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"imposes" poems
This little man that I know with money in his sockets and routine in his pockets has self proclaimed that he is a tight *** When I envision a *** such as this, I imagine a bundle -- of securely aggregated, perfectly sharpened number two pencils. The businessman just shy of adulthood and too tired to remember –even the beginning of his of disclosure, denied his struggle to acclimate a multifarious lifestyle, appropriately suggested in the form of a triangle, and a circle, both of which embody polar opposing adaptations of humanistic routine. The two shapes: The circle, denies the break in motion by imposing a constant cycle of diligent compression, there is no room for pause only steady flow and relentless drive. This influence of life impression slows down the heart, body, and soul while speeding up time. This particular commitment accommodates the dry colorless beings that embrace and accept boxed imprisonment. Traditionally, the triangle denotes rhythmic patterns that elevate and drop to a point in which imposes a healthy reflective pause: progression, reflection, balance. As stated, as a provincial approach, a regular triangle flat on its base, peaking at the top represents a healthy, solid life routine. In contrast, the triangle can be flipped upside-down introducing an entirely new dynamic, composed of flat-lined monotony, tapered off to a regressed realm of destruction, regret and disorder. Despite the uniqueness of the standard triangle model to the man in question, it is important to compare the negative reflection, for it applies to the entirety of this investigation. We used to be lovers, he and I. We shared my giant pillow-top that I bought on the black market for a meager two-hundred fifty. -- A mere steal at that rate. We occasionally exchanged ideas, mainly about ethical concerns related to globalization and the environment. I attempted to give him a cooking lesson once, but that failed, indefinitely. The bust was not my doing, but simply, a great disinterest on his part; or better yet an inability of not being better than me at something. Everything has gotten so crowded.
0
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 1:17 AM UTC
something that happens.
This little man that I know with money in his sockets and routine in his pockets has self proclaimed that he is a tight *** When I envision a *** such as this, I imagine a bundle -- of securely aggregated, perfectly sharpened number two pencils. The businessman just shy of adulthood and too tired to remember –even the beginning of his of disclosure, denied his struggle to acclimate a multifarious lifestyle, appropriately suggested in the form of a triangle, and a circle, both of which embody polar opposing adaptations of humanistic routine. The two shapes: The circle, denies the break in motion by imposing a constant cycle of diligent compression, there is no room for pause only steady flow and relentless drive. This influence of life impression slows down the heart, body, and soul while speeding up time. This particular commitment accommodates the dry colorless beings that embrace and accept boxed imprisonment. Traditionally, the triangle denotes rhythmic patterns that elevate and drop to a point in which imposes a healthy reflective pause: progression, reflection, balance. As stated, as a provincial approach, a regular triangle flat on its base, peaking at the top represents a healthy, solid life routine. In contrast, the triangle can be flipped upside-down introducing an entirely new dynamic, composed of flat-lined monotony, tapered off to a regressed realm of destruction, regret and disorder. Despite the uniqueness of the standard triangle model to the man in question, it is important to compare the negative reflection, for it applies to the entirety of this investigation. We used to be lovers, he and I. We shared my giant pillow-top that I bought on the black market for a meager two-hundred fifty. -- A mere steal at that rate. We occasionally exchanged ideas, mainly about ethical concerns related to globalization and the environment. I attempted to give him a cooking lesson once, but that failed, indefinitely. The bust was not my doing, but simply, a great disinterest on his part; or better yet an inability of not being better than me at something. Everything has gotten so crowded.
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7
I'm the raindrops to your roses I can drown you or make you grow, and my shower always imposes on the direction that you want to go. I seem to only fall on to you praying to assist you to become what you want to be, but I'm banished when the skies turn blue are you hoping that I will continue raining? There's some things no one will ever understand like why we carry a torch so long that it goes and burns our hand, and it seems like nothing in this world goes as planned but raindrops and roses live together within the land. I'm the raindrops to your roses I only try to add to your perfection, and when a window opens; a door closes but take my droplets as the purest affection. I hope to never weigh your petals down I want to assist in making each a wing, but I can keep pouring until we all drown but roses are seasonal with only summer and spring. There's some things no one will ever understand like why we give away the things so highly in demand, and even when ripped apart; together we still band, 'cause raindrops and roses live forever within the land. I'm the raindrops to your roses I only try to give you strength, but alone you smell sweet to all the noses but only my eyes are blind to your thorn's length. I only come to show you your own beauty, though I doubt you'd ever see that strong shade of red. Whereas I'm transparent; you can see right through me sometimes I wish I could be the sun to your roses instead.
