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1
Flood-Tide below me! I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face
   to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious
   you are to me!
On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning
   home, are more curious to me than you suppose,
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more
   to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.

2
The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of the
   day,
The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme, myself disintegrated, every
   one disintegrated yet part of the scheme,
The similitudes of the past and those of the future,
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on
   the walk in the street and the passage over the river,
The current rushing so swiftly and swimming with me far away,
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them,
The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others.

Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to
   shore,
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide,
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the
   heights of Brooklyn to the south and east,
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half
   an hour high,
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others
   will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the
   falling-back to the sea of the ebb-tide.

3
It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not,
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many
   generations hence,
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt,
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd,
Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the
   bright flow, I was refresh’d,
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift
   current, I stood yet was hurried,
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the
   thick-stemm’d pipes of steamboats, I look’d.

I too many and many a time cross’d the river of old,
Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air
   floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left
   the rest in strong shadow,
Saw the slow-wheeling circles and the gradual edging toward the
   south,
Saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look’d at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of my
   head in the sunlit water,
Look’d on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward,
Look’d on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,
Look’d toward the lower bay to notice the vessels arriving,
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at
   anchor,
The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars,
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender
   serpentine pennants,
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their
   pilothouses,

The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the
   wheels,
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset,
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the
   frolic-some crests and glistening,
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the
   granite storehouses by the docks,
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank’d on
   each side by the barges, the hay-boat, the belated lighter,
On the neighboring shore the fires from the foundry chimneys burning
   high and glaringly into the night,
Casting their flicker of black contrasted with wild red and yellow
   light over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of
   streets.

4
These and all else were to me the same as they are to you,
I loved well those cities, loved well the stately and rapid river,
The men and women I saw were all near to me,
Others the same-others who look back on me because I look’d forward
   to them,
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.)

5
What is it then between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?

Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails
   not,
I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine,
I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the
   waters around it,
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me,
In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon
   me,
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,
I too had receiv’d identity by my body,
That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I
   should be of my body.

6
It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw its patches down upon me also,

The best I had done seem’d to me blank and suspicious,
My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality
   meagre?
Nor is it you alone who know what it is to be evil,
I am he who knew what it was to be evil,
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
Blabb’d, blush’d, resented, lied, stole, grudg’d,
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant,
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me.
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not
   wanting,

Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these
   wanting,
Was one with the rest, the days and haps of the rest,
Was call’d by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as
   they saw me approaching or passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of
   their flesh against me as I sat,
Saw many I loved in the street or ferry-boat or public assembly, yet
   never told them a word,
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing,
   sleeping,
Play’d the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we
   like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.

7
Closer yet I approach you,
What thought you have of me now, I had as much of you—I laid in my
   stores in advance,
I consider’d long and seriously of you before you were born.

Who was to know what should come home to me?
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Who knows, for all the distance, but I am as good as looking at you
   now, for all you cannot see me?

8
Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than
   mast-hemm’d Manhattan?
River and sunset and scallop-edg’d waves of flood-tide?
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the
   twilight, and the belated lighter?

What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with
   voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as
   approach?
What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that
   looks in my face?
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you?

We understand then do we not?
What I promis’d without mentioning it, have you not accepted?
What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not
   accomplish is accomplish’d, is it not?

9
Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or the
   men and women generations after me!
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! stand up, beautiful hills of
   Brooklyn!
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house or street or public
   assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my
   nighest name!
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or
   actress!
Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one
   makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be
   looking upon you;
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet
   haste with the hasting current;
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in
   the air;
Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it till all
   downcast eyes have time to take it from you!
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any
   one’s head, in the sunlit water!
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail’d
   schooners, sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower’d at sunset!
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at
   nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses!

Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are,
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul,
About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung our divinest
   aromas,
Thrive, cities—bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and
   sufficient rivers,
Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual,
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting.

You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers,
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate
   henceforward,
Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves
   from us,
We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently
   within us,
We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also,
You furnish your parts toward eternity,
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.
Fah Oct 2013
Afternoon light cascades onto ocean skin ,
momentarily turning the water a fine gold shimmer -
light dances merrily , shifting as the plane turns southwards - Equator barrier broken

Welcome to the Southern Hemisphere !

Cloud islands mirror
ground islands .

