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The world's gone mad but my mind is made up
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind
A place where I'm referee of a poetic world cup
This where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town
No more radio orTV saturated with very sad news
I have got enough breaking news of my very own
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom
This where I feign affection to know who is kind .

You have to know that I always act blind but I see
In my mind I can walk stack ***** and levitate
My mind is where I remain totally black and free
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate
The code that will outshine any power on this earth
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking breath
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress .

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge
In there I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas
A vessel and place in which I gather loose letters
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative judea
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers .

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind
This is where I turn loose letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind
Come and see where all words becomes useful swords .
My mind produce powerful words like some light beams
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command .

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My mind is the final frontier..the bright side I call my darkroom where I process loose letters into spoken words..
B Oct 10
When people stress me out, I imagine a front porch.

Imagine you're 80 and senile. You can't barely pick yourself up and all you've got are your stories, your wrinkled skin and a lot of liver spots.

You are sitting on a front porch enjoying a cup of tea. The kind old people like. The kind your 20 year old self wouldn't even dare taste.

You are sitting with an old, old friend. A friend you can't barely remember how you met. A friend who never left your side since.

Hours of laughter, random conversations and trips down hazy memory lanes pass. There were also moments of silence and sit down naps, but you both didn't mind.

And just before the sun fully set, you thank your friend for stopping by. Then, you smile and tell yourself how lovely that day was.

If you can't see a person with you on your imaginary front porch, don't bother stressing out. Shrug the ***** off and you'll live a happier life.
For the friends I'll grow old with.
Terry Collett Jul 29
Almost non stop
the big guns blast,
said Robert,
the empty shells
cast aside
as the new shells
are loaded.

My ears ring
with the loud noise;
my clothes cling to me
with sweat and dust
and that smell that shells
leave behind.

No-man's land
holds the dead and dying,
I hear their calls
in the occasional silence
of the guns;
smell the bodies
of the dead
carried on the wind.

I think of home:
of my father's
recent demise,
my mother's grief
far far away;
the streets and homefires,
that bed
where once I lay.

I light a cigarette
and inhale
and try to forget.
Ww1, grandfather, big guns, 1917
Hot chocolate no longer tastes like chocolate

Tea gets me as drunk as wine

I get about as high on cigarettes as I would rosmerry or thyme

The clocks in my house have stopped ticking

Though I never stop to check

There's a litter of stray kittens, outside my door, on the front step

Although time has stopped passing
And the gods have fallen asleep

I still find myself laughing
That I've wept to much to weep
Ive had a few people wonder
Its limbo
A little box
Without a key
You hold an air
Of mystery
To sit and glare
Right up there
Flashing red in front of me

I am the one who fills it
And I fill it with myself
No one would guess what's in you
Sitting up atop my shelf

I have thought of your discovery
The pros
And all the cons
But looking at my history
All candidates are wrong

So I suppose you'll stay a secret
I'll keep you to myself
Painted red,
Flashing dread
Little box on my shelf
Please forget you saw this
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone.

If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.

If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.

If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundreds  
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?

If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.
The state of Florida is now home to the two most deadly mass shootings in American history. Pulse Nightclub was attacked in my city, I have friends who attend Marjory Stoneman Douglas in Parkland. My little sister often fears going to school. I'm afraid to graduate and leave her. I want to be able to protect her if something happens. I hate that we have a reason to be afraid... That it's reasonable to have these fears. I hate it so f*cking much.
Cat Lynn Sep 3
I face the light... and I have to use my hand as a shield...
My pupils dilate in a painful reaction... It's too bright for me, but it can't be sealed

So I have turned my back on the light... on the sun... and it's flame...
I couldn't handle its truth... its purity... the Light and I were not the same...

So I faced my shadow instead... it laid on the ground in front of me...
I could handle the darkness better... or so I thought... It seemed to be free

But then I began to realize something strange about my shadow...
It would change its shape... it became unpredictable...it's me it would follow...

Even when I tried to follow it sometimes, it would play mind games
It would laugh... appearing to my left.. to my right... whispering my name...

There were days... I would be facing my shadow... my head hanging low...
And on my back of blackness, I would feel the bright heat of the suns light flow

Reminding me... that it was still there... reminding me it was still here for me...waiting
But my stubborn, rebellious, selfish heart ignored... its passionate side fading...

Finally... The shadow began to lead me to dark rooms...
black corners... where it would fit in with the other shadows... I was left alone... in a gloom

Too often this happened... and they abused and used all that they pleased...
Haunting me with my past... My worries... My concerns... My fears... They forced my heart to freeze...

