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palladia May 2014
[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]

(Winter-export), the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. (Thick lips; quick still-hunt.) I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. (Glimmering isle); my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. (Parsecs quaking.) You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me…  Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks (freighting gemstones); King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands.

[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]
Hal Loyd Denton Apr 2012

Golden grain lies scattered about on a stonework floor out of place in the sacristy and that is the
Travesty Among holy vestments there is evidence of the slightest presence of the treasure that brought

This Meager amount just one godly person and that was only by accident on shoes that hurried past the
Harvest field from these prostrate seeds a silent cry is haunting every day and night a holocaust is taking

Place anew death it did strew among the whole of life depicted by a child’s dream it occurred when she
Was only twelve and at eighty six it was as vivid as it happened yesterday I let her tell you in her own

Words “at this point in my dream I found myself on a very narrow path it was so narrow I had to lift one
Foot slowly and place it exactly in front of the other foot or I would lose my balance how carefully I had

To walk I exercised even greater caution when I realized that the narrow walkway spanned a very deep
Chasm an abyss filled with great billowing waves of flame more terrifying than the sight of the flames

Was the realization that people were being tossed about in that raging infernal their screams of anguish
Were so freighting that I wanted to rush away from these sights and sounds of horror my fear of missing

A step on that narrow path and falling into that horrible pit made my progress slow and agonizing then
Out of that nightmare of screaming anguish came the unmistakable voice of somebody calling my name

Oma a familiar voice pleaded Oma go warn your father and my brethren to never come to this place
I am In Hell” she subsequently found out that this man who spoke was a fellow preacher in her father’s

Religion that had ***** a young woman and had been sent to prison and then died there but from this
Dream in the coming years she became a minister of the gospel a work she continued for well over

Fifty years and she stated that dream of hell was an ever driving force to reach the lost yes a genocide
Of people of uncommon value sun drenched fragrant is the fields that glistens nowhere in all of

Existence does any treasure compare to you and me the bleating of the sheep of his pasture rises
Through air and misty clouds carried most softly and deepened by the quantity of distress from sheep
That is the most helpless of creatures thus the need of Sheppard’s and labors to enter these golden

Fields nothing must be missed but we are losing a generation while the greatest church buildings
Compass the land without question richness pervades within every detail is complete fashionable

To a fault the pews numerous enough but emptiness carries the stamp your duty you are failing
When the riches of family and friends are missing out on being fed heavens sacred bread nothing

Else can and will sustain real life all else is illusion a spell that cloaks the sight of people in richest
Clothing that are no more than starved prisoners of a total war against humanity they blissfully

Parade on they can’t see the front of the procession in the far distance as it passes through the Gate of
Hell that glows and melts the screams within that touch it then sizzles keeping it secret and warning

Hidden from the dammed that are marching to their doom but oh the sacristy holds such wondrous
Items as vestments and other church furnishings and sacred vessels and parish records but as you open

The door you are blasted with the cold reality only a precious few enjoy their value and comfort a
Mocking laughter is heard as the devil throws his head back with contempt and laughs even harder

As he drives the multitude to the end that was supposed to be his and his demons end all through
History the travail of mans plight has shaken a few from compliancy the robe of righteousness never

Hangs in cloistered suffocating gloom no as Wesley and George Whitfield they went out into the open
Fields and brought heaven down as a thunder clap that shook England to its evil core where gin was

So prevalent it reached from the poorest hovel through the church and into the palace where many
Enemies evaded and were driven back but this enemy was an inner demon that only God could over

Throw this is a picture of how as these faithful men lifted the cross and its Holy standard high and
As there proclamation reached a high crescendo the low laborers came out of mine pits stood there and

As the spirit mystified them with loves deepest truths there tears made tracks down through their cold
Dust covered faces these vestments are the true and lasting outwear that indicates the brimming soul

Within shall ever be free

This is what I meant to write in the car Sunday night but I was overwhelmed and only tried to fix pain