Puff ***** create architectural feats not known to humanity.  
Flowing with the wind , creating substance out of thin air
the ultimate magicians trick ,
Above , thin wisps of stratus clouds brushstrokes seamless onto sky glaringly iridescent and soft all at once.....hey look! ..... way out in the distance , towering cumulus on their way to becoming cumulonimbus thunderstorms , steady growth of stacks even out when a cold air bank has been reached....the sky writes love letters to the earth

in his cloud postcard snapshots , yet - it is a serenade from them both

Earth offers the waters , the dust needed for the molecules to bind together -  sky transmutes them in his belly - with shifting winds and earth curvature the color palate spectrum .

the offspring , playing in between two worlds
belonging to no one arriving and departing , shape shifters

whole landscapes whirling in amongst themselves , remain unseen,  save for the few souls in tin machines hurtling along in the presence of natures finest high sky views.

Azure crisscrossed with opaque whites and rapidly turning dusk eggplant purples , wild and free form mingle with voluptuous orange streams of liquid light , hiding in the shadows the ‘day’ comes to an end ...

Does natures delicate hands sculpt the static water molecules knowing that there is beauty there ,


i have yet to fathom how such a gracious glory goes un noticed by many ,

luckily , for us , as we destroy every other aspect of earths eco system - the bold sky still remains ,

In the city doldrums and slums high rises
or slums on ground
or mansion view

the sky still bears dow the art works of sunset and rise ,
of cloud shifters and shapers , movers and shakers
still offers a connection to natures heart to remind us , of the magnificence that is our world. That is our home,

although - i have been told - under the surface or in this case , above the surface , here too has been attacked , pumping deadly toxic fumes into water ways
and lung ways

knowing all the whilst that this will do more harm than good

and here is where i , still struggle - i’m writing this on the plane -

a carbon dioxide emitting , fossil fuel guzzling , corporate ******* of a business .

but i need to get places , and go long distances in the shortest amount of time possible ..
land's moniker
mulls utmost care

     Kalinga

branding the ox
      of men with glaringly

  immaculate chiaroscuro,
atop hills flourishing
with the fruits emblazoning
  reticence.

  chase angel-ward, the synopsis
  of meaningfulness,
    jagged, indelible accoutrement
    akin to the brand of
         chaste heritage,

   galvanizing this epitaph
     with aesthetic nativity,
  gallant mambabatok - fill my bones with the ache of your past,
   carve in me what the rippling
    shrill of air has toppled
      in the highlands

  you have us shaking the blood
    of this archipelago like boughs
   breaking free from water's ebb,
   frenzied by the river-warm
    serpentine embellishment
   the strike of the thorns
    mints in our untouched bodies!

   altogether in this numerous hike
   we go in pursuit, hunting the
   nibble from flesh to bone,
    revealing the rebel, body
       to soul.
To Whang Od, the mambabatok.
Odi Feb 2013
Men who look like ferris wheels
every color representing different aspects of their personality

The first three words don't have to be beautiful
they just have to make sense
like connecting dots on paper

men who love with their fists
and hate with their mouths
who once were boys taking things apart
like remote controls their own fathers used to beat     Obedience into their small bodies.  Left them with a fury tattooed across their hearts
Just to give them the challenge of putting themselves back together

They buy their wive's flowers after
a four day bruise isn't so glaringly purple anymore
not so accusing-
kiss her broken ribs
and tell their children midnight stories

children trained as mood detectors
human robots
know when to shutup
speak when you are spoken to*

Men who speak like cutting boards
Every slice of the knives in their toungues leave
hollow aching missing parts
just to teach their children that not all
things can be put together once taken apart

whose daughter glues together the parts of old telephones
to spite the missing pieces
so every welt he beats into her bones
she sings herself unbroken
until she stands robust and imperfect
there are holes in her armour
but she holds it together

