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Cramped in that funnelled hole, they watched the dawn
Open a jagged rim around; a yawn
Of death's jaws, which had all but swallowed them
Stuck in the bottom of his throat of phlegm.

They were in one of many mouths of Hell
Not seen of seers in visions, only felt
As teeth of traps; when bones and the dead are smelt
Under the mud where long ago they fell
Mixed with the sour sharp odour of the shell.
Vamika Sinha Aug 2016
the smell of a hospital
disinfecting hands and
identities
placed on the counter.
a passport-size ambition
a fingerprint of luck.
you have arrived.
you are here.

you came in
a bus full of languages
funnelled into the room
'welcome to - '
lost and found
in translation.
you cannot understand
you will try
to understand.

your newness.
new you.
you are new.
you do not understand
you are here.
Poppy Perry Jun 2015
He is a man in fact , a factual man in fact
But in fact more than man, and more natural
He is a predator, sometimes ****** endeavourer
Jumping as a feather stead upon my weathered bed
Lead at the head but it's heavier
A best of a beast, in his chest at least
A lion's heart beats, and with mine at his feet
He is deadlier

Mane across his back, mainly manly, manly knack
And a pride to admire any crazy track
Mired by those paws or clawed back
Lion's share of the hair and a siren's glare
Its enough to ensnare any to come back
To lie in the den and unpack

A purr that can stir  dwelling spell in gazelles
A roar that could ensure his reign is obtained on every plain
If called for
His face is made heeding, and bleeding the sun
His legs win a race never needed to be run
Already won
Prowl and it's done

If he who rides the tiger finds it difficult to dismount
Than he who rides the lion will feel him sure surmount
No doubt, for nobility is paramount
Alpha is better beyond count, couched in whim
And he reigns as King of the jungle I grew for him
King of all that's funnelled through to him
King of all that humbles me and truly sings

And so
Clearly success best rests in
Being a lioness, not left guessing lionless
A carnivorous, blitherous, tyrant's guest
In fact I am a woman, a natural woman in fact
And factually I am a woman intact
Yet in fact a woman distracted on a lion obsessed tract
Where a leonine mess is lacked
And a lion-like chests interact
Rangzeb Hussain Jun 2010
Cranes cruelly claw back the Earth's green turfed hair,
These machines, these metallic prehistoric beasts,
Their sharp jagged teeth coldly rip
and tear the Earth's fertile face,
Poles, long and hard and gnarled and rigid,
They plunge viciously into Her soft soil,
These steel shafts of Man's insatiable desire ******
day and night without pause,

This lawless raw **** is ignored,

The crime comes to a gushing ******,
All the raging lust is funnelled
into the Earth's sighing thighs,
She gasps for air but her mouth is heavily gagged,
The Earth, her blood, black as the darkest galaxy,
It is siphoned and pumped away,
Sometimes it is into the sea spilled,
Have you seen the pelican king sinking?



©Rangzeb Hussain
ciannie Nov 2015
Smoke left to curl against the sky
Toes crinkled under shoes
Funnelled out and contemplating
All he had to lose

She had left and flown as whispers leave
The lips of those who hush
An atlas crushed unto her *******
No guilt of burning trust

Bitter had she left him
Like the dregs from PG-Tips
And, burned into his memory,
Her swaying, leaving hips

His anchor was stripped away
He was flotsam in a sea
He shuffled out and left the edge
"Nothing now, for me."
kind of not cheerful...
Akemi Oct 2017
no one laughs the dead houses
line the streets i
never had anything
before the ritz and lsd
funnelled into shopping malls
hypnagogic life
taught whither wither
a dying world.
corporate plazas !
police ten murderers !
food taxes disproportionately affecting the poor !
trickle down ideology !
neoimperialism !
the smashed up remains of a syrian refugee’s greenhouse !
just **** me now !

