist that theorises the
duality of elusive particles in artificial marrows
and mediocre decolourised melancholia in discordance,
it is the finger forced into our tiny vein and
it is nothing but a dream within a dream


but i could care less and this poem
is not about death, it is about how i
like ugly girls and how i'm just sorry
that i do not taste as corrosive
as the bleach in her mouth.




iv.


when people are dying, they almost sound poetic.




v.


i am the girl humanised by ribbons of
flesh and bile and atrocity, and i am the girl who
understands that a 'broken heart' is
nothing but a metaphor for utter
disappointment.  



i am the sleep that dreams long for,
hope for, phlebotomise for
  
and i am bitter.




vi.


i am bitter because i will not believe in sundays
unless one day, fortuitously, the sun osscilates,
in the most serene of all mannerisms, down the earth
and kills us all.


i am bitter because semantics does not authenticate
the abiding human apathy towards death
and all the flowers in her hair.


i am bitter because people only read my poetry
because they think it is about them.


i am bitter because of other horrible
reasons that words can simply not express.


vii.

ugly girls are always prettier
because god loves ugly
girls, because he ***** them harder than the
rest,  and because they know how to
make others feel ugly.
OLD; but its amazingg.
One who feared LOVE
Called it unattainable

One who pondered LOVE
Pressed a rose in their books

One who ruminates LOVE
wraps it around a wick and calls it a lamp

And there is one who contemplates
Puts fire of LOVE
Burns heart to inequable use

LOVE
Serves many purposes
Warmth, care,
Compassion, touch
Companionship, feelings
And above all
LOVE loves...

But humans sold LOVE
In the bazaars of wealth & age
Education & gender
What an exorbitant cost to humankind?
Oh.. divesting LOVE to stupidity!

Fortuitously,
You told me
"Wander not far & wide
In quest of LOVE anywhere
So here I stand
Within YOU- my LOVE"
Ysabel Cruz Mar 2016
My heart beat like a drum
endlessly falling for you.
I licked my lips of colored plum,
hoping it will touch yours too.

You held me like I was yours,  
and it meant that you were mine.
It was a night like no other,
a feeling of cloud nine.

Your left hand wrapped upon my right.
Your right hand on my immobile arm.
I held on to you too tight
hoping that it will be no harm.

It was a feeling like no other
to finally feel loved.
Fortuitously slept, rather
than talking to my beloved.
A car ride with a boy that my heart opened to.
an earlier draft of this barely satisfactory missive ex post facto, i chomped asper with upper dentures upon evincing a couple of typographical errors, in up rye or draft, and did not wanna dodge being a spell bound stickler for typing words correctly.

though no obligation to trot out this fixation sans zero misspelling tolerance, a compulsion with any concomitant obsession found me reposting before a repast of dessert - so there Ghost of Marie Antoinette, wherever you might be hiding - i can have my cake and eat it too!

Minus trimmings and over stuffed ego freezers,
but altruism, civility, Dharma *** ethnocentrism,
gratuitous homogeneous internationalism,
karma mosaic opportunism, quitessential righteousness,
unpretentious vivacious wide world yipping,

brouhaha dutifully emphasizing friendliness,
antithetically booing critical, popularly pugnacious
spoiled trump petting uber western yikyak,
zealous antipathy craving everything.
---------------------------------------------------------
a hypothetical, mental, rhetorical thought question
   occurred to me just moments ago
sans, milk of human kindness bubbles frothily
   upon major American holiday,

   whereat figurative bro
   thar and sisters exhibit philanthropic ambitions
   especially, towards indigent that crow
for bare necessities

   other than
   when Thanksgiving rolls around, and dough
nuts to dollars even most frugal misanthropes
   play feigned charitable card egoistically glow
with ambient benevolence, civility,
   diligent energy, and friendly hello

and sundry pleasant greetings
   hook hood be some
   soon tubby rich entrepreneurial stranger
   ready to make shares available vis a vis  IPO

   to dirt poor anonymous guarillas G.I. Jane or G.I. Joe
   who cross paths with each other,
   even those one doth not know
when ordinary biases, callousness,

   denigration...doth full low
out the mouths of hoity toity MainLiners
   towards working class people - mow
awe less trying to remain financially afloat,
   and with plea for handout
   would receive an emphatic NO!

