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Robin Carretti Jul 2018
This is not, a time to loosen up
Or nine to five job to give up
Just saddle up the power is in you
Five ladies cafe to dine at five and
drove_* the meter is running
(The Canadian Cup) team versus the
     Taxi Cup
He swooned you in your
Five dreamy but half heart sugars
Come on Baby bloomers
Let's see some boom!!

In your hips men will be men taking
frequent flyer trips temptation 1 2345
We need fewer digs one love teo reasons
World  345  heart flags
We don't have to cross our hearts
Perhaps tattoo heart legs no more strikes
Jumping Jack flash
What a rope in this isn't the Pope

Somehow we all get broke
To court her like your the lasso
stars cosmos hearts like Lassie
Never a change of subject how it
remains in your heart how it hit hard
to react but changed to five cards
Digging too long  lucky 777 like heaven
Heart digs

Oh! There

No, I am here
We are always  
numbers_ I only
have 5 minutes
No I phone have a heart
Oh! where is designed for me
Those five plates

Whats in between them

We are opening Live- Five
Strong heart to give the caring
The useful heart is never so daring
My gate* Girls are nail digging

Or losing add +

Our community
Heftier like Jupiter
Heart to build
the gravity
A big kiss hunch
of five roses

Your getting to bloom
but only have
5 extra movie parts
The front dress mermaid tail
Your heart delicate hands
opened up your emails
I think you hit the

Max to the million shot
No heart of gold
Only more leaders
Scrambling and digging
your fork
Mixing those egg beaters

Five men think they know
there women
like ten
Turn to five wrong
There it goes the lucky
five arguments

A plot beating
like a hot-shot
The French Baguette
Bread 9 to 5 firecracker
Five-carat baguette
wedding band in her safe
Heart digs to five hands
Heart neck guilty as a giraffe

The cafe house had only
5 cups left  they sold you out
Only Five Bed and breakfast
Do detailed with their Ladyfingers
But need more alone time
Be on time get sweet key lime
What is real-time so sublime

That rose- paper cut- origami
Sorcerer of five he was like the
cold cuts of big Sub Salami
Japanese sword samurai
What a Geronimo Oh! no
This wasn't a hot potato

Or Gizmo No-Go
Getting a shot for Polio
The gusto songs to the heart play
Maestro the Cosmo's
The five stars to heart his
Like a titanic ship but heroics

Five lunatics wedding horns ******
Five two timer Mario gamers
so demonic
DOMINO'S bed five students wed
We dug deeper get-up sleepy-head
Exposed cries location set
Network U- dig cups

Something lip curved
He misplaced my lips
What did he do in exchange
More stocks and hard stone rocks
Like frying pan egg
scrambled words

Crossed heart Rapper so believing
The Fox five sticking tacky glue
His CD Rose lying pants no clue
Painful pointed shoes need R&R
     Robin's *Responsibilities
       The Heart On Replay
The deeper you dig to restart

The healthy organically grown brain
Men on Pause I truly believe nature
takes its course
but another beat to go is that so?
And if so heart digs to five
Feel the good vibe in another tribe
Five times I had to wake you up
I am the love cure reminiscing

Giving me five reasons
Our beautiful change of
heart in season

Studying the fine art heart
Never refusing thats life
five-step to strive nothing

Robin shoutbox she getting
her point across
Either you're the worker or loner
The heart pleaser the boss
Your heart looks good
on your dress
Whether we win or deep mess
The good heart can change to
a bad start

Recharge your heart count to five
Venus- beauty moved on like a
pathologist digging over staying alive
The hearts what digs this is not the 9-5 workers we are talkers
and long settling in heart walkers come any join me we may actually be alive did I get a live one
Damian Murphy Aug 2018
Even the best laid plans go wrong,
The unexpected comes along.
Before you know it, suddenly,
You are in new territory.

When that happens what do you do?
Do you give up or see it through?
'Tis a decision you must make...
To give up or a risk to take.

You may decide to take a chance,
To fly by the seat of your pants,
You might stick with it, come what may,
Just let the chips fall where they may.