And sorrow with the beauty of a child and its birth only one child can do that and He was born in a manger
Enlighten Me-
I’m always underestimating self-master bating-
At the top of fund frustration-
My motivation needs money relations-
The contemplation of money making has my mind at a constant hating-
My breaking patience-
Has my mind like a **** relating-
Regulations of all my banking-
See my bank account disintegrating-
I’m suffocating-making payments-Late fee statements-
Racki­ng bills my back is breaking-my nerves are shaking-
Shaking more than I anticipated-
Now I’m here with a life to fear-
Writing till my mind is clear-
Writing till I feel what’s real-
Writing till I seal a deal-
Adding-Subtracting-and dividing-
Signing more checks than providing-
It’s suicide I’m not denying-Rhyming trying its crucifying-
Clocking in before the sun is rising Grinding flying hoping griming-living life nine to fiving-
Its re-revising-Re-defining-Rectifying-
More so that I think I’m hiding-
Killing with finical violence-Violating my banks alliance-
Maxing plastic so fantastic now I need some re-advising-interest rates have a grown man crying-Million dollars seem so un-winding-
Now I’m whining-
Constant buying-
Gas rates got me into biking-riding-fighting-
Just surviving-any discount seems so delighting-winning lotto seems o-so-righteous-buy one get one is so exciting-
Boot leg buying I ain’t lying-
Being broke is constant rewinding-It’s reminding-so relying-over drawing is my new binding-it’s confining-so I’m finding-Making takings of my disliking-Making takings that are so dang freighting-dollar scratchers are so inviting-
But this realization is so enlightening-
Moving as fast as a bolt of lighting-
I’m asking you G-d to help me like this-
I’m feeling the pain and I think I might just-
Rony Joseph Jul 2010
Angels cry beside my shadow
Looked up to the stars and you will see
The scroll of your life passing you with no remorse
Every now and then let go to the uncertainty of your hands
Derail once before by a freighting
desire of walking back to a dark corner
Darkest moment seeking my other face
Sensibility lying on the road to heaven
Promised to bowed in silence
As my tears flow through a river of sadness
The believed of eternity flows through my veins
True to the game, the streets still singing the song
Mothers bear witness to the unborn pain
Claiming for the struggle of righteousness
The blazing sensation of lust
Sweetness of love, blooming inside a rose
A flame burn inside a fatherless child
Drastically I feel the pain closing the door
The state of mind lingers and devours our sanity
On the top of a mountain my lungs clear a path
For the last breath of infinity
Expend a life time with a reflection of her
Chasing you through the woods, Shook a silent whisper
Serve one purpose, the light…
Her soft touched came through, and left me breathless  
Long jeopardy reclaims my senses
Waiting for the massager to deliver me
From eternal fire…

Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010
Travis Dixon Nov 2011
words are bones of the dead
exhumed by mind or God or worms
to serve as the razor’s edge
carving trenches along
tongues where words are hung on tips
of innocent cliffs above guilty shores
while dreams unravel their threads
to shed narratives even nightmares
fear to tread;
the labyrinth from ear to eerie
plunging fathoms beyond waves
into oceans without words
where context meets
space;meaning meets time
swirling currents

before your eyes

focusing your sight
into a thousand words
of blistering might illuminating
recesses with signs of life
clung fast to the boiling point
of excitement possessed by ecstasy
ebulliently freighting sweet air
to the surface
where the survey concludes
that pollution occludes all reasons
as to whether or not
the will might’ve brought
a word or two from
original thought.
Viseract Aug 2017
So i sit here spinning my pen again
Tryna think straight too late, easy man
Runnin' up, too fuck3d i don't have a chance
Too quick, too slick, made it to the end

Now what should I write before i get sidetracked?
Should i spit a little quicker about rhymes and raps?
How about advertise them jumping jacks
And how exercise is good at keeping down bad fat?

