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Born Aug 2017
Poem. Call me poetry
Debbie Jean Embrey  ***! how those words spoke to me! Very well done! I love the part about calling you 'Messenger.' Keep inking! :)

Poem. She's said II
Terry Jordan  Amazing piece, esp. "It is for us to wash away our painful confusion with tears...." I'm sending a sympathy card today to the mother of a former student of mine, so this really speaks to that most terrible loss that we have no word for it. TFS, Born

Poem. I won't forget that you liked my poetry
Mary-Elizabeth Cotton  Beautiful write! I especially love the lines "When I could barely form words,/that would impress my shadow."


Poem. I'm Born
Pradip Chattopadhyay  your words are fabulous

Poem. Hi(gh)
Kim Johanna  Baker  Great write Born...I must say, you are a great writer and enjoy very much your pieces...this is raw and gets the message across.. tyfs... kimx

Poem. If I told you my story
Law lith iminika Reading this was like observing a preview to a movie, but I didn't pay for it, instead showed up willingly. And I'm hungry for knowledge and inspiration because I was refused popcorn

Poem. Thank you Pamela Rae
Pamela Rae  Please know that you have such talent and your words not only touch me, but so many here--keep writing, expressing and touching our souls, dear Born. You are a gift to this world and deserve to find your way, to embrace peace and tranquility and it will come. Will be sending along good vibes, thoughts for peace and happiness and Room to breathe with ease... (((hugs)))

Poem. Hello poetry
Wolf spirit Wow ..is this a poem . Because Id rather read this than delve on eloquent flattery of wistful words . Honesty expressed with such brevity is still the best policy .


Poem. When my heart pounds a little bit more
Modern Serenity  very well executed! truly deserves to be the poem for atleast a week. freaking fantastic poem. well done. honestly totally jealous of your poem its truly amazing and well said.


Poem. Shantel
---  Superbly penned, echoes of the great Pablo Neruda

Poem. Here we are
K Balachandran  so peaceful and meditative
yet passion filled love and life
chiseled and beautiful...without hiding truth
you have eyes full of love and light
exquisite..
Bala

Poem. Virgo 
Star BG  And..... open gateway to healing the soul.you are such a master with words. Thank you

Poem. Dusty coin
Pax  there will always be hope, even just a spark, or one candle, it can do many things in the dark..

Poem. My deepest sympathies
South by Southwest  There are answers to every question you pose . Only by a lifetime of searching will you find them .

Poem. Muse dear daughter
Sylvia Frances Chan  A most divine poem, loving and caring words. I have enjoyed this poem very much. God's Blessings be upon thee. Thank you for sharing this divine piece.

Poem. Leonard Cohen
Lazhar Bouazzi  Ah! Wonderful poem about one of my favorite poets/composers/singers of all time! Thank you for sharing

Poem. This poem III
Wyatt  Such a harsh, blunt piece. It hit me right in the gut! Congrats on the daily!

Poem. I won't forget that you liked my poem
patty m  Comments are a wonderful gift. I love your poem and the emotions that surface you are truly gifted.
hugs

Sally A Bayan  So much truth in your wondeful, touching words, Born..
I keep coming back to this poem...just had to repost.
Thank you for sharing

Poem. Juliet
Jamie King  I like the flow here the transition from one imagery to the imagery while maintaining the same flow requires a certain degree of finesse. Excellently executed piece

Poem. Un(real) istic
Botan  A high tech emotional intelegence will take over while humans express thier feelings by emoji. good writing
Poem. Poetic flavor
SøułSurvivør An awesome tribute! You're one of the poets I would elect for showing the most growth of any on this site. My heart twinkle with happiness, TOO! Thanks for your heart, Born! ☆♡☆

Lori Jones McCaffery  You make exquisite use of the words you have captured, Born. Keep thirsting. Love

SøułSurvivør Awe! I'm so glad to encourage you... you have such a powerful way with words. An innate talent. I count you as one of my best friends here. Be blessed!

Poem. 5 million am not just a number
Corvus  Wonderfully compassionate. It's so easy to be kind and sympathetic to those on your doorstep. Those further away but in even greater need are often ignored. Brilliant write.
The most important part of posting a poem is the response you get, I'd love to appreciate every single one of  you for the words you offered. For those who didn't make the list, I still appreciate you.

This poem is coming from an emotional place, for the longest time I never believed in myself. But now I do, thanks a lot
Ders Jul 2018
They say deja vu is a glitch in the matrix
Repeating numbers is a sign from the universe
Angels scream my name from upside down on the ceiling telling me to quit looking at the clock maybe demons maybe I should pay the **** attention
222333444555666777whaaaaaat
That’s not a time
Time ain’t it
Time heals don’t it
But what is stagnant
Sometimes we’re dead
But we move fast
Together
In time
Travel
Through space
Through a line meet your soul face to mine
Hearts beat faster time moves with it that’s the reality so what are you doing
Taking it slow or fast it’s you or pass
Illuminati my life with your eye-seed to the sky can’t remember my thoughts don’t know why I even try
Try to finish a creation pieces of art are never finished close to what I think
Is completion I think I forget how to breathe I’ve got a blemish I cannot see I’m not sure what’s on my lenses sometimes i don’t speak please tell me what the bens is
Keep saying I’m haunted aight
Keep tellling em I’m doing fine
Life’s chaotic but that’s what it’s about
The blends of of the **** around
The hint hang ying yang huh
The freak shows births golds of stone (gh) yeah
But do you even know what the sheets is what if we really going to do da business man **** this **** I don’t know it I already told you I don’t know how to complete this I have no solutions I feel soulless and too much negative too much negative shitnitz my focus my pictures too big I don’t know how to control this I kept saying that I want to relinquish self but what I really need to do is help make a squeal tell em truly how I feel Queen lions roar from the jungles to the shores sideways animals judging their **** from the sidelines
Wasn’t the point making them feel the fire burning in mountain veins but what animals can you truly tame
Cavemen mocking snakes forming fires for the first time killing em with their own tricks man we keep repeating history with our imperialisthe ******* stupidest **** ever
Please excuse my individual
I’ve not much experience with taking over but with my experience we’ll have an experience we’ve never had before and from there our experience will be something to learn from we learn from experiences
I’m opening my mind and my forgiveness forget to forgive I’m all in forgetfulness can we speed to the completion of wishes I beg this from the bottom of my ***** soles to the top of my buzzed head I hear sobriety is the path to success but I can’t create in loneliness I bring pain and sorrow to the art party drown me out with ***** and bring me to my knees in grass prairies in heaven Reaching out for angels bind me in confusion it’s raining in my heart tea parties never breed working brains did they never tell you that in school? Keep teaching myself everyday yeah in the backs of tiny rooms on mountain peaks I breathe in tropical trees blurring all the lines that form all sorts of definition communication of my mind to yours, the shore at the end of the telephone game I lost the rhythm that goes to the flow I dropped the wand that brings flying wings I smacked the lips of the devil I kreeped in hell I’ve been told I’ve always been addicted to pain repeats repeats 444
ryn May 2016
.

estrate the          
orc-                       opus           
ong•                                  of right        
     of s-                                            and wr-            
      gh power                                        ong•k-       ⚫️  
    tales throu-                                       eep me             
   tell me...                                           ground-      ⚫️
                                                 ­            ed throu-          
                                                ­         gh lyrics          
                                                     worded          
                                                strong•        
                                          embed  ­      
                                       solid b-        
                                 assline-        
    ­                   s that        
              guide        
      me a-          
lon-            
     g...                          
•                              