Or choose to play it safe you may,
Retreat to fight another day,
Decide the risk is just too great
With too much left to chance, to fate.

Perhaps it is a hunch, your gut,
The weighing up of ifs and buts
That helps you reach a decision
That which for you is the right one.

You and you alone have to choose
And whether you win or you lose,
Your reasoning to you is known,
The decision but yours to own.
She said those words
'Let's be friends'
If I never hear
those ******* words again
I swear to God
it would be too soon
Comical words
invoking cartoon
characters that are
kooky and dumb
Because that's where
these filthy words are from

You must take me for a wide-eyed naive
Or an escapee of the mentally insane
ward of a prison or "hospital"
or whatever politically correct term it's called

You can take your friendship
and shove it up your ***
I know,
I'm sorry
Such a statement has no class
It's crass
But I don't give a ****
I'm angry right now
For a moment
I had hope
You got back in somehow

I built such sturdy walls
grand and tall
Made you stand outside
Press that intercom button to call
Kept you at a distance
But time turns scar tissue dull
You smiled and you waited
Baited me into a lull

We'd hang and talk
You'd smile and laugh
Hours upon hours
the time would pass
So comfortable; So easy
Something others don't have
Thoughts and dreams start again
But Nope,
Sorry! Too bad!

A forgotten feeling
Also an ember burning deep
High hopes birth expectations
That you did not want to meet
'It's just complicated right now'
Some ******* that you say
Oh! Okay! That makes everything better now

You were just being honest
Saying how you felt
It was me with the problem
A hand of cards that were self dealt
All the work I had done
The counseling and the meds
Heart-to-heart talks
Many books I have read
Feeling so confident
but overconfident I was
Unaware of the noise
A teeth shattering buzz
Blindly I stood
with the answers there for me
Head in the sand
Look away; don't want to see

'Only fools love'
you said to me once
Thought I knew what you meant
Had an inkling or a hunch
But not a ******* clue
is the sad, sad truth
Your forked-tongue spit it's venom
Words used to sooth

Mask after mask
you pulled from your face
Never the truth
Confused in a daze
You grasped with tentacles
Ensnared with your web
Lies are your candy
I was endlessly fed

My mind a toy
Not anything more
My heart for your consumption
***** kept in a drawer
Rip me apart
Please tear me down
Your never-ending heartache
I'll choke in and drown

Under your foot
Under your thumb
An insect; A maggot
Piece of dirt; Lowly ****
What am I now?
What have I become?
What was I to begin with?
A child on the run
Running with fear
You made my heart run
Mouth running had your ear
My torture was your fun

Should I call you a '*****'?
Smear your name? Shout out '*****!'
Would that equal out the playing field?
Somehow even the score?
Playing games, put on pause
Maybe save for later
But there's no saving this time
Tend each need; I am your waiter
Forever I'll wait
so endlessly I am waiting
Madly love you
Yet for me, I am hating

Thunderous booms
The sky streaked with light in veins
War is raging all around us
and in the balance we remain
Here I remain
even though there's no balance
Must be insane
Have me committed to this mess

You are a jigsaw puzzle
with half completed pieces in my mind
The rest of it a jumble
The other pieces I can't find
The nervous dog who is confused
I follow your commands
Unfulfilled, I'm simply used
Didn't go the way I planned

Now to me you speak
as you tell me so much more
of the textbook cliche nonsense
Told a million times before
You feign heartfelt sincerity,
interest and concern
Who you care for is a short list
It's as if I'll never learn

There was a version that before
was living at one time I think
But nothing in this life is free
As rain pours down, in mud we sink
So proudly I strut and adorn
my stunning hand-made concrete shoes
The complimentary attire
fitting all the bad I choose

Now frozen here
as I am kept
unkempt in this very dark place
Place marker for my maker
Without a mark
An unmarked
Written: March 8, 2018

All rights reserved
I get a hunch and start writing something down,
Armageddon grudge starts fighting what’s coming around
It has its perks for what lurks in the rear-view, just hurts coz
Church has a curfew…a time to purge minds and hairdos…
My imagination is my friend, but my emancipation is not a trend
Nay, I listen to my intuition like the voice of God now,
Pray I glisten to fruition, when They hoist the Rod out!
Give it a hunch of happiness
See how gracefully
It blooms