0
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 4:04 AM UTC
Raindrops & Roses
Timbeck Tyu,  Timbeck Tyu Great City Timbeck Tyu Coloured Walls Nicely Painted Arts and Drawing Everywhere Artifacts on every crossing People's representatives feel like king Magnificient buildings here and there Bridges and flyover everywhere Toll tax booth here and there Statues standing everywhere Banners hanging here and there Hoardings, posters everywhere Malls and Hotels here and there Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere Citizens always in Crisis Struggling with poverty Economical condition bad Politicians has gone mad Nationalism in Slogans Here and there hooligans Real nationalist are renamed They are called anti-nationals Corruption is on the peak You need license to speak Crowd imposes censorship System respects the crowd Mouse catches the Crow Everything on the show Real news not covered Real issues are untouched Fake news are implanted Press and Media on sale Laws are being twisted Burden of proof shifted Culprits are honoured Innocents are hanged Farmers are in debts Their families are starving They can't even pay their loans Neither Principal nor interest They either commit suicide or land in jail for not paying loans Hospital competing with hotels Doctors busy in making money Patients treatment is on Sale Get cured only if you pay Stray Animals on the rise What you can do if you cry? Black money in circulation White money is called pollution Rapes, Murders and theft on rise Law and order is on the papers Lawyers are with Politicians Politicians are with Criminals Criminals are with the Police Police is with the Capitalists Only the God is with the victims That too only, if he really exists Population almost exploding Environment full of pollution Fights and quarrels here and there Religion and faith always on stake Caste and Classes everywhere Race and Religion everywhere Common people struggling for food Saints consuming wine and drugs Rallies and protests uprising The system has turned deaf Goddess of law weeping and bleeding Judges busy in process law and rules Timbeck Tyu,  Timbeck Tyu Such a great city Timbeck Tyu Have you liked Timbeck Tyu? Want to live in Timbeck Tyu? If you liked, Timbeck Tyu Want to live in Timbeck Tyu First apply for passport in your country Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late Visa's are limited so take care
0
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
Great City
Timbeck Tyu,  Timbeck Tyu Great City Timbeck Tyu Coloured Walls Nicely Painted Arts and Drawing Everywhere Artifacts on every crossing People's representatives feel like king Magnificient buildings here and there Bridges and flyover everywhere Toll tax booth here and there Statues standing everywhere Banners hanging here and there Hoardings, posters everywhere Malls and Hotels here and there Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere Citizens always in Crisis Struggling with poverty Economical condition bad Politicians has gone mad Nationalism in Slogans Here and there hooligans Real nationalist are renamed They are called anti-nationals Corruption is on the peak You need license to speak Crowd imposes censorship System respects the crowd Mouse catches the Crow Everything on the show Real news not covered Real issues are untouched Fake news are implanted Press and Media on sale Laws are being twisted Burden of proof shifted Culprits are honoured Innocents are hanged Farmers are in debts Their families are starving They can't even pay their loans Neither Principal nor interest They either commit suicide or land in jail for not paying loans Hospital competing with hotels Doctors busy in making money Patients treatment is on Sale Get cured only if you pay Stray Animals on the rise What you can do if you cry? Black money in circulation White money is called pollution Rapes, Murders and theft on rise Law and order is on the papers Lawyers are with Politicians Politicians are with Criminals Criminals are with the Police Police is with the Capitalists Only the God is with the victims That too only, if he really exists Population almost exploding Environment full of pollution Fights and quarrels here and there Religion and faith always on stake Caste and Classes everywhere Race and Religion everywhere Common people struggling for food Saints consuming wine and drugs Rallies and protests uprising The system has turned deaf Goddess of law weeping and bleeding Judges busy in process law and rules Timbeck Tyu,  Timbeck Tyu Such a great city Timbeck Tyu Have you liked Timbeck Tyu? Want to live in Timbeck Tyu? If you liked, Timbeck Tyu Want to live in Timbeck Tyu First apply for passport in your country Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late Visa's are limited so take care
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80
You find yourself from discovering the things you are not. you are not what they call you. you are what you call yourself. you are not the things you failed at. you are the lessons you learn from your experiences. you are not the brands you wear. you are the things you read to inform yourself. you are not the circumstances you were born into. you are what you make of your circumstances. you are not depression, anxiety or eating disorder. you are the every inch of the smile you wear despite that struggle. you are not the people who left you behind. you are the person you choose to become when they are gone. you are not the ideals society imposes upon you. you are the truth you honor despite what they tell you. you are not the rubble they discarded. you are the empire you built from the ruins they left behind.