The soundtrack to life deserves the most wicked of baselines.
.
Lili Mar 2013
Happiness forced down her throat
With just a little bit of water
Cosmic Love beckoned her eardrums
To a sandy beach in Guanaja
But not really
Waves of relaxation
As she swayed back and forth
With the wind she imagined
Blowing through her damaged hair
Lights
Lights
Lights
Her body was a serpent
Slithering like the music in her ears
Soul on fire
Eyes like the earth
She painted chaos
With just her fingertips
Alone in the dark
High as a cathedral ceiling
Wandering home
To thoughts of his lips
Butterflies
And ladybugs and fireflies
Smoke
Escaped cracked lips
Happy when she’s high
Happy when her mind
Wanders home
But for now
Levitating
Without her magician
By her side
Alone
Dazed
But happy
Home in just the blink
Of a dilated eye
The dark was all too familiar
And the calls came farther and farther apart
.
But just like that
She was home again
In the blink of a dilated eye
Kaleb Vernon Sep 2013
I say hi to my high;
As I exhale the ghost from my lungs
I say bye to my mind;
Ill be back in a few hours it tries to imply
but these  little feelings within
makes me feel like its a sin
because the air I breathe is filled with this smoke
my lungs cant do much when all they do is choke

*but honestly, there's a purpose I hope
Daniel Rowe Dec 2015
scars are a blighted currency.
we speak in overstatements,
blood capsules and parlor tricks
translated villainy romanticizes eras of naturalism
our fate
in the balance of underwhelming prose
and i think i would know
cradled curses
baby i was born this way
you've got to catch up
puking emperors exemplify judgment lapses
and solidify an irreconcilable clash
the study of clinical lycanthropy
is just a step above and beyond the underwhelming
Kara Rose Trojan May 2015
Au(Or)al Tune
When (O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity knocks –
            Ah, pour that tune into me
               n(O)t
just write or speak
            but
                        /zIg:zAg/
            gut--
                        --teral mut--
            --ter yarns
                        With
Mouth-churn--
--ing-beat-lick--          
                        --ings.


Half-grown seedling ([her]bal:e(X)ssen(10)ces)
                                    into sm(O)ke
adolescent (O)re worn from being p(o)(o)r—
                      it was nE(X)CESSary for:
battles
birds
beats
b(O)(O)ks
bottles
bucks
b(O)nes
boys
bei­ng(bad)


sm(O)ke-rings w(ear)y with surr(end)er      
      stripped
            v(O)wel
                    for
                       v(O)wel
thr(OU)gh the yawn: (O)nly
            “(O)h.”

             (O)h
              … foll(O)ws

                        the
You’re w(or)th-knowing-ONLY-(O)nce
            type of l(i)ke.
VERSE/VERSUS: the
You’re-w(or)th-knowing-AT:LEAST-(O)nce
            type of l(i)ke
VERSE/VERSUS:
                        for (u)s

it’s the worst type of verse
                        when it’s
            them:VERSUS:us
                     (verses)

likewise -- (O)r worse --
it should really be about//
      a bad in (u)s: Y(O)U:ME


(O)h after a
                        kn(O)ck
(O)h after a
                        t(u)ne:://
(end)-verse
for worse – it’s an
(end)-versus-us
                        type of verse.


(O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity
            pouring
            ringing e(X)cesses
like
                     ear-worms to
                     hear words to
                     heat hearts.

Ah::rest that mouth-verse onto me.
            (restful//fluster)
Ah::rest that mouth
            (silent//listen)
soulless gall(O)w r(u)ng
lipless v(O)wel sl(u)ng
            like
ARTS::between::STARS
            then
VOICES RANT ON::into::CONVERSATION
            then
PAYMENT RECEIVED::yet::EVERY CENT       PAID ME

worst-verse:
           Y(O)u//like hanging
                        your dipTH(O)NGS
on (O)pportun(e)ity’s d(O)(O)r
            like
                        sm(O)ke-rings
            like
                        being(bad)
            like
                        Y(O)U:ME
            like
                        (O)h. n(O).

(end)-verse:
worst-verse:
            L(I)ttle.Kn(O)wn.V(O)wel::
            n(O)(O)se big for (u)s

            ALL.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.that's what the term: Slavic, implies... slave?! what?! not in my language, etymologically speaking... słowo, słowianin, word, Slav, respectively... i don't know where these quasi-Germanic peoples of the anglophone world get their ideas from, esp. from a, "missing" epsilon. wankers.

- and the main difference between a Slavic
language and a quasi-Germanic language
akin to English or French?
                   clarity of syllables,
   and a pivot on pseudo-Roman graphemes,
albeit not concentrated (for aesthetic
purposes) on crafting graphemes out
of vowels... more or less consonants...
English has this concept already...
   cheap as chips...
             prime **** of the shire
    (CH                                SH)
but the main difference is...
                            we don't use the surd
conundrum...
                e.g.?
                         ­        g'bur
                   syllable count: 2
                                  you say the first letter,
have a nanosecond pause and the second
syllable enters:  g'boor...
                   which is a word, roughly defined
as: someone who's boorish,
               a noun, not an adjective...
but in english?
                                   (g)nostic....
    wait...     diagnosis...
                            so like an electron clouds
surrounding a nucleus...
   (electrons do not exist in orbits,
clouds, quantum clouds to be precise,
they enter the antimatter dimension,
pop up and disappear in randomized
places, within a definite spatial complex
that constitutes what is known as
an atom)...
              too many ******* particulars
in the anglophone language...
         which is probably why i love it so
much...
        and because the englischzunge
has so many particular instances of
"correct" speech... and no diacritical
methodology... well...
                     hmm... a ******* rainbow of accents!
i love the Indian: bud bud... bud bud...
hearing it feels like riding a *******
camel over uneven ground... bud bud...
note - budwasserscheisse -
who, in their right state of mind -
ferments rice, and adds it to the fermentation
of barley?!
   o.k., the alternative... budscheissewasser...
take your pick...
    it appears that my original ambition
was to speak the native language better
than the natives...
   have i succeeded?
                  perhaps...
               god almighty and all that is
glorious about hell's pandemonium...
   i miss the trill of the R...
      either tongue numbing in English...
or a ******* hark in French...
but as i was sometime ago informed...
the French used to trill the R...
  they: rrrrrrroled the rattle and found
a snake...
                      trill? when you pass a breath
that slaps the tongue against your
hard palate...
                     like a rattlesnake...
   i'm so happy that it still exists in certain
languages...
        it's a hark in French,
             and a tongue numbing heimlich
maneuver
in English...
like the tongue was injected with an
anesthetic borrowed from dentistry,
                or some other random *******.
- and yes, i couldn't learn French,
because i was already investing my efforts
and observational tactics in spotting
the oddities in English...
            surd-letters, a slack in syllable distinction...
you name it...
                            g'boor contra
                  (g)nostic....
                          ­    invited to a session
of psychiatric diagnostics...
             oh i speak the orthodox better than
the natives...
  the natives have to resort to slang...
or as i like to call their version "of events":
the **** of shlang.