Give it vibes of pain
See how carefully
It hides
Genre: Observational
Theme: Examined Life
Tommy Randell Oct 2016
Understanding's not a conscious thing
Some people take while others bring
Life is more than bells and rings
It's never perfect and it's never pure

Simplicity is a yellow beach
It's putting darkness out of reach
Life has more than pain to teach
Can be pushed away, can't be ignored

Pick your moment anyway you want
Throw down the dice or play the hunch
Loosing's more that not being in front
When the penny drops you'll know for sure

The Penny drops through perfect curves
It clings to hope like a song to words
It spins with longing, yearns to be heard
But time and tide cannot be stalled

Understanding's not a thing to own
Peace can live where nothing grows
Ice can shine as well as gold
Where things happen for no reason at all

Commitment is to light a fire
Inside your head to burn a while
Knowing you can't run and hide
When the Penny drops, Futures fall.

Tommy Randell 24th October 2016 02:14hrs
IC Feb 22
When you thought you're in the right bunch,
but no you're not.
When you thought it is the right hunch,
but no it's not.

When you treat them like jewels,
and you were just a rock.
When you were so little,
and they're high as ****

Do you have to stay when you know it hurts?
This will never happen if you just shut up.
Do you have to stay just to make it work?
This would never happen if you're not ****** up.
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
One dark day, a Troll in black
With snow-white hair and a hunch-back
Appeared before the public eye
Beneath a grey and pale sky

To tell them of their nation's fate;
Her goblin thralls would wipe the slate
And doom the kids of Fairyland
At all the other folks' demand!

Many of them, nodding, replied,
"Okay then, that's fair, we tried -
But oh, Miss Troll, answer us this,
To mention not would be remiss:"

"Many of the older folks
Who helped your cause with all their votes
Aren't (it troubles us to say)
Around to vote again today."

"So when you claim that Fairyland
United with your goblins stand,
Forgive us, but we're not so sure:
Your current plan seems so obscure."

"Thus, we ask you, Troll in black,
With your white hair and your hunch-back,
Could you give us one more try
To prove we want to say goodbye?"

To this, the Troll turned deathly pale,
Her legs did shake, her arms did flail,
And so she coughed from her black lungs,
"No, no, dears! You're far too young!"

So now, Fairyland sits and waits
For their fast-approaching fate
And old Miss Troll and all her crew
Can have their cake, and eat it too.
The price of my country's currency is plummeting, and I'm worried about my future.
Agree or disagree, the discussion of these topics is what makes them so important.
Tom Spencer Feb 2018
fence row
on the wire
and in the stubble
buzzards hunch
in a circle

Tom Spencer © 2018
MicMag Jul 2018
Alpacas aren't llamas they say
Though they won't give details away
But I've got a hunch
So I'll-pack-a lunch
Head out for field research today
On a llama limerick kick lately

Part 1:
Evan Stephens Mar 26
Sleep circles
with wide wings.
Pages vanish down the eye's well:

Napoleon burns Moscow,
French detectives fry onions,
Lorca dies in the greenest green.

Rain spits into the room
crooked, dark. I'm alone.
The gyre closes, soft as a net.

Dreams hunch on the furniture.
The mirrors broadcast
the Venetian blinds croaking

and rattling against the screen
like creamy swords
in enamel scabbards.

Book-addled eyelids
are rusting into blinks
of burling dusk.

Each dying thought
is a sleek Deco Bugatti
lead by a shining path

from teardrop headlamps
whose fingers pry the night
moments before tires

sing rubber to blue.
The rain gathers into serpents
in the channels of the floor.

Above you hangs
the fat black branch
of sleep's truest face.
Wade Redfearn Sep 2018
The first settlers to the area called the Lumber River Drowning Creek. The river got its name for its dark, swift-moving waters. In 1809, the North Carolina state legislature changed the name of Drowning Creek to the Lumber River. The headwaters are still referred to as Drowning Creek.