brandnewofficial.bandcamp.com/album/science-fiction
Nigel Morgan Sep 2016
this space this place
a shelter from the weather
wind the rain unclothed
the deer would huddle
in habitual restlessness alert
except when in the forests’ deepest
dark their great pale eyes would close

today this sheltering of souls
does not escape the weather
but life’s maltreated pattern
its daily flux and disarray
to sit in this observatory
of evening sky’s condition
seeking only quiet and rapture

on high-backed benches
settled as giants enthroned
pale orange light above our heads
glows within an architrave
to reach across the funnelled
ceilinged surface to the aperture  -
a heightened vision of the sky

we close our eyes prayer-like
to meet our solitary self
where teeming thoughts begin
mind images stream
discarding all intent and reason
until we raise our lidded sight
to this single square of sky

travelling the past and triggered
by undetermined thoughts
speech ringing in the ears
words flood and spawn
so intense this skied perfection
we are drugged towards
a kind of sleep: time waits

then a wakefulness resumes
and all is sound spun turbulence
from trees above that calm and fill
replacing or confusing thought
inside the noise of rising wind: a single
oaken leaf is tossed within the chamber
where it skids and quivers at our feet

unlike the deer who lack imagination’s marvel
we take our thoughts outside this present space
this containment empty of distraction save ourselves
our so-slightly shifting hands buttocks heads limbs eyes
towards a nether world we have no words to share
the salient features of this dreamscape we might glimpse
that is ourselves: distinct alone apart beyond

slowly shifting colour from grey of day to blue of night
the small square accumulates ephemeral
memos sent from our seated selves perhaps
to fly with the wind-tossed crows to roost
somewhere in nearby trees we cannot see -
with the handshake of Friends the meeting ends
and out of silence shyly we reconnect with speech
http://www.ysp.co.uk/exhibitions/james-turrell-deer-shelter-skyspace
I have reached the end of this corridor.
The space between the walls either side; where I stand.
This space is tiny.

I have been funnelled here. The route was so direct, so easy.
The easiest.
The end, so predictable and terminal.

We walk this path so well. Along the way we read such inspirational things in such cheap places.
The sentiments and motivational words surround us so much that we are numb.

The inertia set in years ago, but sparks have ignited in me in these late times.. Each one all the more misguided and further from reality.
Far from this reality.
I suppose, where I crave to be?
The results are unsuccessful.

My dreams flicker through grey matter like remnants of a Universe lost.
The distance from whence I came?
So great that I can only produce tears in response, as I comprehend it.
Silent ones.
Nothing should be spoken of this - I see that now.
*Deaf ears
Must try harder
Dave Bosworth Aug 2013
I feel completely soulless bar a few bars of an echoey song funnelled
-

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013
Megan Gordon Sep 2014
The billowing
Invisible pillows
Of oven air
Pressing
Surrounding
Attempting
To mollify
Liquefy or
Bake
A dense
Imperative to
Change state
Figures
Droop and
Drip
Bottled water
Is
Initially
Sipped
And
Then
****** at
With placid
Desperation
Until plastic vessel
Is an empty lung
That inhales with
A suctioned
Creak
Then exhales
Vapour
Breathing on lip’s
Sweat
That then slides
Down
Ever
Down
Pulled by
Under ground gravity
Forming
A river of
Consciousness
A blurring of
Memory and
Passive observation
Until everyone
Seems to be
Part of one
Melted mind
A slippery hive
Of semi-conscious cogs
Slowly turning
Turning
Forgetting where
Left is
Where right is
Instead
Moving forward
Pooling with the masses
As they slink
Forward
Up stairs
Through tunnels
Funnelled ever forward
Pushed out
Rising ever up
At pace with
Steam

Then
Then

Rush of wind
And
Out into the open air
Aware
Suddenly of
Sun
Clouds
Pavement
Nostrils
Filling
The feeling of
Remembering
A loosening
A separation
From the sweaty
Stream of commuters
A grounding
Knowing suddenly
Here
There
Here
Lip still sweaty
The wind blows cool

