Akira Chinen Jul 7
Something don't feel right
something is coming down
something going on below
something...

has all gone wrong
and the bomb is about to blow
mankind went after nature
and thought he won the race
but the verdict coming in is
that we're all headed
for death row

now we all are wearing
masks of ignorance
pretending we didn't know
it was gamble every time
we picked between two evils
to lead us down
our long descent

we like to blame the snake
for all the fruit we poison
but we knew all along
we were sleeping
with the devil
while dressing up like sheep

ba ba the witch is dead
don't you remember
we bunt her for our sins
and ate all of her children
because we feared
they were descendants
of the wolf

yet we still think
we hold the blessing
of the glory of some god
as if our acts of treason
against the higher power
have gone unnoticed

our hands may be clasped
in prayer
but behind the curtain
we're watching war
fist fuck mother nature
like a whore

imaginary lines divide us
from one another
as we volunteer to spill
each others blood
until the oceans overflow
with all our spoiled milk

the coastline is moving in
and Noah can't build an ark
big enough for our ego

we're going to have to start
believing in evolution
because we're going to need
some gills
and hope Atlantis is kinder
to us than we have been
to each other
Joshua Nai Jul 14
People of cotton minds.
Implanted with chips of different sizes.
Shaken and stirred is what makes their thoughts...our thoughts??
Floating around in defiance of truth.
Floating around with uncouth language.

"I Don't Care"
That's what you write of fountain pens of sugar-coated darkness.

Floating around in an abstract, broken glass world. A world of a glass maze.
You think that by closing your eyes you can see better.
Open up.
At least then you can see the pain the world.
At least then you can see the problems of the human heart.
At least you can see the shattered glass on the floor.
At least you can learn how to love.

A loveless life is such a loss.
Such a misery of a life.
Without love. There is no life.

Floating around in fluff and wool.
Obliviously in destructive symphony.
Floating around once in a while.
To avoid the problems of the soul...
To avoid the problems of the heart, the world. . .
Hus J May 16
A third down my life
Assuming living till 75 or so
I stood with pride
Waving profusely towards the younger me
Vulnerable age
Anxiously lost

Yet,
I seek for your salvation and comfort
So Brave, Silly and Bold
Even in great fear you step out for the unknown

Applause for your courage
Appreciate your sincerity
Adore your ignorance

Mostly
Being Awkward with yourself
Avoiding intimidation with the world

Used to loath the sight of humans
Endless introductions
Just drained the helpless soul

A third down the road
Accepting new faces
Enjoying small talks

Occasionally misplaced myself as well

Still,
I Am become a statement to hold
At ease with my presence
At the stage when I starting to appreciate past and present me.
Nikki No Love Jul 10
Within the shadow of a false icon,
Which hangs over me like fallen titans,
The ones who in the darkness of ignorance wore capes and flew,
But now wear maniacal grins and snarl to.
The same person who used to make you want to say live,
Now only force you to to spell it backwards and with yourself become more combative.

He says he misses me,
But that would make three,
Me, mom and The Monster,
He says "straighten your postue"
I miss the days I could look past your hypocrisies,
Back when I could look at your  and think "these are the right policies "
In my time of need,
You can't seem to see,
Your voice make me bleed,
You're whose killing me

To be stuck in a house, but not a home,
Trapped inside not a shrine, but a tomb,
Imprisoned by the voice that used to be that of ideology and hope,
Which is now the voice of the hate that hangs me like a rope,
The voice that tears my mind in two,
One side screaming "you are wrong," and I should be rejecting you,
The other side creeping and deafaningly whispers I am the infection, adieu.
This is a poem about my dad..I know a lot of people feel like this..hope it helps someone. Also I think this is my longest poem yet.
Dare to live!
Stop insisting on chasing after death.
Stop trying to die!

Quit the grand illusion.
You shall never die!

Grow your wings and fly to the mountaintop
of your world. Breathe stars.

Bravely go alone. Only you can do this.

Regularly in your day--exercise conviction,
visualize and take in
golden, fibrous threads
of starlight, of sunlight

take them in through the nostrils.

It is nothing less than soul's power-fuel.

Inhale slowly and experience
the gentle music of love's fire,
as flames would pull up
a chimney stack, up pipes of ovens.

Faith builds with such breath practice.

Greed getting cooked away.
Anger melting.
Ignorance surrendering
to ways of knowing.

Transformations to flowers.
To gratitude.

To generosities
you may choose to deliver,
equally to all beings.

Prepare that your purpose
shall speak to you.

Breathe starlight.

Are you surprised
that you feel no heat?