p.s. but this is going to be an example
of where English, and French meat...
****, sorry... meet...

   a surname to exemplify:
   Trudeau...
           i'm not going to call the French
żabie udki (frog-thigh eaters),
i just call them the suffix eaters...
point blank... watch how this GH
   grapheme pops up, but is "invisible"
in the said, French surname...
   although...
                           see it?
   Trudeau...             now you don't!
******* that i am surrounding
spewing linguistic *******...
   even i'm starting to think:
                    neat observation,
well tailored for the given times of...
how do you censor an investigation
into grammar and phonetics?

p.p.s.
    and well know where the English
borrowed their notion of H as a surd...
bindi-Hindi...
                          'indi...
     '   (this denotes a surd,
**** it, leave the letter out) -
esp. in names, like Khahn -
                        some variation of Ghengis,
Khan...    i suspect...
      oh yeah... the macron above the vowel
looks plain ugly: Kān...
   the literate can't reconfigure that word...
they need two languages of the same
tongue... the optical (Khan)...
             and the phonetic (Kān)...
look at you pretty people...
           you're bilingual already!
Sound Of Rain Apr 2014
..    
                    I                                Li
                 ke                                Li
                 ste                                ni
         ng   To                       Music
      In A Vo                  lume So Hi
    gh
That I                  Can't Hear  
     My Own                      Thoughts.
                              ­                              

Or so I think...
"I like listening to music in a volume so high that I can't hear my own thoughts. Or so I think."
.
My attempt at concrete poetry.

My thoughts scare me sometimes.
TreadingWater Oct 2015
I guess I de
Serve it.

Split open my chest
rip out what's left//left//left/right//left...

left to wonder/obsessed

Hanging
~Tangled in the words~

torture

Give me cursing/screams/mock me to
...tears.

But please.dear.god.

the smothering solitude of...

[                                            ]
SinEater Nov 2014
My skin is p a  l e
My body c o ld
     And in my chest lies a broken heart of fools gold
My re alit  y   I  on ce knew is ha z  y    a nd n on exist en  t
It's grown old
     And I'm becoming tired of being bold
And being told right from wrong
      I'm sinking softly down when I don't know how to swim
  Every inch that I further lose from possibility to stay afloat is lessening my want or need for a life boat
    Every breath I attempt to take fills my lungs with ugly pseudonyms and sends me down deeper into my lonesome underpopulated town inhabited only by fragments of once strong relationships that i held so close to me that I c ould n't  b reat h e, the relationships that kept my entire being from sinking in the first place.
   I'm drowning and I can't see what's even in front of me
       I'm a ship bound by anchor to the wrong bad habits of shedding my   blood willingly to bloodthirsty ravenous sharks in the sea of my minds eye
       This was once a safe harbor for the ones I kept close
  The ones that knew what mattered to me and the ones I cherished most
      Now its a sea full of  gh o sts
Of the people I trusted them the most
    I trusted them to not turn on me or use me like a host
And now I'm the one  dro w ning
I' m    so  sca re      d
   Now when I share my harbor it feels so
    U    n    fa    i r
        They don't understand what I risk give to let them be there
It never harbors in their heart as deeply as it does mine
     The possibility of even defining how hard it is to let these ships safely     pass through this harbor will now and forever never be able to escape  my pale numbing lips
    Only silence
Everything here is just riddled with murderous crashing waves
   Any relationship that enters I try so desperately to save
     And in that attempt
  The harbor starts to misbehave
            The waves destroy every boat or anything that floats
  Anything at all to help me cope with being so alone or the feeling of even remotely being at home.
      My fingertips are numb and cold and starting to fold and I can't feel those things I could before
I just want all of this over
N o    m   o re   dro w n    i n          g
All my life boats have sunk
    Now I'm just stuck
     All these hands and graves are grabbing at me and pulling me down        ev ery   whi ch     wa y  at  the
    bott om of the
oce an
u  nd   er

     al l
th e s     e  
    
h e   a     v y


               waves.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Poetry Round (find your self within)

We sit together in spirit, if not in body,
You join me in the Poet's Nook,
A few frayed and weathered Adirondack chairs
Overlooking the Peconic Bay,
Where inspiration glazes over the water,
And we drown happily in a sea of words,
Commencing:

You say unto me, whitecaps, I reply,

"Solitary swimmers, poets, arms crooked over head, in the sea of us"

I say flooded with gratitude, and Stephanie replies,

"Thou art my carved destiny-and the river that permits my blood to flood...And all this noise shall fall into poetry; Which every day grows statelier and comelier.

You say to us Moonlight, and we laugh, delighted, for she has given us

"This love can be ours,
Under the iridescent moonlight
Embraced within one another,
To live for an eternity,
Languid and soft"


Someone calls out Bala,
And Vicarpio Gale favors us with his words,

"a poetic rain, in small print, fills the white sky page"

And we pray nightly, that come next morn, he will rain upon us once again

We pretend it is night and there are
Stars to Touch,  but this poet of pax corrects us and writes, t'is but,

"late afternoon sun slanting
behold, jaune compassion
alfalfa ocherous leans willowy in wind
distance of silence yearns on
afternoon shadows lie within majestic vales"


Who is it that calls out
Have Mercie  B.e  upon us,
for she reminds us of what we B.e tasked individually,

"Provoking ideas and intoxicating imagery overflow from within and yet somehow you can't see.  There are dreams that run wild inside of this heart and there is no way I'll let them be tamed"

Sunshineflowers every where,
But even more beautiful when she coaxes us to laugh
at ourselves
when writing of true love,

"Why don't i have bananas, said the monkey.
The tiger said, because you are my soulmate"


Did you C Holmes reminding us that

"when you're certain you've
painted the next Van Gogh
with the swirls and gusts
of blues so pure,
any mortal would
stop stare & lose track of time?"


Fyi, Fyi,

"Her callous persecution insinuates,
The elusive flaws of humanity and life,
It implicitly elucidates,
The sombre reality"


About certain Angels  was writ, that both in heaven and on earth, she was garbed, for

"She wore an air of mysticism
Her memory bore prophetic visions
From ancient egyptian
And judaic traditions
She knows every star system
And every night is a mission
Where she wishes and wishes
For help from the legends"


Emily  has met an unwanted friend, familiar to all of us,

"Cemented shoes
And silenced talk
It's even hard to describe
Writer's block"


Sara B.  from B'kara, that's in Malta, gives advice most sensible,

"Times they are a changing
make everybody feel blue
just turn up the music
and forget what you're supposed to do"


Victor  claims not to be a

"poet, a musician even less
but I may be kind of a beggar
when I beg of you
don't forget me
or let your music fade out
of my rainy days"


Dare I disagree? **** right I do!

Little RedWritingHood,  from my city hails, so wise, far beyond her years, reveals that,

"people try to
make me see reason
or their definition of it
but reason is relative
as is too much in this world"


Should I go on? Why not!

Something's are ForeverMarvelous,  like

"Hurt is fading
Fists are pumping
Bass is trembling
Some are hating-
But I keep dancing"


mybarefootdrives  me forward because

"every seed of thought
starts itself out like a whisper.
Until weight behind words
allows them to stand on their own merit"


Maria GH  could be an old friend, who

"draws me near,
it's slender form bleeding into
the background.
Slowly, kindly,
it extends a hand and
I take it
as to forever hold comfort
in mine"


Andy from Mombasa, your poetry

"conspires to purge me of my sense of reasoning
Leaving me bare to suffer the perils of an incongruous world"

And I am a better poet for it...