with her fathers fists.
Born of fear, fueled by anger
This resentment I feel for you
Creates abscesses on my soul
Poison filled sacs of toxic hate which
Rise like bile in my gullet
To choke my spirit
Much like the dead alcoholic
Who's aspirated on
His own ***** and phlegm
A bloated purple carcass
Devoid of autonomy of spirit
Self-obsession robs me
Of conscious truth
Fear - that your indictments
Against me will be brought
Before the grand jury of
The universe and I will be found lacking
Resentment - at you for not becoming
A willing patron of
My brand of truth
Anger - at me for my own failings
Brought to light
Secrets I can no longer hide
While my defects are
Glaringly obvious to
One as enlightened as
You purport to be
Did not your path to
Spiritual perfection
Contain the blueprint to
Correct your vain sins of glory and
Indignant self-deception?
Is not your lofty status
Grand enough to look upon
My humiliated soul with
Something less than contempt?
Emmy Dec 2014
It's so wonderful to feel mountains of emotions so moving in oneself
It creates valleys and volcanic eruptions
That warm the body so thoroughly you believe you may melt
Into a puddle of overwhelming love and joy
How beautiful it is
Like golden sunshine, warming the spots in between the tree branches Full of leaves in late spring
It eradicates the ashen hue in your veins with lavish reds
How warming to the soul to feel a tributary of trust
So deeply embedded in the wholeness of a love
Shared between two people
A strong sense of wanting to better yourself blossoms inside
True love bears vines and trees of fruit in the soul, mind, and body
It paints the dulling colors of the world so glaringly gasping to the eye
Filling one with colors
And out of all the feeling kinds
Color feeling is the loveliest one
Timothy Kenda Sep 2013
A black heart as cold as the oceans below
A broken heart left to wither and slow
Did I consider it? The consequence?
Of trying but failing to reach for the sky?
I don't think I ever understood the implications
Of learning the answer to the question why
When I learned the answer my lust for life was killed
My shallow sense of hopelessness was filled
Set back every time and forced to rebuild
My idealism was riddled with holes of misconception
Lies just keep coming from inexplicable directions
And I'm glaringly aware of my every imperfection
Why do I bother to struggle through my days?
Like a rat without a clue I'm lost in the maze
When I hold the map I always choose the wrong ways
And I am too old to think that this is just a phase
This is never ending; this is considered real
There is no room for happiness in what you should feel
I don't think I can live like this
I can't live with the memories of the friends I miss
I can't deal with all of my past transgressions
God doesn't love me because I don't do confessions
I'm not important so I don't get exceptions
I just sink down into the depths of depression
How many times am I expected to fight back?
When do you throw in the towel against the attack?
The attack that forms the very basis of life
A life that is filled with so much terror and strife
Every day beats me down; it's harder to get back up every time
It becomes impossible to convince myself that I'm fine
So my heart turns black like coal from the mines
As my soul finds shelter in a simple configuration of lines
Soon this will be all that's left of me
I will never live up to the person I want to be
Some might label my loss a catastrophe
Remember I told you from the beginning that I was a mess?
From the day you first saw me you knew I was depressed
And we shared and understanding that if I were to go
It would be no ones fault but my own
Please don't try to stop it now
I can't handle what this world has in store
But I promise I will be by your side forever
And you wont have to deal with me anymore
Im sorry if you are saddened by the initial shock
I love you so much and I'll miss you a lot
But the only permanent way out of this mess
The only way to stop feeling so much more less
Is to hang it up at the end of a rope
Until the end separates the pain from my ghost
Out of everyone I hope you understand the most
Because you and I were so close
I don't want to leave you but I've got to go
I can't do this again my heart is so low
Please let me make the journey in peace
A journey with a destination so incredibly sweet
A destination defined by never ending sleep
I want to die, dear, and we both know it was in the cards
We both knew my future was always marred
Don't miss me too much; I won't leave you side
I'll always be with you long after I've died
And on the day that it happens I hope you won't cry
I will be so content to forever just lie
I dont deserve anything i have any way
I dont deserve the promise of another day
I dont deserve friends and i dont deserve you
So I think that dying is the best thing to do
Killing myself will be easy
Leaving you will be harder than you know
But I'm finally beaten down and broken
I'm sorry but I've got to go
Even if you never notice the glaringly obvious
those things don't go away.

Like Tuesday,
I try to sleep on, but Monday has gone and left in its wake,
one more day to break me
one more day that makes it so glaringly obvious that time doesn't die it just lays there in waiting to catch me,

tick
tock
knock, knock,
I know who's there.

funny thing about time is,
we leave it behind to move on and then find it got here before us.

If only we could start at the end of it
work our way back through it
that would be so
much easier,

but we can't
So we plod on
Tuesday will be gone
and that's glaringly
obvious
to me.

Dear Santa
at Christmas you'll be
as jolly as jolly
but we have to work
for a living
so be less jolly when giving
and we'll get along
real fine.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2015
Waiting my turn to pay
For the items we need today;
The beans and the chili
And some picklelilli
And costly imported pate.

