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"inflammatory" poems
There's a yellow green gas, You can't see in your glass. Sometimes you can tell, It's there by the smell. It does a great job removing bacteria, Like Diphtheria, Or even Listeria. But what do you think, Happens to the chlorine in your drink? I don't want to alarm, But there's a chance it might harm. It protects at a price, Attacking our bacteria that are nice, And I'm sure it excels, At killing your own cells, Forcing new ones to grow, When a mistake could cause woe. Some studies have found it an enhancer, Of bladder and bowel cancer. Whether old or young, Do you want it in your lung? You have the power, To remove it from your shower. It's rather grim, To have to breathe it when you swim. You're more likely to wheeze, Or sneeze. Do you think it will please, Your inflammatory bowel disease? Perhaps it's the key, To why there's Crohns and UC. Do you think that your skin, Might become a little thin, And be filled with dread, As it starts to turn red. Can you not feel, How it's harder to heal? It makes our tissues grow old, From what I've been told. Our cells can only divide, A few times before they're stupified. With asthma and chlorine on a map, You can see they overlap. Sadly in the West, Not everyone has guessed, That there may be a link, With the gas in our drink. “But!”, I hear you cry, “Without it people will die.” Let go of your dread, We can use something instead. The answer is well known, It's called 'ozone'. Made from pure water, It's gone when it reaches my daughter, Unlike chlorine it's life is brief, What a relief. There's many a city, That make it with electricity, Splitting water into hydrogen, And best of all, oxygen! For ozone is made from O2, Yes, it's true! Imagine if you had, Water with nothing they add. Already there's Paris and Nice in France, Where people can dance. San Diego and Los Angeles in the USA, Have water that's ok. And Osaka in Japan, Now use this plan. But you don't have to be rich, To make the switch. Ask a clever committee, To stop chlorine in your city. See if you can arrange, To have your water change. I hear you shout, “Can 'I' get this chlorine out?” If you leave water in a jug overnight, What's left will be slight. Boiling will send it away in the air, So there's no need to despair. You can also remove it with a filter, Or a water distiller. To learn more have a look, At 'Question Chlorine' on facebook.
0
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
The Chlorine in Your Water
There's a yellow green gas, You can't see in your glass. Sometimes you can tell, It's there by the smell. It does a great job removing bacteria, Like Diphtheria, Or even Listeria. But what do you think, Happens to the chlorine in your drink? I don't want to alarm, But there's a chance it might harm. It protects at a price, Attacking our bacteria that are nice, And I'm sure it excels, At killing your own cells, Forcing new ones to grow, When a mistake could cause woe. Some studies have found it an enhancer, Of bladder and bowel cancer. Whether old or young, Do you want it in your lung? You have the power, To remove it from your shower. It's rather grim, To have to breathe it when you swim. You're more likely to wheeze, Or sneeze. Do you think it will please, Your inflammatory bowel disease? Perhaps it's the key, To why there's Crohns and UC. Do you think that your skin, Might become a little thin, And be filled with dread, As it starts to turn red. Can you not feel, How it's harder to heal? It makes our tissues grow old, From what I've been told. Our cells can only divide, A few times before they're stupified. With asthma and chlorine on a map, You can see they overlap. Sadly in the West, Not everyone has guessed, That there may be a link, With the gas in our drink. “But!”, I hear you cry, “Without it people will die.” Let go of your dread, We can use something instead. The answer is well known, It's called 'ozone'. Made from pure water, It's gone when it reaches my daughter, Unlike chlorine it's life is brief, What a relief. There's many a city, That make it with electricity, Splitting water into hydrogen, And best of all, oxygen! For ozone is made from O2, Yes, it's true! Imagine if you had, Water with nothing they add. Already there's Paris and Nice in France, Where people can dance. San Diego and Los Angeles in the USA, Have water that's ok. And Osaka in Japan, Now use this plan. But you don't have to be rich, To make the switch. Ask a clever committee, To stop chlorine in your city. See if you can arrange, To have your water change. I hear you shout, “Can 'I' get this chlorine out?” If you leave water in a jug overnight, What's left will be slight. Boiling will send it away in the air, So there's no need to despair. You can also remove it with a filter, Or a water distiller. To learn more have a look, At 'Question Chlorine' on facebook.