Thee exception to unspoken aristocratic rule
   arising on feted buzz
   feed ding occasions where oboe
players invoke cobra to deliver riches galore to the 'po

whom sincerely show gratitutde,
   yet wonder why status quo
reserves select calendrical dates for handouts
   proffered after standing in a row
of similarly bereft individuals aware at stark

   outpouring overt nurture minded, humanity
   (with perchance a guest appearance by Sean Hannity),
this public denouement,
   an atypical venue for his television show

where generosity spills forth
   from said personality and others alike
blithely, demonstrably, fortuitously, happily,
   jubilantly, lovingly, modestly, poignantly,
   where an announcer speaks thru a mike

to open their doors and hearts asper,
   those down and out
   pushing belongings along the pea king pike
of broken tureens with
   only a mangy dog as companionship,

and though I admit tubby hyperbolical,
   hypocritical, hypothetical hypoteneuse of hippopotamus
   no charity less valuable then self and spouse,
   whom both experience spike
in anxiety since net income purportedly
   below the poverty level, though we reside

   within subsidized housing (outliers
   here at 2 Highland Manor Drive),
   yet random acts of an effortless smile,
   cordial greeting to passersby, or
   waving fellow drivers right of way,
Page Number Three:

such minimally polite services today,
the most within my limited monetary hi say
means, which behavior aye strive ray
   dee to maintain zero cost politesse, which doth pay
highest dividends, which reciprocal acknowledge may
be the greatest reward,

   whether or not a response elicited tis quite o kay
the satisfaction arising breeching comfort zone
   viz exposure therapy lighting up gray
matter analogous to a cerebral Christmas tree
   and any regret avoided, asper congenial efforts    
   generate “hi” kickstarts my day.
Anthony Carrasco Feb 2016
I've been in some pretty big fights with the people I love the most in my life, yet time after time we find ourselves unscathed, undamaged, and unflustered. Patching the pain I fortuitously cause others isn't some errand I bitterly await, it seems like more of a human duty.

I never have a hard time fixing things that are broken in my life. A glass shattered on the floor this morning, & now it sits stitched flawlessly on the shelf.

It just feels right to leave something the way I found it, or at least try my damnest to get it near perfect. It really is the try that matters.

And I just don't understand how it can be... so easy for me to say I'm sorry, while it's somehow so easy for you to unapologetically lacerate every inch of my sympathetic soul.
Fixed a friendship today, even though it felt pretty broken. Just made me think of how much I deserve an attempt at an apology from the subject of all my poems. The structure may not be poetic, but the thought is.
2sided2 Jun 2013
I crumble
Into insignificantly small pieces
And spill
Through the cracks of insanity
Insuppressible
Falling so slowly
It feels almost as if i'm floating
Dispersing
Once i reach the callous bottom

I was once surrounded
By brightness
Never acknowledging
The precedence it didn't receive
The light was always a given
A requirement for life
It was never anything
Extraordinary

Captured by crazy
I lay still in the dark
Watching beams of light
Flicker
Through the very cracks
That made everything
Vanish
After i fortuitously invaded

From this angle
They look almost like
A possibility of hope
A way to reclaim life
Infiltrating
The dark that suffocates me
The rays sweep over
Just long enough
For me to inhale

Every glimmer
Now imperative
A reminder to appreciate what you have, while you have it and before it's gone; Because once it's gone you will then realize how much you really needed it. No matter how insignificant of a thing. Nothing is insignificant. Everything matters. Appreciate all.
Michael Marchese Dec 2021
If only she knew
What I went through
To find her
Fortuitously
Nonetheless
Then remind her
Each day I seek only her smile,
Her laugh
To say something worthwhile
Crossover her path
Before my epitaph
Crosses over
Unknown
And all that I have written her
Not set in stone
Dawn Treader Feb 2018
Fortuitously my memories are stumbled upon,
Like smooth river rocks beneath the flow of a gentle stream,
Triggered by an anomaly in the day,
A bump in the pavement,
A loud bang,
A missed step up a flight of stairs causing a momentary stumble.
The provocation for today was innocent:
My feet pushing against the artificial pavement--the treadmill
Memories seemingly harmless take a dark turn.
I'm now running down memory lane,
A dark well once thought empty,
Gushes forth with a violent burst.
Some memories, especially violent ones, call for severance,
Or the mind will deteriorate.
Heavy breath, sweat cascading down my brow,
This is the only time I can feel her talk to me,
You see, she and I are disconnected;
And we have been for quite some time,
I increase speed, not listening to her cries,
She pleads with me to stop, I ignore her.
The only acknowledgement she gives is a stabbing sensation,
She reminds me I have a heart and lungs,
She tells me I am alive.
My body and my mind are two separate beings,
One within the other,
Like oil and water,
We do not mix.
My body and mind are two very distinct beings, and they often quarrel.  I cannot explain the feeling of disconnect other than I can only feel my body if she is in distress.  This is usually triggered by exercise.
Paras Sep 2017
since that destined afternoon

when we met, I've failed at every attempt

to script a poem for you

for whenever I drew your portrait in my

palace of conception, it always was

amorphous and white for unrevealed

was what shall light the fire of muse

but last mighttide I poured in

colours and paints I conceived

from our short colloquy.