A headline that says glaringly
What some starlet does daringly.
What I see before my eyes
A big edition full of lies
They put here to tempt me daringly.

Where childbirth oddities
Are viewed as commodities
To put onto the front page
Soon, to become all the rage.
And two headed goats
Get the kind of public note
That should be reserved
For something more deserved.

We all know these stories
Are anecdotal glories
Made up by the magazines;
The tawdriest ever seen
And they don’t mind getting gory.
It’s yellow journalism
A sort of print format ****
Intended for the kind of fool
Who never finished school
And falls for jingoism.

Where childbirth oddities
Are views as commodities
To put onto the front page
Soon, to become all the rage.
And two headed goats
Get the kind of public note
That should be reserved
For something more deserved.

Brent Kincaid
4/18/2015
Fah Sep 2013
This life aint'  love song whilst i march on blindly....

Each secretion of dissections interrogations are on...
on my LIVING soul

man ,

if only you knew ,


i slip like a hidden seamstress
into the alcoves of plenty, the catacomb of mind

and sit and wait untill

the seductress is ready -
her lesions
are lessons
learnt in TIME

she is the mistress of the dark
she needs no title but if you prefer you can call her Q.

this is because , yes , not only is she an insane nerd

she is also -

the softest heart i ever ( dang ) - had the chance to grace ,

Mother for those in need ,
Brother to those indeed
Lover to the oh so lucky few ,

Who she might like to point out, are just as glaringly brilliant too...

so , it's simple.

The layers of time are VERY FLEXIBLE
we need not notion ,
to the motions
at futures unclear - well
but see glimpses ..

- of , past's rejuvenation's born again into different actions
conclusions ..0...

the butterfly effect are the ripples : figment metaphor ( metaphysicians apply inside)
of wings - we are all ANGELS of a sort...

but i like to call angels = experts
they seem to know what's what...
note: the first line is from the song 'Black Eyes' - By Radical Face
kudos to Harlon Rivers AND Brycie

top , notch explorers

yo - a toast - to all of you who are sticking till the very end,
this - over here - the words - this is radio waves

coastin
ya'll

where you at?
Julia Locy Nov 2016
Every day we move through life. In my experience not many people pay attention to others. Being self centered and self obsessed. Not considering that each person has their own individual battles they are fighting through. Life is a rollercoaster. There is disappointment. There are fall outs or disagreements. There are glaringly happy situations. But what I find ******* is that some people can't respect others or their feelings. No respect for their personal endeavors. I refuse to conform and be someones foot stool for all of their possible petty issues. I will listen. I will love. I will give people the respect they deserve. But don't ask me to sacrifice myself for someones amusement. I don't deserve to be treated as if I am insignificant. I am a living, breathing, and vivacious person. I will not be dulled by the entitlement of others.
Kristoffer Motil Mar 2016
i saw you in the moon

it was comforting. most people attribute their
       (eternity)
special someone to the sun. you were never that for me.
you were many countless, irreplaceable, unknown qualities
that i wanted. none of them were glaringly obvious.
besides, i am never in the light.
i am always in the dark.
       (the deep and lovely dark)
i am never lost there. i never needed a star to guide me home –
i was home already.
what i wanted
       (craved)
was the steady presence to remind me
that i was not alone.
the moon is always there, you know – even when you can’t see it.
so, i look up as night falls
       (that black curtain sweeping down, down)
and hope you’re somewhere
       (happy)
nearby, looking at that round rock in the blackness,
outshining all the rest.
i know it’s not a star, but i make a wish anyway:
your name
       (a prayer, whispered)
followed by three little words.
For Alyssia.
Daniel Ospina Jan 2017
There comes the golden trumpet
With its boorish tune.
It claims that brimstone is falling
From the heavens, threatening
To mar all that is pure and white.
All are spellbound by his naked words
Stripped from the usual ethereal facade.
Promise of prosperity rings in their ears,
Since the land of milk and honey has run dry.
But wait…
Look at the hunger in his eyes,
A fervent lust for power and glory.
Look at his thin skin, orange and tempered,
Burning like coal in a blazing furnace.
Look at the cohort he assembled,
Corpulent swine from the swamp.
Surely, he has the mob in mind.
Throw chocolate to keep them quiet.
Put on a show to divert attention.
For the truth is glaringly clear,
We have been played for fools.