You pause

Then swept
Into another
Current
Of people
With a purpose
That can’t be gleaned
March on
March on
Till your front door

Then
Then

Hide as you slide down
Pressing your self
Against the solid dam
A shield against the rush
Another day is done

But
The city still sweats
Outside
Beneath the blanket
Of the season
Tossing turning
Fitful and full of
Floating dreams
And the glossy steamed
Mirage of a nightmare

Then
Then

You sleep
They might have already come
from a far distant planet upon the death of their sun
they might have already come

I think I've seen them
and not the little green men
we suppose.

They may walk beside you
are there aliens inside you?
do you even know who you are?

and are we aliens then
to the little green men
we suppose them to be?

I wonder what kind of creatures
they see.

do they see powers lines and sockets?
several billion different rocket ships
stranded on the 'third rock'

are they taking stock of us and
wondering what to do with us?

I think they're already here and we are being funnelled through some astronomic tunnels by some warp factor tractor beams.

Seems unlikely to some,
but preferable I think to their own death underneath a dying sun on a planet far away.

they might have already come
and yet I'll go blindly on
believing I'm  the
chosen one
and we all know
that's not right.
tiny speck of gold,
an insignificant, grain of sand,
realised, it's equal to the land,
how could that be, tumbling wavewashed on shore?
how could so tiny, be deemed much more?
it took a lifetime shoved, and tossed by years,
eroded, polished, in saltwater tears.
Never even daring to dream,
sparkling tiny, in sunlights beam.
A fleck of dust, so small, so low,
how can it contain this sunlight so?

Once fairies said to a little girl,
"the truth, can bring you to our world,
we in fairy can be met,  let truth ring like a bell."
Believing their story, remembering well,
a speck of gold, caught in giant golden hive,
which entered the room, lying down on its side.
Cogs moved and whirred,
lifted this vessell up,
an insignificant, tiny head, bowed down,
two angels, one  placed a medalion, another a crown.

Returning to earth with invisible, otherworld treasure,
pushed aside by the men, snided down by their measure.
Her little heart buzzed, like a bee aloud,
mood altering peace, floated high on a cloud,
been swatted, and hurt before and then,
karmically bound, to unravelling men.
They hit out at small, they trample it down,
those haughty sunflowers, came tumbling down,
sat amongst grasses  crushed,
down and trampled,
bending and blowing
tho' eternally growing,
throughout all lifes storms, never fully broke,
ribbon of grass stronger than windfallen oak.