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87
My sympathy depleted My friendships deleted I have been defeated By truths that hit so hard I was decleated By intense hatred deep-seeded My history was repeated I guess a three-armed mutant Has no need for a right hand man Until his leprosy riddled hands rot off When he needs them the most But his ***** limbs had been pretty useless for a while Since he had lost feeling in them He had to do a biopsy on his life After the inaccurate results of the smear test He took antibiotics to rid himself of the bacteria But that didn't heal the nerve damage He yearned for the rhetoric to be less inflammatory So he took steroids Transforming the ***** into an ogre With no semblance of humanity ...Except for the people he devours Their patience is delicious He eats that first Their pity is a delicacy A rare treat Their disgust tastes sour But it's a feast His cannibalism may seem callous But the non-mutant lepers take Thalidomide And get pregnant Their kids come out defected With an intense, deep-seeded hatred for three-armed mutants And lepers and ogres look exactly the same To those of another species
0
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
Leprosy
Say what I say and mean what I mean this stream of consciousness thing is quite a release and I know it's not a diary but it's fun to let others spy on me even if only one or two or three will ever see what I'm writing it's still exciting to be open and share because I was closed off from people for the majority of my life and it had to do with self-esteem but now that I don't care what others may think this whole experience is quite liberating so let me become even more  openly free and dare to share something that has been bothering me and that is the fact that so many asshats have mocked and teased and called me gay or alluded to it by what they say and it's been happening my whole life and even in this rehab stay the homophobia is in play and yes I'm effeminate in so many ways but here's the real secret, oh my gosh, I'm not gay! but part of me wants to just pretend that I am to make it uncomfortable but it wouldn't be fair of me because I'm comfortable in my sexuality and that would be retaliatory and just as inflammatory but beyond all of that I really don't get it why people are so upset about how others do hit it can't we just live and let live why do we label each other by whatever preference that we discover to help us feel closer to love because isn't that what human beings are wired  to do so come on I implore you all who are stuck in your hatred to tell a coworker about who you thought of the last time you masturbated and then I'll ask you again if it's any of your business
0
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
homophobia (freewrite)
Say what I say and mean what I mean this stream of consciousness thing is quite a release and I know it's not a diary but it's fun to let others spy on me even if only one or two or three will ever see what I'm writing it's still exciting to be open and share because I was closed off from people for the majority of my life and it had to do with self-esteem but now that I don't care what others may think this whole experience is quite liberating so let me become even more  openly free and dare to share something that has been bothering me and that is the fact that so many asshats have mocked and teased and called me gay or alluded to it by what they say and it's been happening my whole life and even in this rehab stay the homophobia is in play and yes I'm effeminate in so many ways but here's the real secret, oh my gosh, I'm not gay! but part of me wants to just pretend that I am to make it uncomfortable but it wouldn't be fair of me because I'm comfortable in my sexuality and that would be retaliatory and just as inflammatory but beyond all of that I really don't get it why people are so upset about how others do hit it can't we just live and let live why do we label each other by whatever preference that we discover to help us feel closer to love because isn't that what human beings are wired  to do so come on I implore you all who are stuck in your hatred to tell a coworker about who you thought of the last time you masturbated and then I'll ask you again if it's any of your business
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1
Soft-shoe across the dance-floor at your granddaughter's wedding. You swallow an anti-inflammatory with your double whiskey, and feign living again until you begin to convince yourself. You told the college boys not to tell on you, when they saw you smoking **** in the old folk's home. In return you would throw back their ball every time it would come past the fence. “A lifetime is all that you can make it” was you mantra for living when you died. From then on I tried to look for the sunlight in a distant fog of stars. I looked to capture a moment of permanence, to remember your name beyond the need for time at all.
0
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
Leaving the Hospice
Sitting in that tiny room you call your office sweating in sweat heater blaring chills of regret. Inflammatory response tightened up tripped out grimace has become your middle name. To steal from Bob Dylan "there must be some way out of here" No wonder plunging head long headaching heart breaking into red brick walls second story shaky jail cells flaking one too many souls borrowing one soul too many. We don't really get it our way. Bursting out of all that gray making your way. The streets will be calling your name to be the light angel again drifting into dark consciousness to light the way. Descending back into that twisted tiny room you call your office in a modular tomb and the only window is sleep.