Brendan'  I've watched your words,

"Crack the veil of tired souls
cloaked in lonely sorrows,
broken by faithless wanderings,
and feel the strings course through your veins"


I am blindsided and Blastsided  when I read

"Onomatopoeia
I love words
for their meanings
their woven tapestries
but also
for their taste"

For I know exactly what you mean

I am exhausted. So many gems to decorate
My body, my soul. I must stop here,
So many of you have reached out, none of you overlooked.

Overwhelmed, let us sit together now
And celebrate the silence that comes after the
Gasp, the sigh, that the words have taken from
Our selves, from within.

Once again, in your debt.
If I could do nothing more but write your names, I would be endowed with thousand more poems.
OOPs, occurs to me someone may not like my excerpting their work, so let me know if its a problem and will edit....hopefully not and taken as the compliment it was meant to be!
Bo Tansky Oct 2018
It was bad enough when opinionated white men were the only ones
You saw them when you opened your set
Haven’t processed it yet
Gave bert my last four dollars
Fear I may live in squalor
If I screamed and hollered
Would it help
It was bad enough when opinionated white men were the only ones
Merrily followed by
opinionated white women
Black men
Black women
The Asians
The Haitians
Good gracious
The whole gang
A whole gaggle of them
Each one more opinionated than the other
A chorus that roars of
Incredible bores
Tuned into the conversation next door
It too was a bore
Everyone’s hysterical
If it weren’t so serious
Would almost be comical
The what if demons
Threaten to demean us
What am I going to do
I have no money
You think this is funny
I could go hungry
See what I mean
Why should I care
Money will appear from somewhere
If I only can believe it
It was bad enough when opinionated white men
My pill popping hon
Busted in on my fun
He’s out of pills
I’ll see what I can do
I’m out of them too
My appointment’s on Monday
I know it’s not even Sunday
It’s the best I can too
I'm out of them too
And then opinionated white women
What of it
He twists and turns
Thinks something is wrong with him
They examined all over him
No one’s yet uncovered
Discovered his apparent rigidity  
Stupidity, in moments near to him
Rigidity can be good or bad
Happy or sad
Depends if your frozen or fried
Broiled or foiled
Sautéed or filleted
Or nicely done hon
What was I saying
Yeah, rigidity’s a *****.
Always on the hook
You play it by the book
You’re ready to defend
Opinionated white men
Seeking some advantage
Prowling for an entrant
Doesn’t matter
I’m not a contestant
I play by the book
Which book are you looking for
They change by the season
They change by the reason
They change by the color
They change by the number
They change by the thunder
They change by the why
They change by the hi(gh)
They change by the sigh
They change by the discipline
It took to get here
I need a break from this exchange
Dear
Finally, they’re gone
Glorious alone-time
My mind can roam-time
Away from the beehive
Mind-hive project set.
Are you ready set
It’s bad enough when opinionated white men were the only ones
Were the whole set, subset, sweat set upset
Not yet set
Yet set
Ready set
Go set
Maybe set
Maybe no set
Rap set
Whoa set
She said set
I’ll get back to you on that set
But not yet set
I need a rest set
For god’s sake
Let me think about it
It’s only been nine years
Nine months
Nine days
nine minutes
Nine seconds
A split sec
Compared to an eternity set
It was bad enough when opinionated white men were the only ones
You saw them when you opened your set
Haven’t processed it yet
Must be hiding way out on the net set
My God, how can I talk about rigidity
But I’ve changed my mindset
Ok?
But, not yet.
Born Jul 2017
Am James
I don't know, but I think am James
Sometimes they call me
Play bbb
boy I know am a mess
Living life on stress
Which leads to depress
maybe meds
hell I don't know


Sssawing what's left of my shells
It's strange I've not seen death
after devouring all this ****
a crack head
on C o i n,C o a l, *******
I got it, it's *******
or whatever
just shut the **** up

You see
Youuuu'evvvv disoriented me
iiiiiiiii hate you
where was i
ME. Writing a poem
Him. No
Me. Writing a book, your will, maybe your eulogy
Him noo (frustrated)
ME. You were sniffing something
Him. Yessss, give it back, where is it
MeIn your hand
Him . sniffs (groans) this is great
Me... Errrrm, Okey... Maybe we can get back to the novel you were writing  sniffing or puffing

hell I don't know
but
book me a bedsitter
I could use some hot sleep
it's cold out here
This generation needs saving from drugs
POSSIBLE Mar 2019
Ever present life...
Ever present life...
3ver press a k̫͘ń͙ḭ̧̼̳̠͔f̢̺͙̥̣e̵̮̯̟̙̰ͅͅ

against the dying, glowing l̵i̎̓ͣ̚ghͦt͂͌ͧ͌̄ ̛ͣͧ͐̾ͦ̅ǒ̐ͩ͌̓̾͋f̡ͥͪ̑͆ ͝ļ̉̆̎ͮ͛ͪͩĭ̶̎̉̐f͑ͪ̓e͗̏͛ͥ͆̏͐?


W̡̠̘̭͛ͪ͋ͦͤa̘ͫ̆̒̈́͆i̗̳ͭͯ̾̇́̓ͫt̫̍ͭ ͈̠̯̻̖̪̹͌͑̽ͮ͛ͮ̃a̬̪ͫ̅̅ͯ́̈̓ͅ ̵͓̱̰͚̬͓̪̿͆M̞͍̤̤̱ͩ́̆̇i̪̬̟̪̹͍ͦ̓͗ͪ̐ͫ̐n̻͈̦̥͕͉̍͛͆̋̐͊u͍ͮ͌͛ͣ̀͘t̯̣̓͊̍̐̄ͧͦ­̭̝e̺͓̱͈̬̫̊ͯͥͨͯ͜ ̹͔̳̞̇͂͢this can't be me!̝̙ͦͧͧͥͫ̕!!

CHECK MY FIELD, REALIZE!

Still Sun Tzu
hit my enemy first
in the verses
no physical damage
no trauma purses to manage
I already lived afflicted with curses
from savage researches

Till I learned to shift my boundaries around me,

...That there’s still power in !̝̙ͦͧͧͥͫ̕category!̝̙ͦͧͧͥͫ̕

But not enough to stop me !

I broke the two ton shell OF CULTURE
but I’ll never stop hearing this ocean swell
sailors fly by wave to the 9th sign

Hi.



Î̝͎̪̮̣͎͈̮͖͈̼͕̞̠ͭ̍̓́͛ͣ͠͝ͅn̫̭̹̼̰͇̱̠̠̐̾ͨͦͪ̓̎̅̌ͬ͌̀ͦ̚͟͢ͅ­̭͉̲̱̙̼͎fͫ̆̐̾̂̃ͯͯ͌͑̄̌̀̅͂̔̋̀͘͏͎͇̭͓̜i͈̮̞̙̭͖͇͇̝̗͈̜̽̓̾ͪ͛̿͂ͯ͂̇̌ͣ̓ͦ̿ͮ̈͘͘­̗̤̞͈n̷̷̡̠̘̘̦̬̣̺̟͖͍ͮ̾͂̈́͟͜ĭ̙̳̩͓͕̍̃̌͂͋ͪ̂ͧ̓ͨ̉ͨ͌ͨͤ̈̚͟͜͝t̵̴͖̣̳̤̊̈̎ͥ͊́e­̛̺̭͚̻̠̞̙͍̞͚͉̝ͨ͑̉ like a Shepard’s tone.
      