Nah man, that ****t sounds lame
Yeah i know but the actions always stay the same
Eat Maccas life hackers who cant cook a meal
And wonderin' why their trusty rusty weight scales squeal

Yeah dude, i know that a problem, hold
No matter what you sell it all gets cold
Like frozen cokes, just a dollar fast sold
Syrup and sugar that tastes too good to close

**** these hoes,
Wash it all down like a fire hose,
Where this ****t goes even i don't knows,
But I'm the writer y'all
Pshh I'm in control

Its easy too
Whip out the cash and drive on thru
Without a second glance at whats in your food
And why do i try to write to you
I'm just in the mood

Now this ain't a diss track just spittin' facts
But if ya keep buying quick you'll get heart attack
Some cardiac, not police, still arrest
Freeze with both hands up like be my guest

You'll wake on up with an oxygen mask
And wondering why your mouth tastes like a$$
Why you layin' on your back and ya wanna pass gas
But you fear if you do then your life won't last

You look to the roof and see the truth
When the bulge of your belly blocks the blinding view
Casting a shadow across the next street too
And you wonder how the doctor gonna quick-fix you

Well here's some news, flash ****!ng headlines
Perhaps if you were careful you wouldn't hear the sirens
Alarms are sounding both within and without
Never heard either, your lips flap like a trout

Just a fat-**** fish ****!ng gasping for air
Out of his habitat, look in the mirror
Because if there's one thing left to haunt your nightmares
Its the 1-0-0 flashing back to scare

Its easy man, easy man
An everyday person who doesn't really care
Easy man eats like a ****** big bear
And then a little more coz the coin helps to share

Its easy man, easy man
An everyday person who doesn't really care
Easy man eats like a ****** big bear
And then a little more coz the coin helps to share

Like whats your pant size, is it such a surprise?
Your belt buckle bursts because you got large fries?
For every day, and you got sausage thighs
God help the plane freighting you through the skies!

Sorry sir, all luggage is 20 and under
"I cant hear you, my thighs are thunder"
Your baggage sir, its far too large
The amount of fat flesh exceeds the limit by far!

Just danglin' there, and its hard not to stare!
When its in my face like when i trip the stairs!
That s**t could knock me out, fair and square!
Miley Cyrus, i found a free wrecking ball dear!

There's so much to swing from, a chandelier
Of quivering pale skin that makes my eyes go weird
When you take a seat, do you have to use two?
Do you gotta pay extra for the crane that they use?

****, son just take it easy
You spittin so much its makin' me queasy

Sorry man, it doesn't make much sense
Why the easy man cant walk up more than one stair

Like not only is it an inconvenience
You're relying on strangers spaces to be lenient
And then you gotta wonder why you get funny looks
That weight is a crime and they spotted the crook

Just take it easy, but not so easy
I don't wanna see your face shine so god-**** greasy
Like i get it man you eat when you ain't hungry
I ain't your next meal stop lookin' funny

But please, learn to look after yourself
Book a time for the gym to improve yourself
Do some jumpin' jacks it'll improve your health
Take in a few notches off that black leather belt

See? Dude, that ain't so lame
At least there was a message left halfway sane
Yeah i got half a brain, it don't take two cells
To realise that some people just as sick as well

He was an easy man, easy man
A fat fast **** who didn't really care
Once upon a time ate like a ****!ng dumb bear
Now he's callin' out the Rock for an arm wrestle, YEAH!!

Easily the easy man comes real quick,
Jumpin' jacks over the Hungry Jacks fix!
EP definitely
JR Weiss Sep 2011
“i don’t know where i’m going…but i’m not coming back here.”
you blurted out,
loud enough so we all could hear,
unafraid and unapologetic.

i was upset at first, but then
i was suddenly glad.
you were always bigger then this place.
i had to be happy for you.
you saw that big something
out there,
and you were the first to notice the freighting rate at which this town was drying up.

go then,
there are other worlds then these.
these dried up ghost towns hold nothing but rotting piles of memories,
discarded beer cans and
the few of us
left behind.

i drown that part of me that wants to clamp down
and hold you tight before you notice the cage door shutting.
i know you are not a pet to be kept,
but the sight of your bright colors is enough to make me miss your song
and drunkenly beg you to stay.

fly away little birdie.
you were always bigger then this town,
bigger then this skeleton crew of
drunk could have been somebodies
who always remember way back whens, when things were better.
when we didn’t have to choose sides and
decide if we were staying or going.
fly away and leave us with the memory of what you were to us.
you can be the star of the stories
told over and over,
dripping red,
wiping our eyes and telling of the times
we were lucky enough to be there.
you were always bigger than us,
and we all knew this day would come.
I can never make eye contact

You see the eyes are a portal to the soul 

And seeing someone’s soul can be freighting 

Especially when they don't want you to see it:

