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Paul Hansford Aug 2018
The first cold letters, alone on the page.
A quick pencil found them,
and the lively and beautiful syllables blossomed.
The pale book felt the pencil,
and the terrifying, hot words entered.
The lines grew, living and sensitive,
gleaming as never before,
and I knew the unheard lines!

First, a tiny and unselfconscious sound.
A noun struggled to appear among overpowering words.
A strong, golden adjective ran out,
a short, fragrant adjective, beautiful in the early spring.
A young verb grew among tiny blue conjunctions,
and a fortuitous adverb understood, instinctively.

The first sentence dreamed of trees, and a sad cloud.
It dreamed a grey rain,
and the tall trees felt the rain.
There was a first and unknown river,
imagined, inconsequential, like snow in summer.
A red bird glided beyond reach,
as if it had never happened.
The soft sounds fitted the lines,
and the quick bird cried,
Remember the short rain!
Remember the sad poem!
This one was a "collaboration" between myself and an app that I imported to my computer. First I entered lists of nouns, adjectives and adverbs (including adverbial phrases), then clicked to start the process.  The computer didn't "compose" the lines that you see here, but it gave me lots of ideas, and I had to work quite a lot on them. Streams of sentences poured out onto my printer, most of them complete nonsense, and when I had enough I pressed Stop, and started the process of weeding out the *******, editing the more promising lines, and re-arranging the order. My favourite line is "There was a first and unknown river," which I could never have dreamed up by myself.
LeoH Dec 2018
Present to the paradox  
Of a thousand conflicting truths
I inhale with a smile
Nadia Aug 27
Buzz mosquito, buzz ineffectually
Cruel, bizarre and crudely placed
Your hatred stings but momentarily
Leaving only your buzz disgraced
has anyone been slipping into your comments with nonsense and malice?
Kenji Nov 2018
It's mortifying...
The dilemma, the time lapse, the wait, the clock.
The abstract that I so blatantly describe in my other writings.
Time cannot be paused, stopped...
The abstraction is so formulated into one diverse piece, the creation of such is appealing, yet reformative.
Inconsequential, to the matter of science, myth, philosophy, conduct, and everything that exists beyond our mind.
I hold onto this creation, because the conclusion of the matter holds many intellectual debates that cannot be won or answered.
It is forbidden, it's lost.
The question of right and wrong holds many definitions that are inexplicable to the concept of reality itself, when the utter illusion holds the introspection that philosophers like myself, cannot give a precise answer to.
Time will let us be.

It's a quiet storm, and I've never felt like this before.
Sometimes I think, you're just too good for me.
Nothing to say ...
Sofia Von Jul 2014
Suicidal serial killer bashes the bones hoping to feel nothing
because that would be something
A Swelling self-image pops in the distance
is chewed,
then inflated over and over
this routine never fails to cycle, disappoint, and please
Ethanol injections cuz oral doesn't do ****
give it to me *******
***** I'll munch your muffin just fo nuthin like I'm ****** with y'all
Cuz I surf to fall and smoke to die
In the high where life is inconsequential
to question and I feel less than short
Of supernatural

Who are these new kids?
They dress in tights and pick fights
I can't see your face but I trust the feeling
Damsel's are rescued
blood is spewed
Yet insanity is gushing
The drugs are running out
We might just be super
We might just be heroes

Entropy enters me ripping the glamour and with a stammer I know
This isn't a comic book
In awe at these elaborately induced fabrications
and schemes to change the pecking order or chisel
the universe to perfection

The line of schizophrenic and degenerate flees
for the hills
that now have eyes
Tammy M Darby Feb 2018
See little in the breath of life
Despair and strife shadow their hearts  
Cruelly and without mercy command their minds
Darkness touch is ever so blindingly sweet
The light of the living never meet
In the murmurings of a quivering night

Those who worship the God of Death
Seek no glimpses into a heart
Long ago they decreed
All love depart
Forfeiting that which made them human
Sacrificed on the altar of their cold demanding god

Those who worship the God of Death
Wander in silence and stealth
Caring not for influence, lineage or social plight
It is inconsequential
In a world where emanates no light

For them darkness touch is ever so blindingly sweet
The light of the living never meet
In the murmurings of a quivering night
When the world becomes silent and  emanates no light
Those who worship the God of Death delight.

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Feb. 2, 2018.
Noah Dec 2018
Have you ever thought about how inconsequential we are
Less than single grains of sand in the hourglass of time
If any of us were to die the stars would still shine and the Earth would still spin
Anyone who says we matter because we impact the people around us are the biggest liars of all
Even everyone you've ever know still equal nothing in the grand scheme of things
We are just shapes
Bryce Jul 2018
Fold you up like unwanted fat
cook you into a rocky stew
placed beneath a mantle of ice
far enough away to be misconstrued

You are old laminated time
And pillowed rock of incomprehensible
Earlier than any lime
Or sand, or sediment, or any kind
You are the grandfather rock
of mine

When I step with my inconsequential feet
living but transiently
I cannot help but be erased
that even you hath but one resting place

All the plants
and sands
and ever since the very first
we have always been ******
to this earth
walking upon your bones
I am sorry we cannot do more
but you know your creator
Speak in the same language
in amalgamators
of which we have forgot
and for that I can say
we are envious; are we naught?