   
    Passionate like a Shepard's SON.

Intricate like a l̀e͊ͧ̓͛̑ͦ̃͠o͐ͭp͒͢à͢r͒́ͬ̅ͣͤd̑̍̿ͤͮsͦ̋ ̊̈́̀ͯ͐̅́tongue.

[[God said to me]]:

Work under the light of e̴͏ff͠ort͞ SON

You cannot break the stone without the Wind and the Ocean.

So we wander back into the liquid crystaline vision
Waves wander and ponder up through and fill my being
We release the storm my drips speaking.

But I can't hear cause there's still Too Many Lights.


Easily distracted
by how others say
"stay away from illicit people ..."
Illicit people ...?
More like
people illicit

[!?meaning?!]

formed inͧ̒͂ͭ s͑͆͒ͯͪ͊̚tͩͩ̂ͬͬͬ̌e͆̏͗̽e̚ṕ͒l̅ͮͤͧ̉̈ẻ͋̈́ͨͪ̓sͤ̆̍ͥͮ ̉̓̚

Responses from the ghost markers
self-induced parasites better host dollars people!

FC*K that!

>NO MORE BEING SILENT MY LOVE <
-Just watch and listen-

Tectonic plates shift
when I talk back

Demonic cosmic rift silent
when I talk rap

people never seem to mind
unless you say I did that

But you better believe
This ***** not much more than a formality.
Fancy phantasm shorn from reality .
Never base your life in a fallacy.
No waste your life chasing the phallus see?


L̎̒i͐ͤv̡e̓ͪͪ̔̾ͤ ͥm̓̐ͨ̑̈̄҉a̎g̒̽̍͛̽iͩͩ͑͟c̎ͬ̏̕ ̡̂ͫ̒̊ͧͪ͆
Like Harry Potter,
I always catch the snitch
end the game break my fist͆̓̽..̔͌̓͏.̛̾ͩ̒ͣ

So few leave this life of crime
now I teach yoga
super stack your spine
till that ***** aligned  
so try and find me
I’m in orbit right outside the mind b.

To look up my next move in the dictionary
doesn’t make it a **** move, this is :

"My **** is hairy, I let it out at night like Bigfoot
and its OH so scary!"

Now WHATEVER YOU believe .̔͌̓͏.̛̾ͩ̒ͣ
.͆͊̚҉̦̝̪͈̗̝.̜̭͔̖̲̓̍̈́͗̉̽
.͆͊̚҉̦̝̪͈̗̝.̜̭̓̍̈́͗̉̽
I’m married to my Wife,

my Diction,

God and Mary.
Easter EGG???????????????????????????????

I'll ask of the berserks, you tasters of blood,
Those intrepid heroes, how are they treated,
Those who wade out into battle?
Wolf-skinned they are called. In battle
They bear ****** shields.
Red with blood are their spears when they come to fight.
They form a closed group.
The prince in his wisdom puts trust in such men
Who hack through enemy shields.
A skaldic poem composed by Thórbiörn Hornklofi in the late 9th century in honor of King Harald Fair-hair and his berserker warriors and one of the earliest accountings of berserkers. Translation from R.L. Page Chronicles of the Vikings. Toronto: University of Toronto Press 1995, 109.
Jane Doe Jun 2016
I get so high without you.
I have too.
I can't let my mind think of you.
of your body against mine.
against hers too.

You pinned yourself against me,
and I'm still trying to figure out why?
and I can't cry anymore.
and I can't stop shaking and getting
baked.
Oh!

How I wish I could silence
these demons in my head!

These demons pray on violence-
& I think they wish to see me dead!

(Oh!)
No!
April 7th, 2016
TreadingWater Mar 2016
t t t tttap the clever
W O R D S;,...
they just
           w _ a _ _ i _ _ _ t  there

some//thing
i can't press in my palms
tugs. at. my. skull.
twistsupmyspine

it doesn't feel good
this\trying\to\feel\  a  n  y  thing
then _ there's
bodies; I need

it's just a {mirage}
to  >linger  >upon
so intricate in e^ver^y^de^tail
evenyoucannot  #see
quinn collins Sep 2013
there was a fire
in the palms
of your hands
that flowed out
and ignited
the very best parts
of me,
but now all that’s left
is a few
glowing embers
that provide
no warmth,
and a cold wind
that bites
and tears
at my raw,
exposed skin
It's not all that hard, it's so easy to learn,
Each and every one of these simple rules.
You see, I'm not even American,
But not even us Mexicans are such fools.

I know this language like I know myself,
I never laid hand on the shelf,
Where everyone placed their literature books,
Just to drop it for looks.

It's easy to remember,
Why can't you see,
English is so easy,
Or is it just me?

No.
That wouldn't make sense.
Spanish was my first language.
Yet I've come to know English better than my native tongue.

You're not North American, British, or Australian?
Alright whatever, I'll let it slide.
But really, born and raised here?
Come on, it's a free ride.

Deosnt it btoher you taht erevy wrod is speled rong?
Notice can't that you is order your wrong?
Proud to be an American, it isn't really saying much.
Cuz it lik jus syin I cn bearle evn speek such.

Yes, I think you're stupid, every time you spell wrong,
Because it's so easy to fix even a word that is long.
It makes me wonder wether your autocorrect's off?
Because that simple thing, knows each time that you're off.

Is it really so hard to put in that one vowel,
Or put in the consonant so your spelling's not foul.
Or correct the double-negative, you know it's not true,
It's easy to do, just proofread right through.

We all have the ability needed learn,
Yet it seems your ability's been placed in an urn.
You've got a big brain, so why don't you use it?
Trust me, I know, you shouldn't abuse it.

If you have pride in nothing else,
That's fine,
But it's good to have pride in the fact that you know,
YOUR LANGUAGE.
Be proud that you can communicate well,
Be proud that even the nerdiest of nerds can't use words you won't understand,
Be proud that you know how to use correct punctuation,
Be proud to know where "ph", "gh", "ou", "eau" and the silent "t" are used,
Be proud to know which words comes first, and which one comes last,
Be proud to know English, you can learn it all fast,
Be proud to know the art of words,
The art so many ancient cultures knew,
The ancient Japanese, and Romans, and even the French,
Yet America has forgotten how to use words.
Be proud to be a leader of the generation in the USA,
The generation that brings back knowing our own tongue,
So that foreigners who come don't know us better than us.
Be proud to know the beauty of language.
It really bothers me, it almost ****** me off, how much people seem to go out of their way to not learn their own language. People can compose great poems, but if you can't spell, or if the order's all wrong, your poem begins to lose its meaning and artistic value, it doesn't even make sense anymore.
Leah Rae Jul 2012
Hi I'm Leah Waughtal. Yeah, The GH Makes An F Sound, Its Kind Of Weird. What Do You Mean I'm Not On The Class List? So There Are Two Freshman Biology's? And The Rooms Are Side By Side? Both First Block? And There Is A Typo On My Schedule... So I Have To Go All The Way Down To The Counseling Office, But What If I Miss The Bus To Central, And All My Friends Are In This Class, And I-

Stop.