0
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
Finding yourself.
Opened the blind and saw right away The sun had too much energy for me today So I closed the blind again And I haven't asked if she's mad Because I know she is I can still see her enthusiasm through the blind Some days I wish the sun's energy was mine Some days I have no energy for creating wishes or dreams Or even doing simple things of value to me I spend my days angry at myself for being so depressed I cannot shine with the weight of my own words upon my chest I am not the sun, and I'm nowhere near as bright as she So why when she shines, does she always shine on me? And why does her energy sometimes scare me? It's like she's making a mockery of me And when I turn my back I can still see her mocking me I know why I close the blinds when she's too bright I'm not a vampire, but I do enjoy myself at night It's as if the darkness of the night imposes no stress on me I look outside and I'm overwhelmed with a calming feeling As if I've got no plans and no where to go I let my mind settle down, and my fingers take control And when the sun When she shines bright on me There are no silhouettes of anyone to hide me I am in the lime light Of the sun's energy She shines on me with hope Of all I know I could be And sometimes the changes Are just a little unsettling   -- Have no idea where I was going with this, but I'm okay with where it went and decided to stop writing this and open the blind again. May add more later -- Took someones advice and added more. Completely satisfied.
0
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
Energy
Opened the blind and saw right away The sun had too much energy for me today So I closed the blind again And I haven't asked if she's mad Because I know she is I can still see her enthusiasm through the blind Some days I wish the sun's energy was mine Some days I have no energy for creating wishes or dreams Or even doing simple things of value to me I spend my days angry at myself for being so depressed I cannot shine with the weight of my own words upon my chest I am not the sun, and I'm nowhere near as bright as she So why when she shines, does she always shine on me? And why does her energy sometimes scare me? It's like she's making a mockery of me And when I turn my back I can still see her mocking me I know why I close the blinds when she's too bright I'm not a vampire, but I do enjoy myself at night It's as if the darkness of the night imposes no stress on me I look outside and I'm overwhelmed with a calming feeling As if I've got no plans and no where to go I let my mind settle down, and my fingers take control And when the sun When she shines bright on me There are no silhouettes of anyone to hide me I am in the lime light Of the sun's energy She shines on me with hope Of all I know I could be And sometimes the changes Are just a little unsettling   -- Have no idea where I was going with this, but I'm okay with where it went and decided to stop writing this and open the blind again. May add more later -- Took someones advice and added more. Completely satisfied.
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34
- The concaves in the glass bowl and the style which it imposes to the Food within it to warp and appear not from this world. The spoons and how they surrender the same effect, curving my face Into a funhouse punch line; I can’t help but smirk, Which somehow distorts my features even more. You were convinced it was necessary to serve me your best today, Pulling out the stops and balancing uneasily on the aging stool that waits in the corner Just to get out the “fine” kitchenware. Soon it became routine: I was over every day, not to eat, no; selfishness is a puzzle. No, I’d sit at the table and bide my slender hourglasses, shifting a mind between Taking you to the moon, Or to the ceiling fan because my goodness it’s getting warm in here. Planet under smoke, we end the day with a drop of manufactured whiskey Dangling from the inside of your Swedish wine bottle set from India. (Bends the droplets into squares) Our sun is setting and the pictures on the walls fall asleep.