In the night... I thought all was done out of sight and in secret
I was a ***** to keeping my shadow quiet... What a prisoner I was to keep it

But soon the morning came... the Sun and its glory unleashed...
And my shadow cowardly used me as a shield...  all of the other shadows deceased.

I finally realized that I must look down on my shadow... for it is a low life of what I use to be
A beggar on the ground, dead as the graves in the dirt, a jealous mimic, and mockery

LOOK UP TO ME SHADOW!!! For it is I who controls you!!!
It is my choice how I make you stretch, and bend, and break, and move!!

My back is facing you now... and I face the sun, whose light will last!
It doesn't follow me, or make me feel low about myself because of my past

It tells me to follow it! It allows me to see!
It tells me to look up and believe!

And when the darkness comes to haunt me, it is still there.
It uses the moon, my friend, to reflect and remind me of its love and care!

It does not change its form, its light, or solar course.
It'll always stay the same and always try to be selective with its rays of force.

It provides things to grow, so I can be satisfied with its blessings.
But you? what do you have to offer? A darkening comfort of split-second feelings?

It has melted away the ice and snow, and scared away the shadows and ghost
Yes... its light is still blinding... but that pain will only provide warmth and beauty... and in this... I will boast!!!!
Thank You For Your Support

September 16th 2018 1:34 pm

The war started between the illegible instructions and chunks of wood. I decided to enlist, well, more like volunteered. I arrived at the camp today and met a few loose screws. They don’t have time to train us, we are being shipped out as I write this in my journal.
I hope to *** I survive this thing so I can see her face at the end. She will be ecstatic to see me alive, I know she has her doubts. We can not let the engrish win.

September 16th 2018 3:17 pm

We have arrived to our camp. It’s a pigsty. Styrofoam specks cover the yard like snow and cardboard chunks are blown to bits just over the trenches. No time to settle in. Just enough to down a cup of dirt coffee before we charge in. It’s been storming all day, everything is covered in mud.

September 16th 2018 3:56 pm

Stage one has been complete. We have a wall up. This should help stabilize anything that comes after us. It was no easy task and we have been told this was the easiest part.

September 16th 2018 4:32 pm

The foundation has been completed. There were casualties. Henry, a brave man, lost a hand and had to be evacuated. We can hold them back if our aim is true. I hope there are angels watching above.

September 16th 2018 4:33 pm

There are no angels watching, only devils in the disguise of pictures with the number on the wrong side and the finished side flipped around. The foundation had to come down. Back at square one.

September 16th 2018 5:56 pm

The foundation has been rebuilt. Correctly, I hope. More men have been lost. I know this is dark, but one had a flask on his body that hasn’t been emptied. It is now emptied.

September 16th 2018 6:29 pm

The wheels have finally been installed. We are now mobile! Thank ***. We can now trek over anything that gets in our way. It’s still pouring rain. I wish I could find another flask.

September 16th 2018 6:53 pm

Hooks and roll and top have all been fitted and examined over. We may have done something right for once. There’s hope that we will win this thing after all.

September 16th 2018 8:48 pm

We stumbled onto a cache of cold ones. We lost sight of our goal for a while. We are back on track marching forward.

September 16th 2018 9:17 pm

The last wooden peg has been hammered in, the last ***** has been ******* and locked. This is it, it’s finally over. We won!

September 16th 2018 9:18 pm

“It’s about time” was my only reward.

It’s ok, I came out stronger than what I was. I have scars I can tell my kids about. The blisters from using hand tools and the knowledge on how to decipher Chinese disguised as English. Useful talents I’m sure.

September 16th 2018 9:20 pm

Finishing off that cache.
Today I put together a cabinet island.
Chris Neilson May 2016
In '87 there was a band on at the Witchwood
called the ****** Surgeons
head surgeon was wearing a surgeon's gown
wearing a surgeon's mask
wearing a surgeon's hair-net
delirium in the audience
the band played thrashing guitars
in front of a psychotic drummer
behind the masked, hair-netted front surgeon
2 songs in, off came the hair-net
3 songs in, off came the mask
4 songs in, off came the gown
a bare chested surgeon
now wearing civilian half nakedness
a huge sofa cushion appeared in the audience
from out of nowhere into my face
my beloved tinted specs flew into the moshing mob
the chaos relented for a moment
I searched the floor for my pride and joy
finding them in multiple smashed, crushed pieces
I could not see the band
I could hardly see my hand
in front of my be-cushioned face
I left the show early
as everything was blurry
how was I to know?
how a ****** Surgeons show would go?
maybe the name was a giveaway.
after a sofa cushion ruined my day.
It's all true.
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