I Know That Look. I've Been There. That Scared ****-less Smile. That Cocky Half Step Into Adolescence. You Were Just A Big Fish, In A Small Pond, But This. This Is An Ocean, And You Feel So, So Little Again. I Know 'Freshman Advice' Is Trending On Twitter, And You've Seen Every Jab At "Knowing Your Place", And "Staying Out Of The Way". We Act Like We Run This School, But We Really Don't. And You Can Thank Our Administrators For Teaching Us That. We're Still Learning. And You Have Every Right To Remind Us Of That. Like The Human Body That Recycles Itself, Every Skin Cell, And Drop Of Blood, Regenerated, A High School Does The Exact Same Thing. Every Four Years, We Are Recycled. After We Graduated As Seniors, There Will Be No Evidence Of Our Existence, So You, Yes You, Are Our Legacy.

Maybe You Don't Want All To Be Doctors, Or Lawyers, But I Can Meet Eyes Out There, And Say Its Safe. We All Wanna Make A Lot Of Money Someday. So Make It Easy On Yourself, Put The Effort In Now. The Path Starts Here, Inside This Room. You Were Built For Both Beauty, And Greatness. Give The Seam & Stitch Of Your DNA Something To Hold On To. You've Got Wonder Tattooed Into Your Skin, You've Got Valor In Your Fingertips,  You've Got Power Lining The Insides Of Your Pockets. You've Got It In You. Don't Let Anyone Tell You That You Don't.

We, You&i;, Are The Middle Children Of History, Raised By Television Sets To Believe We Will Be Rock-stars, And Millionaires Someday. So No One Better Mess With Us, Because There Aren't Enough Hours In The Day To Finish All The Dreams We Will Accomplish. So Look Up, & Remember These Stars, Because Sparks Meet Inside You, And They Died To Become You.

And Yes, There Will Be Times When You'll Swell With Self Made Pressure. But Believe Me, There Won't Be Any Popping. You Were Made To Bend Without Breaking. Stop Being Terrified Of Your Own Potential, You've Got Undiscovered Talents Waiting Inside Yourself. Don't Bite Your Tongue Too Many Times, Or You Might Swallow Yourself Whole. Speak Up For What You Believe In. Don't Be Afraid Of Being Noticed. There Is A Place For You Here.

& Any Time That You Feel Like There Isn't, I'm Here. Find Me In A Hallway, If You Need Someone To Tell You That Everything Will Be Okay. Or If You Just Want Somebody To Hold Your Hand For A Second. Or Even If You Just Need Help With Your Physics Assignment.

This Isn't The End. No, This Is Something Else Entirely.

This Is Just The Beginning.
Madokaxplorer Aug 2014
io
gh gh
iooo stttt u!
hooo mmu mmu
rrrwa rrwa vym vymj
iiii9 iio
nmmmmmm
bb skttt bb skttt
bbb yuuu bbb yuuu
ppp llm ppp lm
nni ni ni
njj nj nj
swr swrrrrrrr uiooo ppl m bb skt ioo
Leah Rae Jun 2012
My Name Is Leah Waughtal
Yes, The 'GH' Makes An F Sound. No My Middle Name Is Not 'Blue Berry'. And Yes, Leah, As In Biblical, As In The First Unwanted Wife Of Jacob.
I Like Cupcakes, Cadavers, And Drinking Tea.
I Don't Like Losing Arguments, Or Being Told I'm Being Indignant.
I Make Ice Cream For A Living, And Pray For Rain Everyday.

Mirrors Are My Best Enemy. The Longer I Stare, The More I Hate, So Someday I Hope I Can Stop Looking.
I Write Like I Have Something To Say, But I Really Don't.
I Want To Be Brave, But I Don't Really Know What That Means.
My Language Is Filled With Terms Like "Don't" "Can't" "Always". These Verbs, These Tenses Of Past And Future, As If I Have A Clue. As If My Palm Prints Would Last Longer Than A Few Seconds In The Wet Concrete That Is This Moment.

My Name Is Leah Waughtal
I Pretend That I Can Speak Italian, And I Bite My Nails When I Get Nervous.
I Memorize Poems, So I Can Act As If I Have Important Things To Say, When Silence Swells Around Us.
I Miss The Ocean, And I Wear High Heels Because I'm Afraid Of Feeling Small.

My Name Is Leah Waughtal,

And I Just Want To Be Remembered.
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Monika Oct 2015
Please*              Open and see

                                       Sweet            ­Dreams
                                   No! Don´t worry, gone will
                                 be the ni gh tmare s.. . when you
                                 turn  ar oun d, an oth er dream
                                    will imme dia tely come...
                                       I have an eye on you
                                            all night long.
                                   From my seat, you can´t
                               really hear  me.  I´m sure you  
                         you won´t. But you should seriously
            know that I´m always here. Noth ing will happen
           to you ... I´m yo ur guardian ... bu t not an ordinary
             one. I´m the                                    sweet little...
                 Teddy                                                  **Bear­
Sweet Jesus! You can´t even imagine how much work did this need... I´m tired! But it was worth it :)
Marri Nov 2019
tiles feel cold against bare feet.
Tip   toeing into kitchen for water.
Find glass, reach up into cupboard.
Try not to shatter.
Reach in for i c e.
Still cold against bare feet.
Pour water, quiet, stealthy,
N i n ja l i ke.

Drink water,
Still cold against bare feet.
I c e still clinks.
Gulp  gu lp.
Down the hatch.

Put glass away.
Reach up into cupboard.
Slips cup out hand.
S h a t t e r e d.

Eyes wide.
Bare feet still cold.
Scattered i c e.

Mom wakes up.
Dad slides out too.
I hide in cup board.
Feet now warm
N i n ja l i ke.
I wonder,
"Has anyone ever mentioned unto you:
  that your eyes shine more- vibrant-
  than a blood moon in the high,
   eastern skyline?"
April 2nd, 2016
LETITFXRING May 2014
Make m e  beli ev e
I'm b e a u t i f u l beca use I b elie ve I' m n o t
Regretting you g et in side my h e a d wit h eve rythi ng you e v er sa id
Regretting the th ings I di d to cha nge m yself
Ove rt hin kin g; A nd
Reme m ber ing eve ryt hing I we nt th rou gh
He made into a monster
And there are cracks
Because the many times
I've looked at myself
irma pielle Oct 2018
BOO
BOO!
I’m sorry was that —
BOO!
OH pardon m—
BOO!
I’m sorry did I scare you?
but how …?
I simply walked into the room
I’m sorry, we’ve only made eye contact
and you're scared?
scared of what?
I’m not a phantom…
I’m not a spirit…
I’m not a gh —
wait… I get it
I see whats happening here
I’m black… i scared you because I'm black
you're scared of my skin color
you're scared of me so you clutch your bag as i walk by
you cross the street so you don't have to walk by me
you avoid eye contact
you kidnapped my people from our country and enslaved them
you kept us as property
you were scared of us so you made sure we stayed inferior
you instated segregation when you thought we would be free
when you thought we would come out on top you made sure we weren't equal
you made sure the black race was dehumanized
you made sure we couldn't get equal education
you made sure we couldn't drink from the same water fountains
you made sure the people who spoke out were executed
you made sure no matter what
my people were in constant fear for their lives…
no I am neither a ghost nor a ghoul
Im black
BOO!
i scared you because I'm black
ruby stains Feb 2015
i like the typ<e tha?t's
dif}feren\t th=an
me in every way and
fo ^rm * (it'll h_]urt
le.ss if th-ey hu"rt me
'cause:: i know *if that
were m'e//, i neve:/r w
ould'a done it) ,


i like the type that'll
always make me la
ug
h ev%en whe^n i can't
bre##athe (even though
it'd bu
rn and const
rict,
that, right the+re, wo[u
ld be h ea v)en).