Your unique timelessness
awaits your recognition.
_

valiant hero, I so respect you
salute you in your hard-earned triumph
and in this time of brilliant victory
pray that history does protect you

from the slings of the small-minded
trifled few of withered heart
of backward focused ignorance
by groundless hatred fully blinded

so I proudly shout, well done
your gallant stand for hope and justice
a battle centuries in the waging
with soulful dignity -- finally won

I beseech the gods who raise up men
to grasp the reins and lead their people
grant that this one find the wisdom
the strength to lead us home again

_


rob kistner © 2008
This was written in a time when hope was breaking like a sunrise across our land.
I read it today and ooenly cried.
How did such deep darkness engulf us so easily.
I pray there is a person of vision out there somewhere who is becoming daily, fed up with this sick shit. Someone to vanquish this darkness.
To drive this devil back to his gilded hell.
Delivered delinquent,
Verified vandal,
Fellow felonious monk.

I tried.

Beaten and bloody at Gator's dockside,
Dead and born again on St.Luke's table...
Able
Not willing to do it anymore.
So little worth fighting for.
And I can
Write love poems
With the best of them
But I choose to keep it bleak.
Write what you know,
Speak the truth,
Seek nothing.

Everyone I see is dying.
Happiness eludes me,
Those who feel it
Seem like something less...

Ignorance is bliss.
and i remember going out in london,
seeking bloc party, and a fan-b -
or fanny... or sycophancy in practice...
snogging a finnish girl
who did the shadow work for the white
stripes, donning a eisernes kreuz
t-shirt, feeling like: well...
this could work... but it didn't...
ended up in upper-side of what was,
what is, what if of london...
cradling an ex-girlfriend on a bean
bag,
while our hosts did cocaine
below us...
     and i can only remedy myself,
now, with the memory,
  as vivid as a holocaust denier...
    shaking...
              petrified shaking,
but wholly imbedded by a trust...
              she wasn't something akin
to a size-difference fetish of
   a reverted teddy-bear / pillow,
in my arms...
   standing an astouding 6ft...
                        indian and trans-irish
roots...
                 (one antidote to identity
politico? fuck it... spice it up
with terms like afro-saxons)...
                               her shaking...

semi-epileptic,
   but what a sensation, lodged into
a mind that has become purely
memoria cameo theatre...
what am i getting at?

ah!

    the slack boys get playing video games...
hell, i play video games while taking
a shit, on the throne of thrones,
but when i'm mobile?
closed eyes, sitting on a folded leg
on a window-sill,
   eyes, closed, ears armed with
a thumping sound akin to static-x,
"watching" a moo-v...
                did i eat any beef before
the mad cow disease broke down
the blind train of journalism?
    so... i have aspects of a mad cow
disease in me?!
             be and only be:
a relentless motherfucker...

  but boys getting the slack for their
cognitive geography...
            
     but...

    a girl obsessing disney movies,
with her critique?
     apparently the world of boys
isn't colourful enough,
   or: too grey...
              well... we have the noir range...
but before that blossoms,
it's taken down, and has a psychiatric
institution impose its...

wait... porn addiction?
   ever try to alleviate that sort of addiction
by, actually buying a porno mag.,
from a shop, and not even blushing?
there are alternatives to psychiatry -
i think the slur comes along
the rubric of:            wh     o      r        e:
oh... that fading french hark
within the straitjacket of for...

               huh? not a fork...
               boys are stupid for playing
video games,
  but girls are a o.k. doing disney cartoon
critiques...
    or that story of assorting a pyramid
but not an extending rectangle hierarchy...
        
boys stop playing video games,
girls stop having a fetish for idealistic
cartoons...
                  fair enough?

oh i'm pissed...
                   because how can you
grind the one, but not observe the other?
cartoon movies
are video games what
girl is to boy:
                    replica -
                                counter-mimic.

yet... i can still only remember her
shaking body, left, in the bosom
of my embrace...
        like i might love a porno star...
with... the coincidence of:
not allowing a knowledge of
a past...

               it's not that ignorance
is bliss... certain types of ignorance...
simply do not hurt...

                and we woke up in the top
floor (there were only two to begin with)
of the werehouse,
   and with the sunrise, we parted...

she having children, i having the burden
of too many poems -
             the irrational reality of
inverted claustrophobia continually
raping a blank white pixel space
         with my maggoty wordings...
                  
a porno addiction?
1. go into a shop and buy a mag.
2. watch videos of girls masturbating
3. watch videos of girls
     giving critique of YA novels
4. suck a lemon in the morning
   after a night of drinking?
5. consider the implanted
  impetus within the confines
of a circumcision?
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