Build softly, and carry us upon your thick
crust like pizza dough, cooking
and you let it sit
Let us win, set us up
drift us apart, leave us crushed
build us,
make us,
break us,
fill us

I want to be restored into your
stony belt and be redeemed
I want to become my own atomic fossil
to connect with the universe through long-lost
and once again
hear the story
as a young lad
the way it was meant to be told

I want to eat dinner with my grandfather again
my real sweet stony-chiseled cheeked
father again
to be loved a boy
and a girl
and the whole world
a soul touched back into the deep
left unshackled
by a ***** or a queen
take me back soon
rather than let me turn into

or Baltica
or Gondwana
smacked into new rock to form
and Tetons
and Moher

Carbonate or Silicate,
and the end its the same
It won't be the end
for that fate rearranged
de Negre Sep 2018
perilous are those decisions
you haven't yet made
         afraid of the seed the tree
questions its own validity

inconsequential are those thirty minutes
before a decision
         the wind moves the branches without
the tree's choice

forgiving are those moments
in bed asleep beyond not here
         the tree can't spot failed saplings
without the daylight which lets them grow
quickie #1 is the start of other quickies which may might maybe not probably this is the only one possibly could come quickly soon later now often somber; quick. eeeee
Jade Charlotte Dec 2018
Is the unspoken love like wind?
What adhesive could make your breath stick to my neck?

I know we are rolling through this like two inconsequential boulders, but baby,
I don't want to crash into anyone else.

You gave me a hickey on my *** and after pushing my hair out of my eyes,
Tucking it so tenderly and neatly behind my ears
"We are just friends" echoed from your lips-- akin to the repetition of screaming into a long tunnel.

Today my throat is chalky,
like a pale moon on a dry and cold night.
Every line I draw ends up connecting my chest to yours.

Slide a note under my door with a drawing of hills that never stop rolling
If you decide
You want me like the mushroom wants rain,
Like the honey bee wants to serve its queen.
You bet your *** I just watched my favorite romance movie! Also, pain makes good poetry.
Matt Shaw Jul 2017
when the sun sets, darlin
i'm Inconsequential
when pretty birds arise and fly,
i'm ******* out of my god ****** mind.

you and me, we don't have to be
Anything really, we could be
Free. But we have to be something,
Men may as well see.

Let there be light! Hallelujah.

when my mind aches, darlin
i don't know where my shoes are
i mean, i don't know where i came from.
i don't know what i'm saying
but i'm stranded home.

when the blood leaves, baby
i'm all the way home.
when the next thing breathes
we call that a grand slam.

when the song hits the ground
with a dull thud
i dropped it in apathy
ignore the flustered typing of my fingers
they fly so far away, and i can't say
what is important to me.

i can't say, say, sayyyyy

i just wanted you to see the genuine things
the way i felt about that
what i meant here in this situation
take a gander
i'm so worth it
The genie inside the bowl
told me of his lowest day eighteen fortnights ago.
The day he did not feel like a genie.
He awoke yet his eyes cried for the return of rest.
The one wish he could not concede
plagued his mind.
He did not know
how. He could not bend
the rules of time
to fulfill's the most human
desire which is to wish
to never have to wish
that the present day
was not a bad day.

Like the transaction
between a poker dealer
and the man with no fear
in his eyes,
we barter with life on a cyclical game of poker.
Sometimes the house wins,
and it hurts like a thumb tacker.
A pair 2s is so inconsequential against
as fate doing its thing.
No genie can stand in the way
of life happening.

The genie in the bowl
told me to make the most of this low day
happening, go on a stroll,
to take care of myself
and recognize that today is just a bad day.
Perhaps tomorrow will be better,
in the meantime get some sleep
and to try again tomorrow.
The genie in the bowl did give me a wish. Now I know how to recognize a bad day.
Not a literal genie.
Nnaemeka Mokeme Jul 2018
Jealously guard your heart
from the troublesome tempest.
Preserve your heart for the
good of your soul.
Your body is the only temporary
house that you ever have.
For your own good nurture
and protect both the heart and
the body from any form of abuse
from those who don't value you.
Carry yourself with dignity and respect.
Never allow anyone else or anything
inconsequential to get the better of you.
Come from a place of power to
handle your daily affairs and activities.
For in dealing with lots of individuals
you encounter many different types
of people with all kinds of demeanor
and characters.
Some will stretch your nerves,
most will test your patience and others
will want to prove your mental strength,
while majority will bring out your vulnerability.
Stand firm in your beliefs and convictions,
but listen with the ears of your heart and
know when to let understanding and
compassion play it's part in the role
you are called to partake.
Be a fair player at all times and you
will find there's nothing you cannot achieve with love.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Matt Shaw Sep 2018
Little thorns come for me everyday
They press into my skin
And leave me bleeding

They are inconsequential
Never murderers, even so
It's hard to call them friends--

It's not that hard to let them go.
Andrew Maitland Oct 2018
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.