The light

The dark
The anger

The happiness 

The sadness

The life

The death

The longing

The emptiness 

The truth

I don't look into people's eyes 

Because their soul screams at me through those small apertures
As a child, and sometimes still now, I used to have a very difficult time looking someone in the eyes when speaking with them, and this is, I believe, the reason why.
They will try to fool you, tell you that retooling our factories will fuel the economy, making life better, it's an alpha bet from the ruling class, set the men to work again, to line their pockets with gelt again and then,
we'll be scrapped.
They tap into the psyche of people like me, but this ship is sinking, the Captain can't see it, it's caught in a whirlpool and there's no one to free it.

Alpine Cathedrals buried in mountains as grey as Welsh slate
where the men broke the tiles that covered the World.
And the old pits where Miners crawled flat to the coal face
to break out the fuel that heated our homes.

They're freighting us out to the Mausoleums, no doubt that my turn will come,
the industry that made me and the ones who came before me are being dismantled, sold off in auctions and spoke of in whispers like the ***** secrets they keep.
Still they'll try to fool us, tell us we're dreaming and all the while scheming,
but the pits are gone, the quarries, the lorries that fed from them, the communities, the men and their lives, children and wives, schools and they're still trying to fool us.

If we've never had it so good, where is the coal or the wood for the fire, where is the food and the clothes we can't buy anymore, where is the bottom drawer where we saved for those rainy days.
I'll tell you,
it was burnt with the rest and now no chairs for the guests that will never arrive,
to survive we lost it all.

They or them are the same ****** men, there's no difference, their politics are the shame of the system, we should get rid of them, but they won't allow it.
...?...?...? I wonder how wonderful life is I wonder. I love life does life love me? We me how can it be?  My daddy always warned me that there is something out the door I won't want to know. I found out what it was it frightened me knowing what I know but now I know so my daddy can't warn me no more . Oh life is freighting but not so wonderful.
Timothy hill Jun 2017
Night is your "Hair" with a silver there is no despair.
Arms are the branches your matter is a tree swaying in the ice cold breeze.
This fantasy is moving and jumping.
Held green light for the animals to walk threw to get a drink of water as the machines halt until the next day at noon.
Trees screaming for help a smell was contrasting all senses.
There alive as me and you are and with out them a planet turns to dirt and dust.
So hinder there strives is some what of a must busting there medal hulks are our diffusion sketches.
An artist only sets with a brush and his thoughts to examine a fair leaf fall his path of imagery ideas.
Off he goes to explore, its landing with an ideal he transits its area
Flairs filled the sky hammers slowed there strikes in boarders of agreement.
Bigger machines with solar panels came in with drones of saws for higher yields of wow.
A budget was none for there pockets were ships and canals.
The wolfs and deer cast a moon kind of spell with there egos on edge they'd beyond there hunger for flesh.
Men what's in our sky, I see its blue and crystal and mist in a breeze.
The men all ran fast he couldn't believe then the machines rusted every so instantly.
His plains were erased it was to be seemed and then on he could weep.
Nature is not like "Gold" it does bring money although it will slow breathing when gone.
So maybe this could become a song when paper planes are all that's left.
And medal doors and medals shelves.
Medal scathes your face when you open up your door.
And a melody is produced and nature smell like s'mores.
You hear it now at least for now.
The sounds of tents unfolding and being set up.
Because its summer again and smells of nature that are unbending.
Arousal your heart beat with astounding.
Your skin gets goose bumps the first sight of deer dropping's strange at fact no its just appraising.
Ants and stick also insects climb trees in fun surviving.
When a man in a beard came up hiking.
He seen this tree man was it becoming his exciting.
The insect move faster from this man of in freighting.
And hunker down and give off a sting of flight to give him something he would much not find he like.
DC raw love Dec 2014
This morning I had, a terrible dream
It was the end of the world, which stuck in my head
It made me scared, it made me scream

This face in a cloud, a cloud in the sky, a ski with no sun
A burning red face, with burning red eyes
Was it Satin or was it God,
That then said, we’d be better off dead

It came and went, from time to time
It sat there and looked, with a face that is sound
It’s stuck in my head, this face that’s so real