Fairytales are true,
if only men knew,
they definitely would not, do the things, that they do.
It's never too late to learn,
how to avoid infrared, radiation burn,
funnelled and furnaced in a cosmic dance,
never dare leave destiny, to luck and chance.
I don't know why it happened this way. I'm not versed or educated in poetry other than the fact I love to read poetry, I have not a clue of the rules, just writing to blank my mind from too man -y thoughts
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2021
for a culture that espouses... i think that's the proper
word: espouses... ridiculously promotes...
Darwinism: i see a terrible "juggling" act happening....
namely: you can't seem to somehow
consolidate with the western "crusade" for
individualism and all the basic Darwinism observations...
i never thought Darwinism was wrong...
sure... it's as right as the heliocentric model...
but if you want to read a map...
a massive orb that's earth pulverising your:
get from A to B...
the earth isn't "flat": i know that...
but to get from A to B... to get around
geographic algebra...
it's like cycling... i'm an aggressive cyclist...
whatever roundabouts are still alive
in that they do not employ traffic lights...
i'm there...
i usually work my way around
a truck on the antonym side of the blind spot...
the outer side of a lane...
and then... we're... go!
                    i love the thrill of wriggling around
traffic with the most minimum amount
of exoskeleton...
it's a thrill to be surrounded by objects
that i know might **** me...
i tried ***... *** isn't even close to this experience...
it's hardly... me imitating...
but... hearing how many cyclists were killed
in London for missing the blind-spot...
getting dragged under the wheels...
plus i just... simply adore the rules!
the authority... the trust that's funnelled
into the concept of traffic...
no where on earth have i found so much:
DASEIN... truly... you need to cycle in heavy
traffic to find your reading of Heidegger!
you can't walk this **** out...
there is so much reciprocation...
so much trust, concern is invoked...
like i said: it's better than ***...
*** doesn't inject you with adrenaline in a way
that *** might:
i guess *** can inject adrenaline...
it's still not the zenith...
when the plethora of emotions associated
with doubt is about as much as that plethora
associated... synonymous with love...
then fear... thrill... almost indistinguishable...
esp. at a roundabout...
how i came to love the white van man...
fearless speed custodian...
i once wrote about this...
unconscious algebra of spatial coordination....
that's how Descartes' res cogitans became
res vanus... the empty thing...
me on my bicycle...
thinking disappears when you have a chance
to generate your own momentum...
it's not enough of a bike... in a car...
better than walking...
it has to be...
there's a bbq happening two doors down...
plenty of Sikhs...
such a shame...
not the party... or that they're Sikhs...
i just listen in... a wall of sound...
even if i tried knowing this many people...
i threw a party once...
ended up ******* a black ******* a leather couch...
blah blah...
so many voices... one door down... Bella...
is sitting on the roof looking at me...
an albino roofer (mongrel cat... dachowiec in
******)
endowed with heterochromia...
there are the spiders... the snails...
an urn of delights of the night...
Asians... well as neighbours go...
you leave a cat with them... the cat might
magically end up... miraculously dying from kidney
failure while you're away...
if the Welsh are joked about as being sheep-shaggers...
don't get me started on the camel-jockeys
who... have beef with pork...
the real sheep-shaggers...

stinking lamb...
ah... that was the distinction...
włókno... wełna... bawełna...
fibre... wool... i was honestly expecting
for bawełna to come out
as: cotton... it's just a synonym of
fibre...

oh look... a googlewhack...
Konofale Uros...
i think i was looking for the spelling of falafel...
i think... i never know these days...
this party two doors down
is somewhat irritating me... not
that i can fit the acronym hierolgyph
of: f.o.m.o.
  i hate parties... i hated parties...
the parties i have thrown were....
parallels...
as one i got to **** a girl...
at another i was cleaning up my high school friends
*****...
the party is slowing down...
obviously... i'm guessing the host took a friend
or two to the back of the garden
to peer two doors down...
since i'm seeing a bald Asian looking
back at me... perched in a pseudo...
akimbo on the windowsill...

what's up?! company lost the thrill?
everyone's turned into rabble...
when drinking too much?
i drink too much...
you know: ahem... "you" what's weird about
being watched?!
it's true... you only really are...
when you are being watched...
it doesn't matter if you think...
thinking per se is not enough
to leave proofs.. traces of your existence...
you need something simple...
perfectly equivalent to what Sartre aimed at:
to be subject...

of the two movies i watched today...
**** me... i watched two movies today...
what's wrong with me?

my new york year... which has an alias:
my Salinger year...
the antithesis of a rom-com...
and a competitor of
the Devil wears Prada...
**** me... how well has... Sigourney Weaver aged!
look at her...
she does the boss role so much better
than... what's her name...
i thought she was proper hot... pancake ****
in Ghostbusters... but look at her now...
mein gott!
it almost feels like...
i want to be married!

oh for heaven's sake... this movie eats out
the devil wears prada... out from the crab bucket...
little girl in a big town sort of mentality...
i could type quicker...
give me 2 hours and i'll spew 2K words of originality...

it really was... the most pristine movie!
it was an... easy movie...
easy as in: i was watching a movie...
i wasn't watching... a *******... Leni Riefenstahl
flick! do "you" even know... how refreshing
that is?
i'm not watching a makeshift Leni Riefenstahl flick!
there... i said it!