0
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 5:23 AM UTC
continuation of a convex lifestyle
As the undulating bodies part the neon lights catch her face, and her piercing gaze catches me. A panorama of nothing but a blur. But her- sharp. Thirsty. Blazing. Her hair is sleek and straight but the way she throws back her head, runs her fingers through the strands, makes a tousled mess as entrancing and as playfully wild as the club swirling around her. Her lips are red. A challenging red. The color of a delicate rose, but also the color the harlot wears in old films. The color of sin; of desire. To unlock those lips And tousle that hair And lure out the voice…. To have the power of a man’s gaze now. To be able to throw at her the force of a chiseled jaw and stubble across my chin. To know my role is to chase her like a brave doe that turned to look at me in the forest. Who bounds away gracefully, Knowing my sights are set and the target is upon her. How she would know my adrenaline surged with every step she made that took her farther from me. All the power would lay in my virile hands, to pull the trigger on her when I may. Ha! I laugh at my roots in the world that imposes a craving for the rule of power. Your gaze tells me we don’t belong there. I move through the bodies toward you. Toward freedom. Lift me from my roots, darling. We’ll run together. Give up the vision of a pointed gun. How’d they ever make me think I wanted to be shot? Oh, what a vision. What a creation! My long locks twisting around yours, how my lissome fingers get their chance with you. And those supple lips lend me the magnetic red hue. How different the whole scene becomes when the both of us are provocative creatures, two nymphs swimming together in the water of seduction. Continue on, Odysseus. Go conquer Scylla and Charybdis. Master the seas of half the world. The Sirens are singing to each other.
0
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
Synergy
As the undulating bodies part the neon lights catch her face, and her piercing gaze catches me. A panorama of nothing but a blur. But her- sharp. Thirsty. Blazing. Her hair is sleek and straight but the way she throws back her head, runs her fingers through the strands, makes a tousled mess as entrancing and as playfully wild as the club swirling around her. Her lips are red. A challenging red. The color of a delicate rose, but also the color the harlot wears in old films. The color of sin; of desire. To unlock those lips And tousle that hair And lure out the voice…. To have the power of a man’s gaze now. To be able to throw at her the force of a chiseled jaw and stubble across my chin. To know my role is to chase her like a brave doe that turned to look at me in the forest. Who bounds away gracefully, Knowing my sights are set and the target is upon her. How she would know my adrenaline surged with every step she made that took her farther from me. All the power would lay in my virile hands, to pull the trigger on her when I may. Ha! I laugh at my roots in the world that imposes a craving for the rule of power. Your gaze tells me we don’t belong there. I move through the bodies toward you. Toward freedom. Lift me from my roots, darling. We’ll run together. Give up the vision of a pointed gun. How’d they ever make me think I wanted to be shot? Oh, what a vision. What a creation! My long locks twisting around yours, how my lissome fingers get their chance with you. And those supple lips lend me the magnetic red hue. How different the whole scene becomes when the both of us are provocative creatures, two nymphs swimming together in the water of seduction. Continue on, Odysseus. Go conquer Scylla and Charybdis. Master the seas of half the world. The Sirens are singing to each other.
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56
Donning the mantle of godparent cannot be blamed on an accident it is both a gift and a choice in which the child has no voice. If it is a decision lightly taken the deciders should awaken to the burden it imposes and the thorns of the roses. An honor to the invited it might seem but think about what it means to the parents of that baby and how vital to them it may be. For if this is to be your child it will not be for just a while but for a lifetime of growth and pains a multitude of joys and strains. In a manner quite distinct you are asked to be linked to this person in the ups and downs to hear both tender and awful sounds. And think of where you may wander in your journey out yonder how your beliefs might alter and your path might falter. Wherever you go whatever you do know this person is joined to you through your good and bad breaks with all your missteps and mistakes. And above all remember you are kin. You don’t lose.  You don’t win. You are never never exiled from Love, for you are both God’s child.
0
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
Godschild
eyes of sea caged wingbeats the only hint behind the visage of indifference the shroud that daylight imposes and darkness disperses for beneath lies pain desire whispers of oblivion desperation that draws forth tears mixing sleep and wakefulness yet somehow granting more peace than the glittering sands
0
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
Seeking Solace
The underground monastery, a feat of such majesty which imposes on me a sense of tranquility until the Koltsevaya line to Komsomolskya tube rushes in, they push past me quite brusquely as if I'm just a part of the tapestry while they're making history in the underground monastery.