It’s freighting beyond belief, it felt so real
I woke three times, why won’t it stop
Why is it there, it scared me a lot, why do I care

It was only a dream, which was stuck in my head
Why did it make me, scared when awake
So scared, that I wanted to be dead

I write about it now, while stuck in my head
This dream that I had, this dream that fades away
4:15 AM
unnamed May 2017
Rhymes have their reasons
Time has its place
All anguish bestowed
On a soul’s fall from grace

At the darkest of dark
When the clock chimes midnight
The fears of the wretched
Fuel the devil’s delight

Each click of the clock
Greatens a freighting despair
Tick after tock
Twelve o’clock

Is almost there
There's a noise outside
a rustling of Autumn leaves
the candle in the pumpkin has gone out
and someone is trying the front door

The house is locked up tight
yet I do not feel safe
my curtains are closed
yet I am compelled to look outside

So I pull the curtains apart slowly
there's a face at the window
a face of murderous intent
pressed with killing eyes wide

This is my halloween nightmare
this is the freighting death of me
I have a knife in my hand
holding tight in the corner of my room

It maybe one or more
wanting the death of me
but whatever happens
it will be the death of me

A window shatters above my head
someone is in my bedroom
now coming down the stairs
with a blade with my name on

So it's my time
my time to die
this is my Halloween nightmare
this is the death of me

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jace Joseph May 25
Ever darkening the trees slowly take the sun.

Ever thickening the trees surely rule this trail.

Ever freighting trees making you have to run.

Ever attacking trees start causing you to flail.

Ever persisting they will do all that it takes.

Ever exhausting you soon fall from their wrath.

Ever defraying all of your major mistakes.

Ever realizing this was indeed the wrong path.
Before you lose yourself, hopefully you'll notice you're on the wrong path
Unseen talon sharp claws...
dig deep into mine
psyche soft underbelly
piercing bedrock of
     core (****) being
     akin to butter knife
slicing thru peanut
butter and jelly

unable to preserve
an iota of calm,
which eruption of cataclysmic
agitation analogous to a bomb
going off inside my head,
     where a mishmash
of frenzied discombobulated
brainstorming angst doth glom,

whereat the "little boy"
inside this man
called for his mom,
who when this aging
     "baby boomer" chap
     just a kid and experienced
devastating, jarring,
and paralyzing tom

malt chew hiss in dom
mitt able inexplicable fear,
though NO obvious
danger threatened, NOR
warning signaled "BEWARE,"
nonetheless adrenaline
coursed from head
to toe as if clear

and present harm
lurked quite near,
inducing a host of
     physiological fallout symptoms
darkly freighting this
sole son with nightmarish scare,
whereat no escape,
nor exit no matter

how fast a sprinting tear
found me running
mile a minute only
to end up nowhere,
     except smackdab right
in the same place
in relation to despair,
which translates to mean...

     yours truly could not
run and hide,
as quickly made clear
to me then, and now,
though at present
scores years older, the balm
courtesy of prescription
medication popped inside

mouth from palm
olive smoothed hands,
as if this teetotaler
betook himself prom
men aiding albeit
with tumblerful of liquor
getting feigning noggin all a jam
aware that nothing amiss,

would be evident,
sans lower gastrointestinal exam,
nonetheless diet
     restricted to graham
crackers and broth
distilled from ham
hock, once again thwarting
vegetarian ambitions ****!
Blind Pathos Sep 8
Van Gogh’s ear sings tales all night
Soulful moaning over mind’s eye sight

Antagonize the heart and turn the eye
A visitor to the heart or passing by

From this spring that we all drink
What whispers all the thoughts we think

Lunatic genius with eyes turned in
Tell me where my mind has been

A freighting tether is shelter and cage
Where the writer’s pen touches page

Ink’s fossil trail bleeding from my pen
A history of where my heart has been

To go and not say in doing so
Beyond this point no words can go

With feet of clay and hand to chalk
I’ve come to hear Van Gogh’s ear talk
There is a moment just before an idea, it's origin. The magic of the written word is a spark that comes before the writing, up stream, unknown, untamed, shear new. I would follow the path to the origin and bring back great treasures. I have been lost many times, but what else is there to do?

— The End —