I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.

I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.

And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.

A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.

And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.

Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the ***" prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.

But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.

So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
JR Fay Aug 2018
Bumped into an old flame the other day...inspired this nasty little poem...;)

Oh first love,
how I want to crush you beneath my heel.
Grind the little pieces of you into the dirt until the soles of my feet bleed scarlet red rivulets of my blood-my life-my energy-that I wasted on you.
Come on over-
I’ll take you up in my arms and crush you against my chest-break your ribs and smother the air out of your lungs. Crush you against my body until you fall limp and then I’ll release you.
Let you slump in an inconsequential heap at my feet.
Exactly where you belong.
If you ever come back to me
I promise you this fate.
You took me up back then and
pulled me all the way down.
I scrambled up and out of that pit of despair you condemned me to so don’t.
Don’t come back to me.
You’ll regret it because I’m ready and willing to make things right.
Square things away -
so just don’t.
Don’t you come back to me now.
A little ugly, but **** I sure meant every word I said, haha! I think many of us have let someone into our lives, at some point, that was just a bit of poison in our apple. Am I right?
With nowhere left to go
But down
All fate
6 feet
Beneath the ground
What can alive
Really provide?
A century
Of ecocide?
A feeble, leeching creature
Never keeping
Nature’s secrets
Like a pencil
Mark erased
The ones we make
Save for all of Earth
For soon enough
What could have been
Perhaps intended
Is expended
Ending any chance for us
To glimpse divinity
We just
Accept the nothingness
Like husks
Of what was substance once
But must
Return to face eternity
A permanently
All alone
Engraved in stone
In an internally persuasive discourse daze
of 'Derevaun Serauan, Derevaun Seraun',
down Dereham Road. Dereham Road. Howl Zion days,
when I was porngaunt, scoreborn.

When I was scoreborn to sweet cur boons,
wild enough to grow psychoplasmic clothes
'low Eurolupine, lyricicatriced moon
(sphere rose over spherical rose).

Poignantly porngaunt, less Ly-tran-der
than deadnamed Dirk Diggler w/ pork Trigger's broom.
Phalloplasty patched fiddler's frankenfurter,
'Wayne Karoshi' my clinical nom-de-plume.

Turn on, tune in & grow up a picayun-
icorn, inconsequential & unique. I coulda been
a downtown tribune, downtown tribune,
but the scoreborn pourscorn like a teen.

Down Dereham Road, Dereham Road of dented
leopard, dented leopard roadkill went doom-
dated whelps. They never repented
the nepenthe, coz scoreborn follows scar boom.

Whether '88, '99, zerozero, borngaunt jeune
squelettes, diaspora of scorers crunch
urban recurrences. Pusherman in the moon,
still ivory dealer of youth's lush putsch.

We skinned up on CD cases, the record sleeves,
& upon the vinyl & CDs. Smaze mauve room,
where mauvais foi of paranoia, twigs & leaves
blessed us blandiose blasphemers maroon.

Tales so slight, vignette vinegaroon
- 'least I chased my own, tho' Hounds of Ultrabox
tore out my tindervox at the gag of moon-
set. Most porcelain storm?  Mornshocked.

Urb cubs slowcooked less porngaunt.
Afa, gluggy, June gloom? Rejoice, it's June!
Youth is wasted, but monsters I'd haunt,
acolytes I'd slough? Gone the same/ remain too soon.
s Sep 2018
if i don’t chase after depression,
then depression chases after me
it apprehends my happiness-
smothers it with apathy

it harasses my mind and thought
drowns my conscience in regret
renders me inconsequential
like everyone else you will forget

anxiety takes a razor and
carves craters in our cadent hearts
we were once so harmonious together
now i guess we’re best apart

mental illness plagues my soul
it dissolves my brain and bone
and it’s very much contagious
so i deserve to be alone

at times i envision the future
and think about how i could mend ****
but depression explains how much easier
it would be for me to just end it

now apathy drains the strength from my body
and tucks me
into a grave.

if i can not fight my sadness, there’s
no ******* way
i can be saved.
alternative title: emo poem
Andrew Jul 30
I'm not pretty
Barely alive but
I felt the sunset and
Kissed your eyes. Mountains, aspen
Desert and sky, I heard the day
Go beneath your mind. Quiet and
Inconsequential. You went to bed
In the tent and I stayed out in the
Black rain beside the black lake.
I was beside the pines and estimated
The thunder go through me like stone,
And I could not leave, could not stay.
nivek Nov 6
Blocked arteries
too much mind-

paid to worries
and inconsequential.
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