When the smoke subsides…
A repentant dog with its tail between its legs, ears back, comes out of the rubble.
A collection of saliva sits on the ground.
The substance heaped in a short little mound.
Attention drawn from all around.
As the boy sits in clothes from the lost and found.

        Covered in *****
                    A pant soaked burden
A question asked during learnin’
                                                  The answer being Martin Van Buren

                   Told he shouldn’t be in school
              By those glaringly cruel.
          Constantly made to seem the fool.
Leading to an increase in the pouring drool.

                       His eyes sit at an angle.
              Bulging out as if enduring a quick strangle.
       Caught in the shine of a young girl’s bangle.
He twists his hair into a locked tangle.

The girl bats an eye.
                                 His mouth goes dry.

A boy flicks a small paper ball.
     It sits in the air to pivot and stall.
                                Lands inaccurately out in the hall
                                              The teacher seizes it bracing up against the wall.

Unfolds the note,
        And reads what he wrote.

It held a cruel remark.
About handicap spaces and keeping him for the sake of a quick park.

The boy didn’t wish he were dead.
                Nor was he agonized by the insult recently said.
       The remark went right over his head,
    He was stuck thinking about how sympathy only comes to those who have bled.
Perveiz Ali Apr 2016
Et tu Brute

You came in, with a smile to die for,
A smile that melted hearts and united.
Together we seemed to be on a mission,
To attain a level of individual perfection.
Our boat started to row in smooth tandem,
An undulating ride on a sea of happiness.
The breezes seemed to sing in chorus,
The birds sang with the joy of spring.
On cloud nine I was dancing a jig,
Happiness enveloped me all around.

Then came the trials and stormy gales,
Tensions growing as walls were erected.
Faults stood out glaringly, a sore sight.
No compromise reached as gut reactions thrived,
Gold and granite were not differentiated.
Grouses kept hidden till roots rotted,
Then severance with heated sharp blade.
Shocked am I at the vitriol spewed,
Et Tu Brute? Then die Caesar no point in living!

© Perveiz Ali
Zy Marquiez Oct 2010
Ceremonial bell tolls reverberate in suspense
While a flock of ravens sweep the murky skies
The mental state of the land is glaringly tense
As the caws of the crows create eerie lullabies

Unearthly howls reverberate through the Earth
Ceaselessly piercing the ears of all those living
This dark eve will cast forth a very sadistic birth
Of the creatures that run all of Hell unforgiving

Zombies will seize the bodies of the deceased
Ghouls will torment all lost souls as examples
Werewolves will help more souls be released
As Vampires do nosh each being as sampled

A New Dark Era on Earth is now soon to begin
With the Creatures of Darkness harvesting Sin
Redshift Jan 2014
glaringly white and rather rotund
a label peeling off his back
my friend from The Bad Summer
sits on my bookshelf.

moose says that this is
The Good Winter
and that no one will hurt me now
but moose doesn't yet know
who really does all the hurting
if he did, he would never leave me
on my own
Pearson Bolt Aug 2015
there is a nascent impulse that
echoes in every heartbeat
living within our blood
to regard one another with the new eyes
science has built for each of us
to see the world independently
unaligned with ignorant ideology
untainted by nefarious nationality
but nurtured rather on the premise that reality
is the faculty of the mentally complete
who realize if we don't pause in our
crusade to exterminate each other we will
ultimately deplete what it is that makes us

sentient beings possessed with the will to
determine our own future
divorced from the vestiges of arbitrary
authority we might still muster the courage
to reject this putrid dichotomy that inundates
every aspect of our humanity with utter
lies and disjointed hypocrisies

we dare feign innocence when
blood saturates our hands
from the drones bombing
Yemen to the murdered children in Pakistan
our politicians are manufacturing new enemies
with every shot that rings out above
blood-soaked foreign lands
our taxes are their supply
endless war is their demand

it's written in our hallowed declaration
of independence which—of
late—seems groundless and impotent
that each of us are intrinsically
entitled to life and liberty
and the pursuit of happiness and that
it is not merely our right but our
obligation to abolish this
representative republic so destructive
to those ends

anarchy is our next great adventure

after all it seems glaringly clear to
me that there are few distinguishable
differences between the eighteenth century
monarchy and our present day corporate oligarchy
the interests of the people are mitigated to
pitched elections between two indistinguishable
political parties that infuse our world not with
democracy but with hegemony
they're content to watch the world rot