i saw strange shades

that laign with mine fortuitously

and I crave to see the colors and their shades

that sit quietly, unknown to me.

do not doubt these verses and even

though they intend to smear flattery, I

script no colourless lies when I say

in the world, you're the only poem in flesh.
Logan Robertson Sep 2019
At the end of the bar, Sally sat
Eyeing the mice like a big bad cat
Her lone eyes beckoned like cheese
Drawing a catch to her knees
Fortuitously she caught a rat

Logan Robertson

9/05/2019
9/9/7/7/9

Sigh.
Antony Glaser Dec 2014
Maybe another story  can furnish the mood
let fate wave a sensation
the passage between you and I,
its tantamount  to a  binding ;
fortuitously a  lit spark
will shorn your  withholding  the truth,
a silent  yearning reached,
long set as a promise.
A Friend Sep 2021
Some day we’ll all be a little older
A little more weathered and restored
We’ll wake up and all this poetry will finally make sense.
Like a locked drawer underneath our ribs,
Fortuitously pried open by storm.
Sue Collins Dec 2019
The amazing maze constructed out of old ideas and rotty themes has its grip on me.
My feet in still wet cement have to get some direction from the top, the Man in charge.
I’m going to cut in line to tell him that this is a metaphorical matter of life or death.
I hope and pray that he will anoint me with his special touch and show me a new way.

Fortuitously my appeal would be heard. Some winged figures issued me into his chamber.
But all I could hear was a growly old man behind a green curtain that was suddenly invisible.
And the wiggly “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” Man or god, I now have
The courage, the brain, and the heart to find my own way. It’s an old path, to my home.
Found me raised
     in the Antebellum South
     born an academically gifted
     whip smart, (and any other
     apropos) above average adage
smart son with a
     healthy dose of Melanin and Melania
     donned and trump petted

     asper a proud black is beautiful,
     sans ebony badge,
whereat me instrumental mama and pop
     acquired grudging cunning
     insinuation to cadge
teaching material convincingly
     claiming lofty aim
intent to instruct

     slave master's children
     all to eager to accept blame,
when any vicious rumor
got afoot with "FAKE" claim
that lessons did
     critique and declaim
antithetical quasi Aryan racial superior
     viewpoints (preceding Adolf ******

     by about a century),
     knowingly could enflame
status quo, which feigned
     "playing dumb" duh -
     faux blockhead frame
(wha ya mean *****) game
at very bedrock foundation
     pre politically correct cursor meme

lee complex edifice
     slave owning name
     acutely aware intent esse chew
wing such societally
     radical implications, to due
tee fully fortuitously, gradually,
     and hopefully, un glue,
(especially via schooling impressionable

     young African American
     or other ebony hue
shaded skin with Jew
whoosh propositions of equality)
righteous precepts nullifying lou
duck criss bastardizing American moo

nuff phish witch hunts (sea thing),
     a gimcrackery, mockery,
     and travesty poo
poo wing credo, ethos,
     highlights, et cetera sow
wing equality, harmony, and liberty in tow.
Ujjal Mandal Feb 2023
When spring arrives,
A group of flowers enjoy
Their countenance and
As the day grows older
They lose their incandescent looks.
If they could know the collapse
Before the begetting,
I hope they'd remain unborn.