0
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
Scouting in Moscow
Appointment to have ***** removed by robot-assisted surgeon. Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique. Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine. There's always governance even if there's little or no government. Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it? At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill! Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident. Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife. Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get. The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town. Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion And the whole known world from India to Britain. It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy Although after a while you stop remembering To fear. That's when everything becomes clear Purpose v. purposelessness matters less, Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust. Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room. Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with       eyes open, Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work,       imposes Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
0
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Robot-Assisted Surgery
Appointment to have ***** removed by robot-assisted surgeon. Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique. Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine. There's always governance even if there's little or no government. Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it? At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill! Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident. Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife. Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get. The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town. Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion And the whole known world from India to Britain. It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy Although after a while you stop remembering To fear. That's when everything becomes clear Purpose v. purposelessness matters less, Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust. Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room. Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with       eyes open, Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work,       imposes Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
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37
There is a man who has a large beautiful home And a grand yard behind it His sheets are made of Egyptian cotton And he imposes his fit body onto them every night On his bed he dreamt The sky was quickly changing from pink, to blue, to grey, and so on The ground was made of mirrors so he felt sorrounded by the clouds He wasn't afraid even if it seemed strange So he starting walking the set path in front of him He came upon his house and went inside And in it he saw nothing And the nothingness hit him He swore it off with anger And went out to the large yard with shrubbery sculptures The grass in the yard breathed Ominously so The ground had cracks but wasn't dry And there was a spiral labyrinth There were no trials in this maze Only one task To follow it all the way down The entrance, stone with etched words he couldn't understand Grew as he approached And he felt the weight of the world like a roach The hedges inside the labyrinth stared down on him He felt the hedges stare all the way down They dispised him for reasons unknown And whispered "What would you do in our shoes?" At the center of the maze was a blood filled, oozing, heart Every beat was slower than the last And he understood it as his own The sky turned a strict, brooding grey Frantically, he searched his mind for answers He blamed the people around him "They're poison!" He shouted But that couldn't be true He wept, for he didn't know what to do to make the beating regular And the hedges stared And the sky closed in And the whispers turned to shouts Then it all stopped The heart, beating The hedges, staring The sky, moving While he was glad, he felt alone But then it seemed the world spoke all at once "Give us your all, we shall return the favor, and we will be one." And he awoke in his beautiful home And he wept in repentance
0
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
The Man and The Spiral Labyrinth
There is a man who has a large beautiful home And a grand yard behind it His sheets are made of Egyptian cotton And he imposes his fit body onto them every night On his bed he dreamt The sky was quickly changing from pink, to blue, to grey, and so on The ground was made of mirrors so he felt sorrounded by the clouds He wasn't afraid even if it seemed strange So he starting walking the set path in front of him He came upon his house and went inside And in it he saw nothing And the nothingness hit him He swore it off with anger And went out to the large yard with shrubbery sculptures The grass in the yard breathed Ominously so The ground had cracks but wasn't dry And there was a spiral labyrinth There were no trials in this maze Only one task To follow it all the way down The entrance, stone with etched words he couldn't understand Grew as he approached And he felt the weight of the world like a roach The hedges inside the labyrinth stared down on him He felt the hedges stare all the way down They dispised him for reasons unknown And whispered "What would you do in our shoes?" At the center of the maze was a blood filled, oozing, heart Every beat was slower than the last And he understood it as his own The sky turned a strict, brooding grey Frantically, he searched his mind for answers He blamed the people around him "They're poison!" He shouted But that couldn't be true He wept, for he didn't know what to do to make the beating regular And the hedges stared And the sky closed in And the whispers turned to shouts Then it all stopped The heart, beating The hedges, staring The sky, moving While he was glad, he felt alone But then it seemed the world spoke all at once "Give us your all, we shall return the favor, and we will be one." And he awoke in his beautiful home And he wept in repentance
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50