this is not the land of the free
it hasn't been since bison roamed
across midwestern plains and
Native Americans communed with
the Mother we all share
everything changed when white
puritans fleeing persecution
spread religion like a festering ulcer oozing
poison into the zeitgeist psyche
a hive-mind mentality that fosters
brainlessness and stifles free inquiry
gods gold and glory

we need to learn to disobey before
it's too late to erase the mistakes of
the apathetic elite who've apprehended
our liberty and co-opted our ingenuity
for projects feeding capitalist insanity

we must rekindle the insurrectionary spirit of
the creative, dedicated minority
who rose up in the 50's and 60's and
fought not with fists and guns
but with words and deeds
against war and poverty and
white supremacist patriarchy

nurture the embers and fan the flames
of the Black Lives Matter
organizers swarming the stages of
defunct politicians like Hillary Clinton
and Bernie Sanders who propagate
the status quo
pour gasoline on the fires raging
in the camps of Occupy
in Oakland and Wall St.
our modern day dissidents serve time in federal
penitentiaries for blowing the whistle
languishing in exile half-a-world away
they wear Guy Fawkes masks and hack
anonymously from the deep web
exposing state secrets and war crimes
sometimes they look a lot like you and
you'd best believe they look like me

no longer can we trust self-styled
leaders of the free world
if we labor to cultivate our
own communities that vaunt
authenticity above authority and
integrity instead of inanity
perhaps then we might recognize that
the impetus rests within the crux
of self-acceptance
and we all will say in unison
it starts with me
S Smoothie Mar 2014
Thoughts drip from my mind as
globulous glassy fluids of emotion.

The curtains drawn,
the veil of love lifted and
bare truths litter the ground
at my feet.

Starry dreamlike flickers
each turned into glaring suns of acceptance;
the loss confounds me.

Amoebas shifting, pushing.
Meniscus pulls back each rush of liquid mess
my heart squeezes through new eyes
in its feeble attempt to fill the void
so glaringly obvious now
with something, anything.

Swallowed whole,
All sense of knowing lost.
The fabric of my undestanding
torn from under me.

As I fall
Betrayal nudges the corners of realisation
but its too loud an echo to make sense of.

Not ready yet.

As the liquid marbles
load up and fire their last
passionate pleas for compassion
the reality knocks intently
I push to keep it out
A long and useless fight.

Amoeba of pain Takes me over.

Senseless,
nothing left to try.
I brace;
waiting for the tears to run dry...
Restivo Jun 2010
katie is stuck on a blank word document that
is not glaringly white but invitingly blue!
·
katie is watching a cute thing brushing his teeth a half hour’s
walk but a longer time’s preparation and mental strength away.
·
katie is fighting tears for no good reason and would like to fall asleep.
·
katie is wondering where this newfound malaise has come from, and would
like to tell it: I know you are fighting for strength but I will fight for my freedom!
·
katie adores her cute thing’s pixilated mug flashing across the screen.
·
katie is absolutely dreading her inevitable trip home
at some point during the next week and a bit.
·
katie is angry at her *** drive for disappearing on her so gradually
that she didn’t really notice it was gone until it was too late!
·
katie is unsure about the future and thinks that being
psychic might be a really big help with planning her life.
·
katie is not sure what’s going to happen next year, but does
know that it will include more yarn and fresh vegetables.
·
katie is unsure of her relationship status.
·
katie would like to sleep now and forever.
·
KATIE IS AFRAID OF HURTING PEOPLE.
·
katie is never going to start working today.
- march 2009
Alexis Cook Jan 2014
You infuriate me. 
There. I said it. 
I want you to disappear. 
But you won't. 
And somehow I just can't seem to make you. 
You're in my photos.
You're still trampling uninvited through my thoughts. 
There are still traces of you in my bed. 
And sometimes if I fall too far into my memories I can still feel your body pressed against mine. 
These are the parts of you that linger. 
They are the parts that have stuck to me. 
They have worked themselves into my puzzle. 
But to my dismay, those are not all of the pieces to your puzzle. 
There are gaping holes and backwards parts. 
There are those shadows that you so carefully hid... the ones that I so carelessly fell into. 
They are the ones that take me down and thrash me about. 
And somehow I still find myself trying to fit us together. 
But some parts of that puzzle would never fit. 
Leaving our faults all too glaringly lit. 
And when this all comes to it's inevitable end, I'll welcome the horribly empty feeling of being right.
amanda cooper Oct 2011
she smiled,
a secret tucked into her right dimple.
her vision glaringly white once again.
oh she won't tell.
not this time.
blacking out,
and the sweat,
and that sheer adrenaline,
gave her something to live for.
gave her something to feel alive.
enough to feel sick,
but god did sick feel good.
and when everyone
is crying no,
she knows she wants
to say yes.
because rebellion and
anarchy really sets
a fire in her veins.
10/8/11.
Susan O'Reilly May 2013
Standing here lost
pride, what cost?
greeted with frost
looks glaringly crossed