Three p.m. on a Sunday.
Anxiously hungry, I stay dry, out of the pool’s cold water,
taking the light, dripping into my pages.
A city with a white face blank as a bust
peers over my shoulder.
Wildflowers on the roads. Planes circle from west,
come down steeply and out of sight.
A pinkness rises in my breast and arms:
wet as the drowned, my eyes sting with sweat.
Over the useless chimneys a bank of cloud piles up.
There is something terrible in the sky, but it keeps breaking.
Another is dead. Fentanyl. Sister of a friend, rarely seen.
A hand reaches everywhere to pass over eyes and mouths.
A glowing wound opens in heaven.
A mirror out of doors draws a gyre of oak seeds no one watches,
in the clear pool now sunless and black as a cypress swamp.

Bitter water freezes the muscles and I am far from shore.
I paddle in the shallows, near the wooden jail.
The water reflects a taut rope,
feet hanging in the breeze singing mercy
at the site of the last public hanging in the state.
A part-white fugitive with an extorted confession,
loved by the poor, dumb enough to get himself captured,
lonely on this side of authority: a world he has never lived in
foisting itself on the world he has -
only now, to steal his drunken life, then gone again.

1871 - Henderson Oxendine, one of the notorious gang of outlaws who for some time have infested Robeson County, N. C., committing ****** and robbery, and otherwise setting defiance to the laws, was hung at Lumberton, on Friday last in the presence of a large assemblage. His execution took place a very few days after his conviction, and his death occurred almost without a struggle.

Today, the town square collapses as if scorched
by the whiskey he drank that morning to still himself,
folds itself up like Amazing Grace is finished.
A plinth is laid
in the shadow of his feet, sticky with pine,
here where the water sickens with roots.
Where the canoe overturned. Where the broken oar floated and fell.
Where the snake lives, and teethes on bark,
waiting for another uncle.

Where the tobacco waves near drying barns rusted like horseshoes
and cotton studs the ground like the cropped hair of the buried.
Where schoolchildren take the afternoon
to trim the kudzu growing between the bodies of slaves.
Where appetite is met with flood and fat
and a clinic for the heart.
Where barges took chips of tar to port,
for money that no one ever saw.

Tar sticks the heel but isn’t courage.
Tar seals the hulls -
binds the planks -
builds the road.
Tar, fiery on the tongue, heavy as bad blood in the family -
dead to glue the dead together to secure the living.
Tar on the roofs, pouring heat.
Tar is a dark brown or black viscous liquid of hydrocarbons and free carbon,
obtained from a wide variety of organic materials
through destructive distillation.
Tar in the lungs will one day go as hard as a five-cent candy.

Liberty Food Mart
Cheapest Prices on Cigarettes
Parliament $22.50/carton
Marlboro $27.50/carton

The white-bibbed slaughterhouse Hmong hunch down the steps
of an old school bus with no air conditioner,
rush into the cool of the supermarket.
They pick clean the vegetables, flee with woven bags bulging.
What were they promised?
Air conditioning.
And what did they receive?
Chickenshit on the wind; a dead river they can't understand
with a name it gained from killing.

A man was flung onto a fencepost and died in a front yard down the street.
A girl with a grudge in her eyes slipped a razorblade from her teeth and ended recess.
I once saw an Indian murdered for stealing a twelve-foot ladder.
The red line indicating heart disease grows higher and higher.
The red line indicating cardiovascular mortality grows higher and higher.
The red line indicating motor vehicle deaths grows higher and higher.
I burn with the desire to leave.

The stories make us full baskets of dark. No death troubles me.
Not the girl's blood, inert, tickled by opiates,
not the masked arson of the law;
not the smell of drywall as it rots,
or the door of the safe falling from its hinges,
or the chassis of cars, airborne over the rise by the planetarium,
three classmates plunging wide-eyed in the river’s icy arc –
absent from prom, still struggling to free themselves from their seatbelts -
the gunsmoke at the home invasion,
the tenement bisected by flood,
the cattle lowing, gelded
by agriculture students on a field trip.