A child was obsessed with
Playing her dolls,
Fortuitously a wooden wife
Fell on, mother said:
'The earth is dancing',
The child took it in a wrong way,
Her body was found
After ten days under the whetted
Crown of cement made house,
The sun kissed her pale cheeks
And gave her last smile.
Arindam Barooah May 2020
Greetings, Human!!
I am Dehing Patkai!!
I wish you're in fine fettle.
I too wish the same for myself,
alas, I couldn't!!
I fortuitously overhear something
that might sabotage
my substance,
my identity,
my flesh,
my elements.
Am I not being kind and worthy enough?
Am I not being able to fulfil your necessities?
Am I not giving solace and allowing nature's peace flow into you?
Yet, you plunder my soul,
because of your complacency and avarice.
Why so insatiable?
I am not able to sleep,
I am not able to respire,
I feel restless,
I feel agitated,
I shed tears,
I wail because of many cuts and incisions,
I might be felled,
I might be torn down.
Destruction might leave me soulless.
I am for you,
You are for me.
Your walks into me vivifies,
your touch enlivens.
We together bridge symbiotic relationship.
Don't let your greed ruin
our sanity,
our harmony,
our biodiversity.
Please stop these atrocities
I plea, Save me!!
Save yourself!!
Save Dehing Patkai!!
The Poem is about a Rainforest, Dehing Patkai in Assam, India also known as 'Amazon of the East' which is now in grave danger due to excavation for coal mining work sanctioned by the Govt. of India
No matter yours truly
(potential rising star -
analogous to ascending yeast)
bred for easy street
life of po' witless
mendicant nimbly,

pointlessly, and rhythmically
shuffles (think *****)
along his poetic little feet
garden variety beastie boy
aimlessly, fortuitously, halfheartedly,
and mindlessly follows

one after another backstreet
revisiting, reminiscing, and relegating
lofty mollycoddled station bittersweet
birthright fame and fortune
teasingly did greet

finding twenty first century hobo
shack hulled with poverty
(think dirt poor),
I shoe cannot defeat,
which accursed fate socked yours truly,

where one after another failure did beat
once unassailable esprit de corps
near ready and willing to meet
exalted, fabled, gilded... seat
but woeful naiveté tricked with deceit

mine childlike innocence dripping effete
characteristics easily swindled for Pete
sakes since... young manhood, now wizened
old looking schnorrer marveling,
imagining, envisioning aggregating riches

coaxing, forming, hatching...
liaisons particularly romantically discrete
lavishing untold money during heat
of passion oblivious,
how ingénues with sweet
enticingly, ineluctably, luridly, beckoned

eventually no exit and other ploys
playfully blindsiding me with
one after another promiscuous tweet
barricades no exit wrought
with razor wire and concrete.
Thenature Dec 2020
Hello!!
Fortuitously- I hope- One day, somehow, somewhere she would remember me,
And text me or call me; Hello again.
I was a shattered glass, broken into pieces.
A walking dead soul,
Drowning in fathomless abyss.
Nothing would excites me.
Nothing would ignite a fire in my soul.
I was alive for a sake of saying,
waiting for my ending to unfold passively.
Only to be found by you,
Your appearance to my life was like a rope,
a beacon of hope.
I was experiencing something unexplainable, something unreal-unfound energy and excitement everyday.
I had started to see the new horizon for my life.
Most importantly your acceptance helped me to rewired my thoughts
That I wasn't crazy that I thought I was.
But it seems you fixed me temporarily only to break me again.
I am shattered again.
For you have disappeared from my life without a trail,
like the way you had come to my life.
To make it worst, without any reason or explanation.
Nowhere to be found. I have come to the terms that your introduction to my life was a divine intervention,
Only to remind be of an endless opportunities that lies ahead,
if only I were to keep my eyes and heart open.
It is hard but I think I can pull this off one more time.
I thought it was beyond the bounds of possibility to shake my lifeless soul; let alone to excite me.
But hey!!! Congrates!! you managed to do it twice.
You were mean when you did it to me for the first time.
But I was fool to be ensnared again.
J Nov 3
Empire of distrust crumbs under the weight
Of a fortuitously timed defeat
Betrayal sinks in, the storm of the century
A slice of ill luck will shrivel in its grave
Come forth a hero, who rises from the flames
Let glory shower this coat of arms
Below reveals a casket of lies
Deceit entombed deep in their bones
Mr E Nov 26
The longer I live and from atop the privileged pedestal
Life has fortuitously handed me
I realize just how easily it is
To use such exquisite balconies of wealth and opportunity
To rob the ones below you under the guise of necessary evils

Corruption takes the form of whatever benefits the bearer
A slurry of desires and wants, that taste like needs
But only for a bitter taste to be left in the end
An elixir of lies, mixed with truth,
Designed to acquire more, through meticulous maneuvering

All the while, those fed such a potion
Taste the notes they desire, the notes they need
And such fears to lose those tastes
Were calculated to spurn just that,
Fabricated addiction.

Evil no longer wears the face of armies and war
Corruption no longer is a fat man in a small suit
With money bags surrounding his dinner table.
No.
Humanity's greatest enemies no longer openly walk the streets
But rather fester in the privacies our minds

— The End —