a yellowish shroud is placed hurriedly upon starched white sheets revealing vicious contrasts where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie its Hessian appearance an omen, a foretold event like breathing deeply in a silence amidst the history of a great disorder where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie violent ink stains on folding parchment embalm themselves upon the thickness of a sorrow where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie placed deep within shallow subterranean depths of an enigmatic being that is both engineering and entrenching where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie its perplexing sensations causing a wonderful ingrained passion to erupt with imponderable abstracts where truth does not exceed exception where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie the shroud provides a false tranquillity where there is no longer breath imposes itself unobtrusively with wonderful staccato caresses where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie it proclaims an innocence of salvation yet gives gauge to spectacular routes and an enormity of misconceptions amid prestigious beatifications where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie oh sweet smelling blue abyss oh deluded reality dressed in a winding sheet of meaningless words where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie wrapped in phrases of falsehood amidst this purgatorial fog a twilight world of mysterious ailments maintains a world of external restraints where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie creates and emptiness, a vacancy provides an intoxication of vision a strangeness of sensation a world transparent where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie read the sentences of silence breathe the perfume of never fading flowers and see for the first time the unfinished likeness of others where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie
0
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
where the cullan trees lie
a yellowish shroud is placed hurriedly upon starched white sheets revealing vicious contrasts where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie its Hessian appearance an omen, a foretold event like breathing deeply in a silence amidst the history of a great disorder where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie violent ink stains on folding parchment embalm themselves upon the thickness of a sorrow where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie placed deep within shallow subterranean depths of an enigmatic being that is both engineering and entrenching where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie its perplexing sensations causing a wonderful ingrained passion to erupt with imponderable abstracts where truth does not exceed exception where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie the shroud provides a false tranquillity where there is no longer breath imposes itself unobtrusively with wonderful staccato caresses where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie it proclaims an innocence of salvation yet gives gauge to spectacular routes and an enormity of misconceptions amid prestigious beatifications where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie oh sweet smelling blue abyss oh deluded reality dressed in a winding sheet of meaningless words where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie wrapped in phrases of falsehood amidst this purgatorial fog a twilight world of mysterious ailments maintains a world of external restraints where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie creates and emptiness, a vacancy provides an intoxication of vision a strangeness of sensation a world transparent where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie read the sentences of silence breathe the perfume of never fading flowers and see for the first time the unfinished likeness of others where the cullan trees lie where the cullan trees lie
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66
Her veins have deteriorated Narrowed and not ameliorated With every pungent pulsating pump Her quality of life she does expunge To a beating that is crepuscular And will gain no life from any stabilizer It is bleeding desultory diaphanous crimson Demoted by her own visceral volition Until one day it ceases As the walls to her capillaries deceases Until a cardiologist by a different name Imposes on her grotesque game To replace these decrepit pathways That does mellifluous passion decay Until these capillaries are replaced Through the bypass of an ethereal nature embraced To heal such a slaughtered souls defeats Until a her hearts ephemeral beats Coalesce with the tranquil thundering Of her shamans pulse that dominates over her demons plundering.
0
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
Bypass
Grim determination Slogging through mud Breathing through smoke Blinded by fog Alone Isolated Moving forward with no idea where my foot will fall next Quicksand lurks Waiting to pull me down Backwards Drowning in despair These are the images The feelings The obstacles That the world imposes on me Yet I know That it is both real And an illusion Designed to sap my strength Because I am not alone Others walk beside me If I reach out to them, we’ll walk together And sometimes there is a break in the smoke and fog I can move I can breath I can see Hope lights the way, a destination is in sight! But for now The light and clarity is just a distant memory That I hold onto As I continue to move forward Through mud Smoke Fog Falling back On grim determination To propel me forward
0
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
Until the Fog Clears
BE free from the church and its impositions its restrictions contradictions and ungodly superstitions BE free from all dogmatic institutions Patriarchal truths are only partial solutions BE free from the coat of protection that they fashion A one-size fit that impedes expansion BE free from the doctrine that imposes separation Brother versus brother Nation versus nation BE free from the teachings that set us apart That caters to the Ego not to the heart BE free from the darkness that controls your mind How can you see the light if you're asleep or blind BE free from the ‘Book’ and its static communication A covert operation in the ‘divine’ proclamation BE free from hypocrisy intolerance and vanity The ‘ignis fatuus’ progenitor of the world's insanity.