0
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Humworks Tina Retires
Can you hear that sound Like a tiny whining You're a sad eyed puppy Inside It's a kind of yearning When pining away, wanting someone or something So expensive beyond reach The mind begins to fantasize what it's like, Infantilize what's real life. Enlisting unreasonable scenerios Creative now with lies And denials and exit strategies, Scapegoats of close members of family, accusatory.. Blame all but yourself Inflammatory story's demise Because the lost moments spent Pining away Will die unknowing your real life self. Inside that fog of fictitious false depictions Who dat? Starving yourself blind See there on that podium Your bad phat shines Always in first place--gold medal favorite Hooray it's not quite you or even true. If pining were a sport Having lost your minds You'd all be winners. Celebrity famous, go on Crave being extra, so street savvy "Hey Alexa, Google, Suri Define obsession." Pining turns dangerous In absentia dysplased Souls are stolen, Human replicas. Still carrying on pining Away. Killer lover blank. Got brain? Bullets? A shiv or Shank? Sharp as a pine tree... (Please, Don't forget to give Thanks.)
0
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 11:27 AM UTC
Pining Away
They always show Inflammatory heroes And legendary woes Healed with a blazing personality Standing up in the face of adversity. But there is a quiet kind of strength also - A strength that makes you turn the other cheek And suffer in silence. Some may call it a wall In the way But I say It’s a tower I’m standing on top of. As I bear it all Without burning. Because once it’s all said and done, Who do those people stand on? Who is left after the dust settles? Those with tongue still in cheek, With tongue still in check.
0
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
They always show
Sometimes I've had about enough All these ******* buttercups Puckering up At the first scent of gruff It's disruptive To my mustering I mean Must we Smother trouble out of **** Must we malfunction Into a skit A script Skipp-ed To laugh tracks Pre-writ Until the last laughs Where the curtains close To fading claps All the cards Are all on the floor Little adorable torturers Peering through the doors Afforded by our tor-mentors Over it We will get Even get on with it Cuz all of this This is that and that is this Is ******* ridiculous Is worthless It is foulness in its stench The bowels of our regret Unkempt and ****** It's ******** soaked in **** Where the credits never roll And the patrons only stroll On outta here for a beer And a night on the town And all this Flapping of the gums And slathering of spit Is glossing over my **** And it's all we will ever get If we would just submit Wipe the sand from our ***** And remove the ******* sticks We might find We have loosened up a bit Just don't be such a little ***** And other inflammatory **** [That's it]
0
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
.
He slaved away Day after day In his dark laboratory Particle colliding Seldom backsliding Concocting something inflammatory Constructing, among other things GOD in his first iteration. The being of pure Intelligence Who synthesized existence. And now He, stationary, laboratory Constricted in movement only by perception he cannot tell why He is so quiet. So cold and emotionless. But at the same time encompassing All warmth and feeling The scienceman With all his sciencetoys Might tell you he understands anything But then could NOT Even describe the APPEARANCE Of GOD Because when you experience GOD Everything is known, an assumed fact. God knows you He knows most That which He knows not We can't know For He created what we know And the way in which we understand anything We can't know That which He knows not. GOD existed there in the laboratory The scienceman, the fool He did not create God in his lab He destroyed Destroyed his ability to perceive anything BUT GOD And so he couldn't think about ANYTHING but these complex Heavenly thoughts Even though To understand... Context. Is key. And since he can't perceive Anything beyond GOD Because GOD created his perception He can't understand any of it. ANY OF IT So he babbles like a fool And some believe him Some BELIEVE him SOME BELIEVE HIM And like that he becomes a gOD But a gOD is not a GOD Is not a God is not a god. And so it seems Any less than GOD ought to be NOTHING And so the statues Molded and assembled in China Crumble apart and then... RECALL. And so I lay me down to sleep And fear that GOD my soul may keep And I shall die before I wake The scienceman's mistake To live in fear of what I know Instead of the unknown And the unknowable Destroys my spirit And my will.