The air contains skin and mud.
The galvanized barns, long empty, cough up
their dust of rotten feed, dry tobacco.
Men kneel in the tilled rows,
to pick up nails off the ground
still splashed with the blood of their makers.

You Never Sausage a Place
(You’re Always a ****** at Pedro’s!)
South of the Border – Fireworks, Motel & Rides
Exit 9: 10mi.

Drunkards in Dickies will tell you the roads are straight enough
that the drive home will not bend away from them.
Look in the woods to see by lamplight
two girls filling each other's mouths with smoke.
Hear a friendly command:
boys loosening a tire, stuck in the gut of a dog.
Turn on the radio between towns of two thousand
and hear the tiny voice of an AM preacher,
sharing the airwaves of country dark
with some chords plucked from a guitar.
Taste this water thick with tannin
and tell me that trees do not feel pain.
I would be a mausoleum for these thousands
if I only had the room.

I sealed myself against the flood.
Bodies knock against my eaves:
a clutch of cats drowned in a crawlspace,
an old woman bereft with a vase of pennies,
her dead son in her living room costumed as the black Jesus,
the ***** oil of a Chinese restaurant
dancing on top of black water.
A flow gauge spins its tin wheel
endlessly above the bloated dead,
and I will pretend not to be sick at dinner.

Misery now, a struggle ahead for Robeson County after flooding from Hurricane Matthew
After years of things leaving Robeson County – manufacturing plants, jobs, payrolls, people – something finally came in, and what was it but more misery?

I said a prayer to the city:
make me a figure in a figure,
solvent, owed and owing.
Take my jute sacks of wristbones,
my sheaves and sheaves of fealty,
the smell of the forest from my feet.
Weigh me only by my purse.
A slim woman with a college degree,
a rented room without the black wings
of palmetto roaches fleeing the damp:
I saw the calm white towers and subscribed.
No ingrate, I saved a space for the lost.
They filled it once, twice, and kept on,
eating greasy flesh straight from the bone,
craning their heads to ask a prayer for them instead.

Downtown later in the easy dark,
three college boys in foam cowboy hats shout in poor Spanish.
They press into the night and the night presses into them.
They will go home when they have to.
Under the bridge lit in violet,
a folding chair is draped in a ***** blanket.
A grubby pair of tennis shoes lay beneath, no feet inside.
Iced tea seeps from a chewed cup.
I pass a bar lit like Christmas.
A mute and pretty face full of indoor light
makes a promise I see through a window.
I pay obscene rents to find out if it is true,
in this nation tied together with gallows-rope,
thumbing its codex of virtues.
Considering this just recently got rejected and I'm free to publish it, and also considering that the town this poem describes is subject once again to a deluge whose damage promises to be worse than before, it seemed like a suitable time to post it. If you've enjoyed it, please think about making a small donation to the North Carolina Disaster Relief Fund at the URL below:
You drive me nuts
You drive me crazy
I hate your guts
But you’re my baby

I choked you once
You called me daddy
I’m the one you trust
Because you’re batty

I’m on the cusp
But I’m too lazy
I pack a punch
That’ll make you dizzy

Call it a hunch
Your hair is wavy
You knocked me out
You tried to save me

You fed me lunch
Something with gravy
It had a crunch
But it was tasty

You took a razor
And tried to shave me
You cut my throat
And nearly killed me

You’re on the bed
You look so ****
Despite your looks
Your eyes are deadly

You’ve got the goods
My mind is hazy
You’re looking good
I’m condescending

Your mouth is filth
So controversially
You come from wealth
You have a bounty

Gonna beat that ***
Don’t you dare me
The bullets fly
When things get hairy

The end is near
You still can’t change me
I’ll fight and groan
It makes me manly

You hate my guts
But you love me
Gave you an inch
But you took fifty

Now I’m out of time
Don’t contradict me
Now hurry up
It’s time, we’re leaving
Talia Jul 2018
from the start
I should've saw your mischievous heart
Like the girl who talked to you when we were eating lunch
"But, you said you had a crush on me." she exclaimed, yet I didn't have a hunch.

you're.. a player.