i like the type that won't ob
s
e_ss over me as i obs@ess
ov$er the m;(wouldn't wann
a put 'em throu
gh that kin*da
m is e r      ,y.)
this is getting worse.
(honestly i wanted to make this sweet, but it just never happened)
Jamison Bell Feb 2022
So check this out.
I go to this bar one night.
Usual place I’d avoid because I just couldn’t imagine there’d be anything for me there.
I’m scanning the place like I’m secret service
And I see her
It was like my heart had seen a ghost.
I’m talking straight ****** and Shaggy a “gh gh gh gh ghost!”
Everything in me just came to a screeching halt.
And none of it was wearing a seat belt.
So it came rushing forward hitting me in the back of my head.
It wasn’t so much how she looked.
Her smile, her ***, none of that non-sense.
It was just her.
Save for every molecule in my body simultaneously exploding at the speed of light; nothing was going to stop me from meeting her.
As cringe as it reads in text as it does to hear it in person, it was magnetic.
I made no presumptions about her.
I didn’t need to.
Because from somewhere, from some point in time. I knew her.
Whether we died in a tragic gondola accident somewhere in the Alps back in the 60’s.
Or perhaps we were banging in a clay pit in Pompeii when Vesuvius erupted.
I don’t know.
The draw to know her, was, is, and will probably be the strongest force I’ve ever felt.
Every second I spent around her was what I imagine walking in space is like.
Just surrounded by starlight, breathlessly in awe.
My will didn’t survive that adventure,
and that’s ok.
I’ll be alright.
Would I go back?
Would I do it all again?
Does ****** want a ****** Snack?
i sometimes think the thunder is the sky raging
                                             for some unrequited passion
                                                      the­ li
                                                              ­      gh
                                                        ­  tn
                                                            ­          in
                                                    ­        g
is its showing
the gashes in its heart
                                                           ­                                                                 ­     bright shining silvery blood
                                                           ­                                               splattered across for all and sundry to see
but for no one to understand and feel
an ache unrecognized must be
so much heavier a cross to bear
                                                            ­                                                        with no one to nurse or heal or care
                                                            ­                                                              the­ sky must be lonely up there
all it can do is roar and thunder
acting out its anger
                                                   the moon and the stars just stare on
                                                    unblinking­ sentries keeping watch
                                                           ­        from too far

and when I think like that I feel my worries slip away
no longer afraid of the thunder and lightning
its just a poor hurt boy
crying his heart away

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   15.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
it the new year, and only into February have i finally returned to my modus operandi... which was? well... it was the pre-Christmas period in the supermarket, and 1 litre bottles of whiskey were on offer, marked down from £19 to £15^, so it was usually that, a bottle of coke, and a bottle of beer and walking home straight away... perching myself on the windowsill, watching youtube channels of uninspired people talking about being inspired... it was never going to work... i was bound to experience a writer's block... but as of today... it's back to my original "strategy"... (a) drinking expensive alcohol can be depressing, well, it actually is depressing... i don't mean drinking cocktails in some urban hot-spot... by expensive i mean something akin to Jim or Jack... that's expensive... in comparison to high commissioner, it is expensive... so having said that: it's the effect of alcohol in relation to the effect of alcohol in other people: that has to become expensive... a van gogh moment... say: writing a poem or "poem" (depending on the levels of your pedantry). (b) the modus operandi... going to a Sri Lankan offlice... buying three canned beers, a 70cl bottle of whiskey... and going for a walk with the beers... head clearing... and yes: rain or shine, winter or summer... out there... looking into suburban houses, with some people asleep, others still watching television... men at their roadworks posts... taxi drivers returning home... in general the motorway insomnia... it's good to return to my seemingly lost and forgotten ways.

^the most annoying thing about buying a computer in Poland for a mere £100 is that the keyboard isn't what it "should" be... i have no £ within shift+3... and the ditto marks are not at shift+2, but at ****+@... so yes, i have to copy+paste it from the public space of... the internet - and this is where computers become equivalent to a piano... sure, there's the black and white keys... by black i mean shift+.

it can begin with as little as,
well... it will quiete a lot to begin with...
bilingualism
       is more complex than stating
your polymath ability to learn
    7 languages... evidenly one is superior
to the other, in that bilingualism
can be regarded as something akin
to digging trenches...
     what i mean is that
psychiatric terms can be poetic,
   for example schizoid (split) phren (mind)
         is brimming with metaphors...
Brautigan, Burroughs, Bukowski...
      all of them were labelled as such...
i can't quiet understand it as anything
other than a metaphor,
     but in cases of genuine ordeal
with the symptoms, it's anything but that.
the American linguistic notation:
      [oz-moh-sis, os-]....
the British linguistic tradition:
                                 /ɒzˈməʊsɪs; ɒs-/ -
and this is my linguistic notation:
     \ o(h)-ßmo(h)-sis / -
    by the way... most denote the (h)
                        as '... i.e. o'-
   frankly... i like to laugh and sigh...
because?
                   well, it's what happens when
you originate with a language that has
diacritical marks, and inherit a language
where diacritical marks are completely absent...
   i and j do not really count...
   even though it's evident that i begins as ι...
   so it's there: foreced almost... with a diacritical
marking...
   oh yeah: i forgot to mention the word...
osmosis* -
                       hardly anyone says that word
with the first s being soft...
       hence what english did to the world
and globalised it, so unto english the world must
give an answer, and given that english
is a language written without clear,
educational distinctions, a blank canvas
in terms of diacritical markings...
   i guess we can start to see how we can write
english, once again, with a "world view"
incorporating as many deviant examples as possible...
   a bit like bird-watching, or what darwinism
is in reverse, as ****-centric and beyond this:
nothing... so that's a german example having
a say in this example...
            and it really begun simple...
   and this is how the slavs differ...
    žiž      (well, given the ι already has a mark)
        that ι already has a mark,
southern slavs differ from northen slavs
in that they couldn't mingle the too together...
  so-half a caron on the zzzz / snooze (ź)...
      or how lazily we call it sleep, or snoring...
imagine all that effort into the onomatopoeia
of a woof! or a meow! and indeed:
probably the wise choice to call it zzzzz and sleep...
and leave the snoring to the harp
   (snoring in Polish? hrapanie...
the verb? hrapać)...
              the southern slavs will not spot this,
and if that's the case that žiž could be written
by a Yugol... it wouldn't be written by a Pole...
             and given that ž = ź
it just shows you that the southern Slavs's excess
is a complete disrespect / automaton stance
            concerning i...
  the Russians are Greco-Slavs... don't know...
  if they were introduced to the Latin alphabet first
they wouldn't be a competing super-power
  with their pseudo-Grecian alphabet (Cyrillic) -
   and thank god... no good, no evil...
     it would be a bit too much...
        like th
     at question is usually asked:
why do bad things happen to good people?
well... why do good things happen to bad people?
back to ž = ź
   and there's Hegel... castrated with his i = i / i am i...
well, i can see that...
          plain and simple... no wonder Marxism came
from Hegel... dumber than a hammer...
  and the subsequent nailing in of nails into coffins...