0
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 10:19 AM UTC
Scienceman
He slaved away Day after day In his dark laboratory Particle colliding Seldom backsliding Concocting something inflammatory Constructing, among other things GOD in his first iteration. The being of pure Intelligence Who synthesized existence. And now He, stationary, laboratory Constricted in movement only by perception he cannot tell why He is so quiet. So cold and emotionless. But at the same time encompassing All warmth and feeling The scienceman With all his sciencetoys Might tell you he understands anything But then could NOT Even describe the APPEARANCE Of GOD Because when you experience GOD Everything is known, an assumed fact. God knows you He knows most That which He knows not We can't know For He created what we know And the way in which we understand anything We can't know That which He knows not. GOD existed there in the laboratory The scienceman, the fool He did not create God in his lab He destroyed Destroyed his ability to perceive anything BUT GOD And so he couldn't think about ANYTHING but these complex Heavenly thoughts Even though To understand... Context. Is key. And since he can't perceive Anything beyond GOD Because GOD created his perception He can't understand any of it. ANY OF IT So he babbles like a fool And some believe him Some BELIEVE him SOME BELIEVE HIM And like that he becomes a gOD But a gOD is not a GOD Is not a God is not a god. And so it seems Any less than GOD ought to be NOTHING And so the statues Molded and assembled in China Crumble apart and then... RECALL. And so I lay me down to sleep And fear that GOD my soul may keep And I shall die before I wake The scienceman's mistake To live in fear of what I know Instead of the unknown And the unknowable Destroys my spirit And my will.
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71
but so askance the two eyes, the brows so gliding into a weaving of sorrow - there she was, readily to be painted for a caricature portrait at the congregation of artists at Trafalgar Sq., for something being spotted as over-blossomed, but then the economics kicked in, and the dream died, back to square one... but that single instance of her worried brows and the mournful droop in her eyes as if readied for the Monsoon... but forgetting the inflammatory juicing of her genitalia... what an oddity to see and thus describe the counteractive ingredients of what constitutes a human body in egg-like-wholeness... chicken's nibble cluck and peckish pluck of the constant agreed nod for being a factory of eggs and a slaughter-meat.
0
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
the eyebrows
“And only the azure painted sky to shake the rain from its sound,” so the plain falls, opening its mouth through a bed of headstones dotted with the hollowed trunks of magnolias and cedar at afternoon and that cameo of calamansi velour interwoven with the softest glaucous velvet. Inside that whirlpool of sacrosanct textiles a blur, that shocking shrill of coolness catches the skin- this hole-covered schmata oozing cesious acronychal threads pull tight across the hooves, branches, and stream. Only the thin repelling flume of winter’s height eschews this ianthine material over the sinews and map-lined bones. A corpse shortening its gaze, eyes stone-free, empty of nictitation. Nothing stings more than autumn’s filemot sins scraping sideways down a tiled balcony, and the dove’s beg like circus rats, shaped by the finite breaths of decade’s old poetry edging its moods like a bold inflammatory conflagration of the de-evolution. While the fulvous trammeled dirt abounds.
0
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 4:40 PM UTC
The Surveyor’s Reprieve
I wonder if when Thomas Jefferson scrawled out the Declaration he could see the world that I have come to know. I wonder if he would understand the nation that would blossom from under his inflammatory words. Would he know that the world would never be so simple as black and white if only because a racial lawsuit might come from it? Would he see the world burn up in a digital fire that no nostalgia would ever be able to quench? Would he know the society that would simultaneously spew rantings of "You're special" and "You are never going to be right enough to live here"? How about that war that taught the people that it's okay to hate those who fight so that you can love another day? Or even the world that has severed so deeply within its own walls that you can only hold on to you hearts and hope that might not be severed too? I wonder what this man could have been declaring so seriously that he would send men to war for it, just to have the papers he and his dear friends were writing on be the shield that politicians might use to prevent their fallout. Freedom is not objective. And Subjectively speaking, this freedom we've been given comes with about ten thousand terms and conditions that none of us are going to read anyway because this is Amurica and we don't do that here.
0
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
I wonder
i spent last night inside of an emergency room they took my blood and an X-Ray of my chest i let them see all of my insides which was an intimate thing to do they wanted to make sure that my insides weren’t completely shattered. they told me the wall of my heart was inflamed but i didn’t know if they meant the wall i had built around it or the wall other people had built around it. the inflammation was supposed to explain the reasons behind why i felt like someone had stuck a knife into the left side of my back, twisted it and left it there, for the show must go on. it was supposed to explain why i felt like my heart was going to stop beating at any second because every beat was an excruciating struggle. it wasn’t supposed to explain how much i still miss you or need you, it wasn’t supposed to explain the way i broke my own heart when i sent that letter telling you why you were evicted, why there is no room left for you now. my heart is too full. it wasn’t supposed to explain how afraid i have become when it comes to being loved. they gave me anti-inflammatory pills and by 5am, i was safe at home. but i can’t help but wish for emergency rooms made for shattered hearts and broken minds, hearts that ache with yearning and confusion, hearts that forget how to beat but never forget how to love. i wish i could go to an emergency room like that. i think my heart was trying to warn me to be more careful with it because it’s the only rhythm that taught me how to dance. keep dancing, it says, the show must go on.