I should've saw any sign.
but slowly the shards of painful memories pass by that I find
you took two girls to the homecoming dance,
but before that, we had our first romance
why did I trust you to be loyal
maybe because I was blinded with love and was treated royal
there was too many signs...
Like the messages I saw on your phone when I checked the time,
that person calling you the same loving names you wanted me to call you?
her name, "Alaina?"
You convinced me it was just a "role-play" and I didn't see any red flags?
I just wanted to believe you loved me
the girl's name, Alaina
...who is Alaina?
From the very start I checked the time on your phone. I asked, "who's Alaina?"
"she's just a friend."
as months go by, you start calling me Alaina more and more.
you didn't even notice.
I strongly believe she wasn't just a friend the entire time.
bulletcookie Apr 7
In a bracing wind of a wilderness pass
chickadees arc over this hunch-back hill
in close pursuit of morning clouds
that hug the pointing pines in flight

where tree line marks heaven from earth
silence staked in dissonant landscape
fields of stone, ascendant flowers
clinging lichen etched on rock's face

here moisture seeps as solvent
dissolving everything into watercolor streams
rushing to rivers of temporary sand bars
banks high as looming forest canopy

this path that leads from leaf to leaf
and no depth left un-plumbed
no height or chasm strangely met
will stem this force of "unfathomable wildness"

Aaron LaLux Oct 2018
I’m definitely Matrixed in,
feel like every girlfriend is a program,
feel like every experience is a dream,
feel like I don’t feel anything at all now,

maybe I’m a machine,
maybe I’m not a human being,
maybe I’m more cyborg than Sapien,
maybe I’m more electron than neuron,

and maybe none of this matters,

maybe we’re cogs in the vehicle,
maybe we’re abnormal cyborgs,
more flamboyant than incog,
more insignificant and important,

and maybe I’m special,
and maybe I do stand out more than most,
but at the end of the day I don’t think it matters,
because when it’s all said and done everything is just dust,

no justice,
it’s justice,
feeling a bit awkward and bazaar,
suspecting that they spiked the fruit punch,

and I don’t know for sure that none of this is real,
but I do have a pretty strong hunch,

want fresh squeezed not pre-made,
want a spontaneous feeling not an automated response,
want to stay here with you for as long as I can,
but I think that might be impossible because I’m probably already gone,

so please say something real or say nothing at all,
constantly trying to find ways to reaffirm our existence,
that’s why I still go out socialize and initiate relationships,
even though every time I do it all feels sterile cliche and pre-rehearsed,  

but maybe that’s because we’re living in a Matrix,

I’m definitely Matrixed in,
feel like every girlfriend is a program,
feel like every experience is a dream,
feel like I don’t feel anything at all now…

∆ LaLux ∆
Bo Tansky Jun 18
Standing naked before your creation
Too close to the ragged and shadowy edge
Where Metaphor and What the Hell is it All For
Made a ceremonial pledge

Not to Tell

“Embracing the edge is the only sensible thing to do.
Cliff hangers are not for cereal killers
Who take their cereal without a crunch.
Captain, you don’t play well with others.
I’m going on a hunch.”

“I have no idea what the hell your talking about, replied What the Hell is it All For” You talk in riddles and followed him out the door.
Why are you like this?
I am just sitting here at the corner
Searching for a hunch to indite
But you stare at me
Like I’m commiting a crime.

Why am I like this?
You are just walking to your destination
But surprised with the presence of me
Strangeface – but really just surprised
And I already think you hate me.

Why are we like this?
Our eyes both meet but we don’t smile
We look down to that lifeless thing
Which claims to be smart
And as it lights up
We smile, yes we smile
But neither to you nor I.

And so you walk
While I stare at this blank art
But our minds
Our minds are still questioning
of the moment we meet
I still don’t know
And you’re still unsure
of why are we like this?

Why are we like this?
Instead of stare
Why can’t we stop by
To say hi or perhaps – why?
Instead of the beaming screen
that gets a smile
Why can’t the eyes we meet
That surely carve a reply?

Why are we like this?
We hear the swift train passes by
We hear the lady calls for somebody like us
But why are we like from two different worlds
Or – are we just shy as time flies
Or – are we just like this
But why?
We were assigned to write a poem about a concrete jungle, in Kuala Lumpur Central. Basically, just sitting at random spots in the building, look around and find inspiration to write.