no. 1
(evil bladder, evil bladder! hence the interludes...
but hey! it's a collage)

... and this promenade in the night and rain,
really has a kabbalistic beginning,
well... kabbalistic meaning: you've really become
ridiculous with your numerology -
numerology is the lazy way to upkeep mysticism...
  i can't see it as anything more than indolence...
i begun this meditation
with two letters...              z           &             ι
and that later gave me the variations
                         the Libra is heavier on the z side
i know, but that's for now...
i.e.
                                               ι
                                                     (i)
                              &

               z
(ž    
            ß     ź)

that's how it looks right now, it's good that
i didn't mention ż so far....
so unto the examples...
      a southern slav will write ži... (ž= ź)
but a northern slav will not...
    e.g. ziemia (earth)
         ziemniak (potato)
   ziarno (grain)
    zima (winter)...
             and only in this particular combination...
(this has to be more interesting than numerology,
i.e. not substituting letters for numbers
   i.e. 1 = a, j, s, / 2 = b, k, t / 3 = c, l, u
ergo 3,848 = hello using something called
a decimal base 10 arithmetic... i don't know)...
     as other diacritical acute insertions
    also prove to be the case, respecting
the enforced diacritical mark above the ι,
esp. when there's a squeeze...
    ściema (faking it)
                 nagość (nakedness)...
  this is language slowed down from its
supposed everyday quick usage...
               i'm looking for a word when
the squeezed snooze (ź) appears as it does...
       http://tinyurl.com/zvur8qb
well.. może = maybe (Goran)
   write morze = maybe, and you get
the orthographic nazis onto you...
                 it's an aesthetic that has transcended
aesthetic in that it has become as rigid
as a rubric, or a "universal" appreciation of
                  Michelangelo rather than a Damien Hirst
shark in a plastic aquarium...
     and given it's a diacritical mark on
the last possible alphabetical letter: how
hard if not now to find a suitable word?
       it's really hard to find a ź example
once you realise that z+i are so coupled...
   you only realise at first the alpha-
                  / beginning of conjuring an example
that doesn't really arrive...
       such is the ź example given that z+i are
so entwined...
                   i could easily write the caron z
   and the roman enforced diacritical marking over
iota easily... ži...
                           but i can't... the Pandora is
hovering above my head, and i can't think of
a word with ź in it... given that i'm only thinking
of an alpha- / beginning the word with a zi
                       that's equivalent to ź
should no i be present within such close proximity...
       zakon (monestary)
                 zagoń (round-up,
                           the pronoun is self-evident...
        contained within the word, and it's gender-neutral,
   and if the pronoun is not the bothersome bit...
then it's the latter instructions of: those sheep...
    aport! / fetch... you can say that word (zagoń)
in your sleep, and you wouldn't need to be in a place
where there are sheep, or sheep that need to be rounded-up).

interlude no. 2 - no comment.

      well...
  it's no mere accident that when i go on
this little walks with beer that i find the odd thing
lying on the pavement...
  today? a rain-soaked joanna cannon
book, the trouble with goats and sheep...
and yes, i finally found a Polish word that provides
an example of ź...
      before the enforced diacritical ι
                              the acute above the z disappears...
given zielony (green)...
              but after the enfroced diacritical mark
over i... acute symbol has a tendency to appear
like a necessitated after-tea mint...
     e.g. kraszewski's god's wrath, page 158
(ludowa swpółdzielnia widawniczna edition, 1973 a.d.)...
znaleźli - they found...
      zło - evil...
                  źli- evil ones...
                          and it is such a rarity to find!
  a bit like a narcissus flower in a field of wheat!
     or a jasmine concentrated to a perfume...
             whiffing about its airs against the tennis with
the wind...

i wish they might call this:
    against the cantos' fascination with the chinese
ideogram...
or... thanks for using emoticons...
   language had to retaliate against the :) and :(
                    hieroglymphs of the digital pyramid...

interlude no. 3 - still no comment

also known as the Libra and the pivot

                                               ι
                                                     (i)
                              Δ

               z
(ž    
            ß     ź)
  
   and yes _____________ the sea-saw...
humanism can really compete with the science,
if it get its act together...

    and since the Greeks already adopted
adding diacritical marks to their beautiful alphabet...
i wonder how θ will fare
   when i write the word thought (θought),
and subsequently write the word:
   weather....       oh **** on me! it's an acute θ!
that magically turns into a V!
   weaver...
                 and saying that: only one consonant
made it to a vowel status of a grapheme æ / œ...
first to come was ß... the grapheme of s and z...
   a bit of chemistry goes a long way... chiral
as a pair of siamese twins, those two are
(you can put on a cockney accent saying that
sentence, yes, you can, i say so)....
  well... it's complicated because you're not german
and german to you is like quasi-Zulu...
ß looks like β (beta)... but it's a grapheme...
an sz that never actually meet... or entwine
like a and e might in æ...
   which makes it very difficult to follow...
just like the grapheme i wish to invent for
       TH  
                         namely that it's akin to  PH...
φilosoφy.... θou(gh)t....
                        g(h)ost...
                 ­                                look how pretty
it looks though: the ****'s F doing here?
     this an **** or a a ******* or a happily
married couple, or what?
    Φ and Θ.... almost looks like a keyhole
with a key lodged in it, and then turned...
horizontal in... reaction of unlocking the lock
mediatory with Θ and then back out into Φ...
             i.e. Φ + I = Θ = Φ + I + ...an open door...

interlude no. 4: this Russian chic at uni really
loved the doors... we watched a movie together
about them... with val kilmer playing
the dead man key role...
  is that door enough for you honey?
                       you got the шock and ßakes?

and if i mention hekhalot rabatai?
or the talmud, or the sefer yetzirah,
                              the bahir and the zohar?
twelth century and thirteenth century rabbis...
      will i also hear of the two Adams
of Eden, the (alpeh) fffא and the (ayin) fff
                    alpeh is a tame ******, feminine,
the mystery is not in the siamese H
   of the tetragrammaton, but in the aleph and the ayin...
    clearly i can't write ayin down without
semite d'uh on the digital canvas...
           writin left to right doesn't do much
justice... unless i write ye י‎,                                                            
f­ff.
ffff   fff        ע                  י‎
...pfי‎                         ­                  י...
there... you should really look at
the behaviour of ayin in the digital form,
the ****** wont't budge! you have to tell him
of the yodh to get off his *** and
make way for a pregnant lady...
        and since this is the 21st century...
i'd like to say: i'd like to write
a pentagrammaton.... yep...
a pentragrammaton... the ayin is gay,
and alpeh is a heterosexual...
     but the pentragrammaton now concentrates
on vav - or a vw beetle... v = w = ł...
       that's the moment you realise
that western linguistic mentioned o' not as
o(h) but as ' = yod...
         bad move... it's no silent (y)...
obviously this can exist in a non-pentragrammatorn
relation...
                            עואי­

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