0
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
ER
i spent last night inside of an emergency room they took my blood and an X-Ray of my chest i let them see all of my insides which was an intimate thing to do they wanted to make sure that my insides weren’t completely shattered. they told me the wall of my heart was inflamed but i didn’t know if they meant the wall i had built around it or the wall other people had built around it. the inflammation was supposed to explain the reasons behind why i felt like someone had stuck a knife into the left side of my back, twisted it and left it there, for the show must go on. it was supposed to explain why i felt like my heart was going to stop beating at any second because every beat was an excruciating struggle. it wasn’t supposed to explain how much i still miss you or need you, it wasn’t supposed to explain the way i broke my own heart when i sent that letter telling you why you were evicted, why there is no room left for you now. my heart is too full. it wasn’t supposed to explain how afraid i have become when it comes to being loved. they gave me anti-inflammatory pills and by 5am, i was safe at home. but i can’t help but wish for emergency rooms made for shattered hearts and broken minds, hearts that ache with yearning and confusion, hearts that forget how to beat but never forget how to love. i wish i could go to an emergency room like that. i think my heart was trying to warn me to be more careful with it because it’s the only rhythm that taught me how to dance. keep dancing, it says, the show must go on.
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41
i swear to god im going to stop yes ill crumple my pack and pour out the bottle under my bed unload the shotgun deactivate my account and put my pen away not because you complain of my odor or that i stumble too often or that im trigger happy or that i post like theres no tomorrow or because the verses i author are vile accusatory explicit pathetic needy or inflammatory but because the first is the best day to trick yourself into existing just as you should into being someone that a partner might actually want to be with i can i can do it and if a pledge isnt good enough im selling tickets general admission though first come first served and honestly you should get there early because this is something that everyone is going to want to see
0
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
april first
I. I held a match To my hands today. Matrimony made Between man and flame; Incensed skin and molten ash Show hot displays of Love ablaze. II. Oh bright, blushing, burning bride; I walk wounded For all my days. Chard hands bare Witness to Love of flames. III. Oh spreading fire And torrid pain and Oceans of passions In engulfing flames. A charcoal soul and Black burnt skin shows Love's touch, again. IV. A monument To fiery lips For each hot kiss Scars my visage with Inflammatory bliss In pain your name, Melted to my lips Can love, be not, but this?
0
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 2:38 PM UTC
Love
Incisive words dissect me, Open me up for you to see What was really inside. You pried me apart still alive Just to watch me squirm and writhe. I could see it in the cast of your eyes. You were obviously hurt by my actions, and You wanted to see the exact moment when That knife hit home inside, To strike out at the one who has been The source of all your woes. A violent lashing out of a wounded soul, One who is cornered with no way out. You hit home. Yes, you hit your mark. To some extent I did earn that barb. But those exact words? I think you went too far. You say you've held back with me, Well I've played that same game as well. There have been times in our long, drawn-out history Where I had some words to say, Which I then tempered to remove A large portion of the sting. This time around, You let me have it straight out, by and large. You made me want to tell you out, To return the favor, same for same. But no, that will not be the way. I'll keep it to myself and refrain From loosing anymore inflammatory words Into the air between you and I,           Because I still do care. My feelings have done anything but abate, Merely changing, evolving to something else. Because of this, I will hold back, as Anything I might say in this second Would be tainted with anger and spite, and You and I need anything but that. I love you. Your words make it hard to believe That they came from someone Who I might care for. I am Immature. I do not dispute hat. I did not know how to handle The situation in which we were placed. I did not know what to do, so I ignored you because I could not afford To give in to these emotions towards you, Especially when I am unexpectedly exposed To you and then left in close proximity. It would be all too easy to fall Back to my original mentality towards you, Held back as it already is with a failing veil.           I love you. I am just not in the right place To give you fully everything you deserve. So, in the Immature fashion of who I am, I did the only thing I could To prevent my exposure to my own emotions -           I shut it out. I shut you out. It was the worst route. I know that now. It's clear to me. I heard it in the anguish in your strangled voice. I panicked, and I did what I know. I reverted to what's programmed in me. I repressed everything. I ignored you.           Because it kept me from feeling those words.           I Love You. I am sorry. It will never be enough. You are the world to me. I will never be enough. I will never be able to prove that. I am nothing of what you deserve. I deserved your every word.