Forgiveness
no, stubborness
feeling powerful
no awful

I never take what’s
not given willingly
my own moral code
righteousness spilling

Do I now feel bolder
no, just a little colder
I could have lay on his shoulder
but my heart as hard as a boulder

I stand here alone and weep
probably tonight, no sleep
I’m feeling like a creep
looking at myself, not a peep
Zombee Aug 2014
i
finely found the courtesy
to
read a word of Poetry;
even though it only left me
questioning the Meaning
of the
feeling that it Founded,
endowingly inClining me
to
climb the highest Mountain:
loudly it inSpired me.








writing is my Dowry,
reading is the Marriage
that i
cherish at the merit of
disparaging Diaries.


"i am just a Parrot;  
a
parently we share the very
arrogance n carelessness
of
barreling Pirates."


i am just a Sparrow;
rowing over galleries
of
shallow hailing Peril..
..Paralyzed.


"i am just a Shadowing,
Shattering glass."










gallantly we Gather;
"glaringly Gradual."
happily we Harrow.
"inherently Hollow."










powers of eXistence:
symbolisms Tower over
flowers of Ivory.
"i am a Shower".


hours of Shadow;
over-cast horizons
like the
rising of Talos.
"Talos was a GIANT."


i am a just a Cane;
able to be Slain;
david and goLiath.
"i am leViathan."


i am just an Angel.
"April"......May.






Copyright Jesse James Adams
"i can assure you i
mean you no Harm."


who Are you?


"Who?..
..Who is but the form
following the function of What..
..and What i am is a
man in a Mask."


i can See that.


"ofCourse you can.
im not questioning your
powers of obserVation;  im
merely remarking upon the
paradox of asking a Masked man:
who..he Is."


- V
Crystal June Dec 2016
We don't mention the monsters in the closet.
We don't talk to our imaginary friends.
Just because we don't acknowledge what we shouldn't,
Doesn't mean that they were never really there.

Keep it to yourself,
Reality is now.
Keep it to yourself,
For creativity is the modern day insanity.

Don't believe in things that aren't allowed to exist.
Even your own two eyes can lie sometimes.
Am I allowed to exist?
Can you believe in me?
Do you believe in me, baby?

We don't mention the monsters in the closet.
We don't talk to our imaginary friends.
Just because we don't acknowledge what we shouldn't,
Doesn't mean that they were never really there.

What have you seen?
What part of your soul did you shut down today?
Don't you think it's more insane to ignore what is glaringly true
Than to feign a logical existence?

There's more to the picture,
Some missing piece to the puzzle of reality.
Growing up is growing old.
Don't die with your childhood.

Keep it to yourself,
Reality is now.
Keep it to yourself,
For creativity is the modern day insanity.
I'm not quite sure if this is a song or a poem -- you decide.
Andrej Barovic Mar 2021
Again, woefully awoken
In this bed, with heart broken
A fading love has left a token
That lies heavy on the soul
And of it, I am the source
Curs'd with sadness and remorse
Starring glaringly into the walls
Reminiscing the times of old
I cannot help but weep
To into love’s madness slip
Pray God to let me her keep
Thinking: "Son thou thy love hast sold."
Entrap’d within that thought
I like any other would’ve ought
Say: "Th’ final battle is to be fought
On the heav'nly fields of gold"
And on those fields gleaming
Stands she brightly seeming
And as the stars godly beaming
Divine light upon my stones
Though there be nought but night
Perpetual and of devilish might
And only a daemon in my sight
"‘Tis all but fantasy," I am told
A lying wretch I cry out
And find myself in endless drought
Stuck inside a world of doubt
Was there truly a time before?
Is my mind too far astray
Have I truly lost my way?
Will, I ever again see the day
Where her lips I can behold?
We tend to be self-destructive
And for what do we owe that to?
For whom and what reasons,
Do we rip these parts of ourselves,
Trying to piece it in the oddest of places, when so glaringly obvious
that they don't belong?