here's for a worldly perspective...
the women at the part have receded into shadow...
remnants are still vociferous...
the maxim stands... either *******: as i tell you...
or... *******... as i punch you...
i party solo...

two... very random smoke rings appear...
as they rise..
i poke a finger into each one
like i might poke into the mouth
of my maine **** ginger that's yawning...
the Asian party is over...
the rabble is left:
the people with not intelligence
to deteriorate into a drinking ****:
not enough sausage fests under your belt:
i gather? ha ha...
too many arranged marriages...
welcome to the north!
the eternal night... it does wonders to people
most associated with equatorial dynamics...

i'm sorry... you're coming... you're leaving...
you're taking these Hyperborean women somewhere
beside her usual... fetish fest
of: more than...    the 6"?
i open the window..
i let the air creep in... elevate the staleness...
concerning these women...
is there a central authority figure to...
"guide" them?!

      i do, not, own, them... savvy?
i'm jealous of king David more than i could ever be of
king Solomon...
the man that conquered Goliath...
matched up to Achilles with Hector...
but also wrote... Psalms!
come on! come on!
i know it must tickle the agony of man
to have to have to: worry other men with envy!
men want other men to become envious of their
stature...
problem being... i can simply negate that:
arrival at "purpose"...
believe me... i can...
give me enough... patience...
self-scrutiny... "introspection"...
i can make anything i want:
implode...

oh i'm just looking for a nibble... a scribble...
i want a seed of purposiveness...
an element of potential...
i'm not looking for a gathering...
i want a... whisssssssssssper...
i guessed...
an extension of the S...
in no more / no less...
the missing trill in the English R...
is it?

i write... the boy play... party....
the girls giggle...
hold a mirror to a mirror... in the dark...
then compare glass...
to water... a puddle... a lake:
you will not... even if Xerxes says:
tame either river... or sea!
with whips or with madness!

hold a mirror to a mirror... in the dark...
compare the reflection of that of glass
with what you arrive at...
in the stillness of a lake... or a puddle...

have you ever... held a mirror... toward a mirror...
and...breathed a stroke of.....
smoke into it.... without hoping to conjure up...
fire?!

rauch und spiegel
aber
           non feuer!
hölle braucht; ich brauchen zu... vergessen...
there are female voices among them...

me and my fetish for all things: deutsche.
Zack Witzig Mar 2019
As they sparkle and glisten in the ebony sky I see those effervescent stars and as the darkness drapes along the sides of my vision and I am funnelled towards the glory the have and as I run my hands through the grass and feel the dew on the grass and it seems to make everything seem more translucent and as I am able to see a little more clearly the curtains of darkness are becoming more light and I see them wave among the breeze and it's that hair the hypnotized me and as the stars becoming more visible it's the stars of your eyes that are so resplendent and captivating I am in heaven if even for a moment I will capture it for the eternity of what it is
nivek Oct 2020
funnelled through the eye of circumstance
Mankind, Womankind,
pushed out through the hips of history
born to die to rise a spirit beyond comprehension
alas time is short to make peace with your neighbour
to fill the bellies of the starving
for natural justice to reign supreme.
Good enough lips for old discussions; acoustic ears pulling
at the strings of all we get to hear; I wish you were still here
Turning the dial, that familiar sensual feeling on life’s radio;
you were just a stereo—two channels away from falling in love,
in a forgotten tune of something close to an old love

My slow breaths exhaling, to your many breaths
inhaling; swallowing words to a prayer; happily fasting
on every time it takes, to admit why you actually fell in love
Filtering most of the hate I once had for you, funnelled out
of my folded brain— paper notes of love letters I kept away
from my curious friends

Dreaming of falling in love; soaked tears in my eyes, during-
to just to recall it all, as a *******; as if I were falling
from mountain springs; cold to your very touch of another
winter’s rain. And in a single way, I kind of enjoyed being
single for just another day

— The End —