0
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
In Failing You, I Fail Me.
Incisive words dissect me, Open me up for you to see What was really inside. You pried me apart still alive Just to watch me squirm and writhe. I could see it in the cast of your eyes. You were obviously hurt by my actions, and You wanted to see the exact moment when That knife hit home inside, To strike out at the one who has been The source of all your woes. A violent lashing out of a wounded soul, One who is cornered with no way out. You hit home. Yes, you hit your mark. To some extent I did earn that barb. But those exact words? I think you went too far. You say you've held back with me, Well I've played that same game as well. There have been times in our long, drawn-out history Where I had some words to say, Which I then tempered to remove A large portion of the sting. This time around, You let me have it straight out, by and large. You made me want to tell you out, To return the favor, same for same. But no, that will not be the way. I'll keep it to myself and refrain From loosing anymore inflammatory words Into the air between you and I,           Because I still do care. My feelings have done anything but abate, Merely changing, evolving to something else. Because of this, I will hold back, as Anything I might say in this second Would be tainted with anger and spite, and You and I need anything but that. I love you. Your words make it hard to believe That they came from someone Who I might care for. I am Immature. I do not dispute hat. I did not know how to handle The situation in which we were placed. I did not know what to do, so I ignored you because I could not afford To give in to these emotions towards you, Especially when I am unexpectedly exposed To you and then left in close proximity. It would be all too easy to fall Back to my original mentality towards you, Held back as it already is with a failing veil.           I love you. I am just not in the right place To give you fully everything you deserve. So, in the Immature fashion of who I am, I did the only thing I could To prevent my exposure to my own emotions -           I shut it out. I shut you out. It was the worst route. I know that now. It's clear to me. I heard it in the anguish in your strangled voice. I panicked, and I did what I know. I reverted to what's programmed in me. I repressed everything. I ignored you.           Because it kept me from feeling those words.           I Love You. I am sorry. It will never be enough. You are the world to me. I will never be enough. I will never be able to prove that. I am nothing of what you deserve. I deserved your every word.
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72
Amongst the multitudes of beats That coy, hip underbelly Allen Ginsberg found his feet Bestowing an amazing treat Articulating Poetry Majestic music of the mind Like semtex inflammatory Allen’s Howl gains notoriety Lamenting forces of destruction: Materialism and conformity The consumer world is in construction Like soma the ultimate distraction Yearning for a world where souls Are unencumbered by cynical agendas Allen assumed the bardic role Trying to convey creation whole Alluding to the magick realms Where chaos and wilderness reside Allen is at the Muse’s helm Turning the world upside down
0
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 4:15 PM UTC
Allen II
We’re drowning in internet people ***** usually live-in-regret people saying, “get in the net people” so we can easily dissect people into the right or the left people until discourse is dead people and the rest of us have to wade through the filth of the loudest cretins looking for attention to milk making the world seem full of their tedious ilk cascading complaining onto our heads like it’s raining with conversations unproductive but instead draining using inflammatory words that has our rhetoric straining to survive the constant bickering and blaming when this country starts aiming to cater to the most toxic aspect of our culture because internet people amplify messaging best so we reward obnoxious grifters and vultures politicians cracked the code but failed the test becoming internet people, just better dressed.
0
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 1:16 AM UTC
Internet People
I can't live with these thoughts Take them from me permanently Or ready my pine box All life's cheap shots I've never found a remedy All pleasantry coagulates or clots Vast planes of sparse lots Riddle my memory so little to no memory Only empty, inflammatory subpar plots My past leaches off my future as it rots Leaving mostly nothing left for me Subsequently having less than the have nots ©2024
0
May 22, 2024
May 22, 2024 at 7:49 PM UTC
~•§•~ Ready the Pine ~•§•~
I'm sorry my temper flared, Behind my eyes. You weren't meant to know. You are not the cause, my lady. However, your actions speak louder Than I could ever hope to express. They are saying most inflammatory things. Yes, anger may have me for now. But soon it will leave And you were never supposed to know.