We cry endless oceans of tears
Drowning in them, bizarrely,
For our own indulgence! But
at the same time, we're
thrashing in the currents,
Praying for dry land while
also surrendering all hope.
We're all honestly just trying to survive another day, no?
Holly Nicole Apr 2017
I never thought I'd be the one
I'd always seen as less than.
Living a life society
Commercializes as beautiful,
But a young girl sees as
Flawed and directionless;
The way I go about everything.

Yet here I find myself,
Pulled by the undertow toward my fate
One sip, one slip at a time.
Grabbed too quickly with a lurking subtly
Of fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist
So hard I couldn't feel myself
Falling in to them.

I didn't see myself being this one,
Driving home when the light nearly peeks
On the eastern side of my windshield.
Shaking so hard I can barely breathe
Knowing you said things you didn't mean
Only because of the drinks-
And begging myself to believe that.

Sometimes I shake away the good things
Simply because they are good,
And I've felt so much good
I want to know what bad is.
The truth my wandering eyes escape
Seems glaringly obvious in the daylight-
The bad is not good, it is wretched.

Still, I'm at this place
That only I've brought myself to.
Standing on the borders of capabilities,
Yet unable to cross in either direction.
Toward knowing deterioration,
Or a pure sense of empty accomplishment
Neither of which pulls me.

It seems I'll walk the tightrope
For a little while longer,
Lest my gravitational fate
Allow my free-fall to end in a landing.
Dark violet Aug 2014
black are my wings dark as night produce a fake smile not worth the fight
black are the days lurking behind no golden sun rays glaringly blind
black are the thoughts swirling round in my head cant connect the dots between the good and the bad
black is the world pitch dark outside monsters are roaming nowhere to hide
black are the shackles binding me desperately searching for the key as i continue fighting forevermore as i drown in the dark behind a black prison door
MoonChild Jul 2013
You sang me a song
and then took it back,
Held me like a fragile bird
then let me go.
It's cold here
in the sun by myself,
glaringly,blindingly,beautiful,
This bird knows not how to fly
and wants to go home...
Susan O'Reilly Apr 2013
Standing here lost
pride, what cost?
greeted with frost
looks glaringly crossed

Forgiveness
no, stubborness
feeling powerful
no awful

I never take what’s
not given willingly
my own moral code
righteousness spilling

Do I now feel bolder
no, just a little colder
I could have lay on his shoulder
but my heart as hard as a boulder

I stand here alone and weep
probably tonight, no sleep
I’m feeling like a creep
looking at myself, not a peep
Cara Sep 2014
I know the sound of your
body. Sloughing down
into my mattress you
lay. Your tougne catches
with slurred burrs. I have
kept a collection, and tonights
is most definitely worthy.

The words
"I am a bad Mother" echo
down my spine in utter
disgust. I want to hit you.
Your first born is married to
a thieving ******. Your second
works at a pool shop. And I,
just lost a baby. That I didn't
want anyways.

Glaringly, in your mind,
these are mirror images
of your SHAME. Set punctuation
marks on all of your mistakes.
"I am a bad Mother."
Because you can not tell
your friends so proudly
just what we have become.
When they recite the
graduation ceremony
of their children to you,
you mumble down into
yourself with shame. You
have no competive reply.
You lose.

"I am a bad Mother."
I want to throw my
head back and laugh.
You are. Cutting jokes,
brutal rebukes, judging
glares. Crying on our
shoulders because we are not
what you wanted. We are
too shameful and we must
carry that weight.

I assure you, you are perfect.
Tell you we will be okay, just
wait. Fight through your
protests, until you lull off
quietly, frowning in your
sleep. Later, when I lay my head
onto my boyfriends chest,
he says "I love you." When I
doubt him, when I desperately
fight with him to prove it to
me. When I realize I can not love
him as well as he deserves, because
I am too obsessed with self hate.
When I cry hysterically, because
he can not take it anymore.

You ask me
"don't you think you're
taking this a little too far?"
And I know
I will be a bad mother too.

— The End —