I found it a bit uncomfortable when people around us gave this weird stare as they saw us sitting on the floor and holding a pen and a book. So... I guess it's obvious how did this come up right? XD
van Young Nov 2018
returning from a social meeting
lightly stepping on a deserted street
there is no streetlight to guide my feet

though bundled up tight for a cold night
my face feels the crispy wind is making the skin flake
as an intense blowing shear takes a bite
wasn't this the short cut i used to take
i tell myself there is nothing to fear
but my monkey mind is pumping hard
asking how i got here

a winged shadow appeared when i stopped
i nearly peed my pants doing a side step dance
but reason held out as it was just a concrete molding
in the moon's trance
from a building on the right - up top

i hear a single, solitary, solo drum in the distance
maybe someone to help identify my last mindless turn
lightly stepping on this deserted street
attention is paid to the increasing beat
is the brain asking for faster feet
then when i focus
it's my own **** heartbeat
i tell myself there is nothing to fear
but my monkey mind is amping and freaking
asking how i got here

a dislogded, free minded, loudly rolling can
rattled my lunch
breathe breathe breathe
follow that black and grey two toned cat
surely it has a hunch

three echoing shots
followed by a gut level scream
now i am completely locked in
is this a dream

to reconnect and find my way home
i vow to never ever again
forget my phone

it seems much colder
as i turn another corner
following the sounds of the sirens
i tell myself there is nothing to fear
but my monkey mind is hurting now
asking where are these environs

blood was everywhere
the street, the windows, the walls
first responders were in slow motion
but at least they answered the call
i tell myself there is nothing to fear
but my monkey mind is out of control
asking how i got here
Clyde Dec 2018
To make yourself insignificant
is simple; make
your voice even quitter than the squeaks of a mouse
lower your gaze from the heavens to the ground
and focus on the black soil staining your boots
hunch your shoulders and arch your back
as you carry the hidden weight of your intelligence

Slower your pace to that of boredom
rather than purpose
wear cloths that fit you too big
to hide your size and strength
shoes too small
if you can afford any at all
pull your hoodie up
to hide your face from passerby
and face down, not forward
gaze fixed, lost, broken.

Do not stroke the ego of your friends
offer little to no support
for in their recompense,
they will not save you.

Don't reach out to those you need
for your need will become a drug to them
and don't accept the help of those who offer
for that will become a tally of re-payment
turn your back on any proposal of aid
no matter how enticing
they may be

Withdraw within yourself, within your own thoughts
do not show weakness, even when you're forgotten
hide behind pride, ego
immaturity; a soul not stained by life's lessons
keep the mask on as you slowly
become insignificant, unfazed
and follow others
like sheep to their death
and yours

if you ever wish to lead
it is simple
turn your back on your gods
for they never cared for you
and they will never follow you

Instead, simply say
'I will no longer chase
it is time that I switched pace
instead I will lead
who dares to follow me and my steed?'

see who follows
if any at all.
wordvango Dec 2018
Made it out when I was in made it in when I had no chance to get out made it over when so tired I couldn't climb made believe when I couldn't face reality made up stories to hide my lying made for heaven god called him when she was dying made a pact with a demon once on a hunch just trying anything made a child made my ex-my child's mother stop loving me made her come back and made myself stop wanting her then made a roof for strays four two one legged whatever made food when hunger growled growled back at my stomach when cupboards bare made paintings I wished approached beauty the way the sky soared and forests stood mere characatures mocking nature made hymns songs love once made tears when she left me alone made this just to remember how I've made it this far
Made mad by the journey and glad I saw everything
poesuer Jan 8
his exhausted hunch, his purpling heart, his bullet shocked head
he picks the shells off the floor and kisses them
he throws them in the air and dances with them
he lies with them like a great beast would

he lost his life first day of the somme;
his medals worth no more than their weight

he cracks the bullets open like a rat underfoot
and he creates, he paints and he sings
and he could have really been something if God had saved him

— The End —