0
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 11:24 AM UTC
apologies
The bullet grazed my leg Just a flesh wound Was it my fault Did I instigate inflammatory vitriol Should I apologize for my free associations The way my pen glides across the page To the core of dissension Perhaps it was my skirt Was it too tight, too short Hugging the curves of my body Making you hot and thirsty The freedom of Alvin Alley dancers With their legs spread Opening the flow of free expression Dancing to the voice of Maya Angelou The seekers, the marchers, the painters, The writers All refugees like me
0
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
Did I Offend by Judy Moskowitz
The art began ages ago, older than civilization, like 6000 BC or so Art piece known across many cultures, inspired by many, who have drawn a vast number of features That sheds about 40,000 skin cells per hour Tells us of the very distant passed that time devoured Our tattoo pigments get deeper into the skin, thanks to Thomas Edison for inventing the first engraving machine , my salutes to him Own it, cause those needles punch through the epidermis and allows ink that goes deep into the dermis Stories that are now drawn in our nerves, caused by small wounds that causes the inflammatory process; fought not won by macrophages, it will be there as you go through the ages
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Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
THE ART THAT TELLS OUR OWN STORIES "TATTOOS"
Writing this, in inflammatory sinuous paths, Maybe, me, I am too ambitious. Knowledge and awareness are vagues, Perhaps better called illusions... Even the strongest of opponents, Always have blind spots... But only a blind person can spot those weaknesses. Is it foolishness to fear what we have been told, Yet to see, possess and know it? People never understand the chosen ways Of perspective persevering life forms. The ways of uplifting felonious, I have seeing them malicious fiends, They considering themselves as idols. They all took some sacrifices, Just to get in such positions... Maybe them, they too religious. Non-know about our sleepless nights... There those who do not know no better ways, They get cold and turn to be nousless. Safety comes to whoever knows of righteousness... These corners contain all types of predicaments, That combine with our treacherous nights, Into be some sort of amorphous, Like somebody chose us. Weeks back I had nightmares, Stack with fiends in them trenches, Sinking in them trenches, Stretching for my dreams, While dreams are said to be thoughts, I dare you to think about pandemoniums. Malevolently they want to see me breathless, Inevitable for it to occur in any case or cases, Or to contemporaneous in my dreams... Solitary thoughts made me piously bias, With all the words and papers I am pathos, It is golden, whether it is speech or speechless, Action acts with expression louder than words, But words are stronger and meaningful than any type of action, acted,with any type of expressions, Said in strangest terms..
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Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
Soliloquy...
Writing this, in inflammatory sinuous paths, Maybe, me, I am too ambitious. Knowledge and awareness are vagues, Perhaps better called illusions... Even the strongest of opponents, Always have blind spots... But only a blind person can spot those weaknesses. Is it foolishness to fear what we have been told, Yet to see, possess and know it? People never understand the chosen ways Of perspective persevering life forms. The ways of uplifting felonious, I have seeing them malicious fiends, They considering themselves as idols. They all took some sacrifices, Just to get in such positions... Maybe them, they too religious. Non-know about our sleepless nights... There those who do not know no better ways, They get cold and turn to be nousless. Safety comes to whoever knows of righteousness... These corners contain all types of predicaments, That combine with our treacherous nights, Into be some sort of amorphous, Like somebody chose us. Weeks back I had nightmares, Stack with fiends in them trenches, Sinking in them trenches, Stretching for my dreams, While dreams are said to be thoughts, I dare you to think about pandemoniums. Malevolently they want to see me breathless, Inevitable for it to occur in any case or cases, Or to contemporaneous in my dreams... Solitary thoughts made me piously bias, With all the words and papers I am pathos, It is golden, whether it is speech or speechless, Action acts with expression louder than words, But words are stronger and meaningful than any type of action, acted,with any type of expressions, Said in strangest terms..
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Your head, A taxing mess, An echo of 100 voices screaming frantically, In a burning stadium, It’ll dispatch you an invoice made of invincible paper, Of sleep and appetite, Of scruffily chewed nail tips. Your dog will be okay, It’s an inflammatory bump, Your plant hasn’t died, The green it shows now has not been accounted yet, Even by the computers, The curve is not so steep, That poem, Not so shoddy, Stop swelling illusory bridges with concrete, Your head is resting on a very thin sheet of ice, Stop jostling, Or you will drown
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Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
Day 1: A letter to your younger self.
Your presence in my life is antiseptic, Germs like anger,jealousy and hatred are no more. Your musical soothing words are antibiotics, My pride and ego has disappeared, I am at peace. Your beautiful smile is analgesic, It has relieved me of tension and anxiety, I am happy. Your tender touch is anti-inflammatory, It has soothed my pains and aches, I am a better person.
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May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
You In My Life