0
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
IGNIS FATUUS (a delusive ideal that leads one astray)
When lust at last imposes in the heart, It sets ablaze the ground and smokes the mind, And no compelling order to depart, Can separate the soul from thoughts that bind. For when lust's made its great impassioned catch, Its hold outweighs the best escaping skills, Its talon's grip's a solid iron latch, And won't release until its aim's fulfilled. The lustful man deliberately will go, Ignoring will to do what lust must do, Where talons only **** him to and fro, Ignoring moral peace which he once knew. And when the lust has finished with a scream, The weakness seems was only but a dream. (C)2014, Christos Rigakos
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Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
When lust at last imposes in the heart
I missed you today when i wished to have a moment of unadulterated joy Every sign of being lost and blank i wished to destroy I often smile with the thought of you On all my worries it imposes a curfew I missed you today when i enjoyed That joy would have been doubled with you by my side Your thought is inevitable, i fail to avoid Without you my life seems to be void I missed you today, as i picked up the phone As there is no one i wait for in the internet zone I wished to hear you scold me loud Even it was somewhere between the crowd I missed you today when i wished to share As irrespective of my stupidities i know you would be there Restless mind did tire me from within Even the bright light around seemed to be dim. I missed you today with all my heart i wish we weren’t this far apart..
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Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
Partially Alive
The prettiest place you’ll ever be I’ll look down and see an old cigarette box Scattered amongst an insurmountable sea of trash It’s cock-eyed Diagonally sticking out of the decrepit weeds It screams, “I don’t give a **** Neither do I I think its beauty surpasses that of Mount Everest Because I get to feel it, taste it, be in it I don’t have to gaze at a postcard Tell myself---over and over---it’s real! All I have to do is tear it in half Just a dream sought out by people who are starving for nature to be real Like one thing didn’t get taken away: I’ll show you! Here’s a postcard! I tear I scream I don’t give a **** It’s beautiful because it never imposes that it is I’ll look at him sitting with a docile glaze Open your mouth Decay Black, old, tattered, toxic to me Because I can’t look at you Ugly, tangible and ugly Crazy son-of-a-bitch Just don’t rob me, okay, okay?! I’ll keep walking and cross the streets that are slowly caving in towards that place They tell us we don’t want to be Fire? Fire would be best Probably the best thing to happen To these forgotten about streets They’ll nod their heads and crisp into a charcoaled deep-fry But I cross, because I don’t care about you, you or you **** YOU CAR I’ll walk with a purpose because in this whirlpool I can’t have a purpose So I’ll pretend and walk, walk upward, look forward I see you, sir, I see you, your eyes feast upon my flesh You’ll never get me but you sure as hell will get to me Beady-eyed I hope the sun will melt your scummy body into these streets, and you’ll burn with them! This place is beautiful I’m telling you The Great Wall of China couldn’t compare to its concrete magnificence I’m dying with it; I’ll take five deep breaths and revel in the fumes of progress I’ll be on your postcards We aren’t just Any Town, USA We are the future ************* And I’m smiling but I’m melting and the flesh, the smell of flesh, unbearable I’ll take ***** air any day But before it’s too late, tell those ignorant foreigners Tell them they can have it too! We are coming fast Dying from starvation, dying from hurricanes, dying from AIDS That’s old news Tell them they can be beautiful too And die clutching the remote, The remote of freedom CNN playing quietly in the background
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Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
Does this make me better?
The prettiest place you’ll ever be I’ll look down and see an old cigarette box Scattered amongst an insurmountable sea of trash It’s cock-eyed Diagonally sticking out of the decrepit weeds It screams, “I don’t give a **** Neither do I I think its beauty surpasses that of Mount Everest Because I get to feel it, taste it, be in it I don’t have to gaze at a postcard Tell myself---over and over---it’s real! All I have to do is tear it in half Just a dream sought out by people who are starving for nature to be real Like one thing didn’t get taken away: I’ll show you! Here’s a postcard! I tear I scream I don’t give a **** It’s beautiful because it never imposes that it is I’ll look at him sitting with a docile glaze Open your mouth Decay Black, old, tattered, toxic to me Because I can’t look at you Ugly, tangible and ugly Crazy son-of-a-bitch Just don’t rob me, okay, okay?! I’ll keep walking and cross the streets that are slowly caving in towards that place They tell us we don’t want to be Fire? Fire would be best Probably the best thing to happen To these forgotten about streets They’ll nod their heads and crisp into a charcoaled deep-fry But I cross, because I don’t care about you, you or you **** YOU CAR I’ll walk with a purpose because in this whirlpool I can’t have a purpose So I’ll pretend and walk, walk upward, look forward I see you, sir, I see you, your eyes feast upon my flesh You’ll never get me but you sure as hell will get to me Beady-eyed I hope the sun will melt your scummy body into these streets, and you’ll burn with them! This place is beautiful I’m telling you The Great Wall of China couldn’t compare to its concrete magnificence I’m dying with it; I’ll take five deep breaths and revel in the fumes of progress I’ll be on your postcards We aren’t just Any Town, USA We are the future ************* And I’m smiling but I’m melting and the flesh, the smell of flesh, unbearable I’ll take ***** air any day But before it’s too late, tell those ignorant foreigners Tell them they can have it too! We are coming fast Dying from starvation, dying from hurricanes, dying from AIDS That’s old news Tell them they can be beautiful too And die clutching the remote, The remote of freedom CNN playing quietly in the background
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*My liberal broad-mind is a tree, each branch carries the weight of an independent hope, fear, anxiety and dream. When the wind imposes, when it whistles, howls and blows, you can hear each of my independent emotion's haunting cries. They cry because I've let them go.  They're now lost in limbo - it's somewhat disturbing and morbid, I know! But that's just how it goes! By Lady R.F ©2016*
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Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
Haunting Cries
To understand this solid door You must come true and eager for more There is nothing to be bought or sold by bleeding red roses You are not faulted or framed for what the moment imposes Come to thee With an open heart in mind To stand and witness The reality you've been longing to find I promise nothing For if you push the door it will not swing But if you pull towards your heart You might be surprised as to what I'll bring My Everything
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Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 4:26 PM UTC
Pull Dont Push
all my past       imposes on my breath today i enter a grand mosaic public building         and on goes my medical face mask i join the back of the queue with my documents in one hand             and my numbered butcher ticket                           in the other i admire the mosaics                a jarring tide of art against the bureaucratic purpose                      of these rooms gauzed in with own product exhaust        all my past  is attending     exhumed   patted  into my breath     baiting remembrance with unsubtle notes for example :    integrated spittings of 'drum' tobacco (i quit a decade ago) horning catches of cologne every boy used as a teen seasonal scents  unweaned from deep in my system (some reigned in from the different countries                                                     i lived in or visited) then i am frisked back to infancy   with breast milk and rusks it's all there    a basking flippancy all there in musk about my face   one fragrance after another it's an honest relief      to host an alternative to my 'old man' breath            but odd and concerning something of the brain ?
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Apr 6, 2024
Apr 6, 2024 at 1:40 PM UTC
aerosol
Peace through War Slavery with Freedom, where Strength is measured by Ignorance. The kneel imposes blindness, the breathlessness of the witness. So puncture the lung, a symptom of Clarity. Appease the stone, a display of Vanity. The static unyielding faith, a sign of absent sanity. So—repress in prayer, rather address in self.
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Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 11:24 AM UTC
Guidelines of Religion
Because She Craved the Very Best by Michael R. Burch Because she craved the very best, he took her East, he took her West; he took her where there were no wars and brought her bright bouquets of stars, the blush and fragrances of roses, the hush an evening sky imposes, moonbeams pale and garlands rare, and golden combs to match her hair, a nightingale to sing all night, white wings, to let her soul take flight ... She stabbed him with a poisoned sting and as he lay there dying, she screamed, "I wanted everything!" and started crying. Keywords/Tags: Female, lover, crave, best, gifts, presents, offerings, unsatisfied, demanding, tears, betrayal, backstabbing
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Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 11:32 PM UTC
Because She Craved the Very Best