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Mellow Ds Feb 2011
If you wanna get a good look
Here is the number... 666 oh 123
Im a joker, man, really. Its all a mind game,
So let us recalibrate the beat.

A man in a bar wound up in a storm
Where he felt nothing could go wrong
But any minute now we will generate a sound
That will keep the lonely man strung along.
Hes eating his own insides, acid diethylamide
Running from the bunkers into sands
Where the men who fire against him innovate a system
To blow him sky high into a fan.
It was always just a joke,  they tied him another rope
So they could keep his heartache in a single cell
No lights and no wires, the squealing of tires
Echoing in his head like bats of hell.
When his heart becomes released, hes cured of a disease
That only the lonely men in the world will know
And he can keep it in a jar, at the top of his tower
So he can prove it was never just for show.

If you wanna get a good look
Here is the number... 666 oh 123
Im a joker, man, really. Its all a mind game,
So let us recalibrate the beat.
A friend of mine wanted to have this one,
And I gave him a warning from the heart
They howl like hyenas and they drain out the sun,
They were raised this way from the start!

Walking from a hotel, escaping from a padded cell
A woman's eyes adjust to the sun,
She turns to a rainbow over a concrete meadow
And she proceeds, repeatedly to run.
A siren sounds and the pigs fly down
And loudly beat her into the ground
But when the people scream for sobriety,
They send in the special ops team.
She is rolled into the ER, her mind is spilling over
Her entrails, for halls, on the floor.
When the nurse comes out, she kicks and shouts
Because needles make her feel like a *****.
The man sits beside her, a wall is his divider
But his voice screams for him to be resumed
His will is awakened, the loathing is shaken,
And the wall, by his hatred is consumed.

Infraction distraction! A chemical reaction!
A busted heart writhing from a soul unspoken
Attacking the black team, the voices clashing
The bodies piling up and Pandora's  box is opened.
Ripping the cords from her face with his 4word letter grace
He sweeps her off the bed and hangs them by the head
Collides with a building with gold-tooth fillings
Blacksmith, locksmith, shadows in the distance
He turns into a red raw onion on its hind legs
Trying to jump a distance that he cant place
He reaches for a killer bee and instead holds ***
And the birds head changes to a woman's face.
He lingers for a second until the shadows blink
Then he runs into a river to stop and sink
It was there he designed a building of its own kind
Where the woman and him practice witchcraft and sleep.

If you wanna get a good look
Here is the number... 666 oh 123
Im a joker, man, really. Its all a mind game,
So let us recalibrate the beat.
A friend of mine wanted to have this one,
And I gave him a warning from the heart
They howl like hyenas and they drain out the sun,
They were raised this way from the start!
(c) Ryan Bowdish 2010-2011
People were dancing
while others would sing,

In the midst of the action,
Church bells would ting
And they would tong.
It was always a familiar song.

And an old man in black
Tells us of the faith we all lack.

I am guilty of that infraction.
Because I can see
That the multiple hells
Lasting forever in this world
Has been brought to us, and bound
By our      greedy owners.

That is the meaning.
After all of the spoken and written word,
We must suffer for one man's treason.
       Our redemption is no man's call.
The night was comfortable,
branches lightly choreographed a dramatic reaction
to the conversation beneath…
spoken words breach the midnight hour by 2,
and words are in place of sleep.
They speak,
but still pretend to have something worth to keep
In silence now, no reaction.
Walls and thoughts collide
and they see the infraction.
In a quick succession of contact,
blood boils
intuition becomes submissive.
With the steam of these midnight hours
rises away
the taboos of love and loyalty,
as intoxication devours
any human decency.
Breathing softly now;
with eyes that berate the truth
hiding behind the midnight-hour lies,
they instigate innocent massage wars
desperately wanting
neither knowing
how they plunge underneath
these unbreakable ties.
Now speechless
they grasp one another
speaking devilishly with eyes
and even louder
with the toils of their hands.
Why do you run from surreptitious lies
and hide behind your eyes?
Say this is how you feel for one thing
then when it’s around
wear a disguise?
Helpless you act
toward desires that you conspire to
You lit the match
and now you must put out the fire.
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
The wandering hours
Create pondering towers
When instead of talking
You are always walking
Steadily ahead of me
Like you're dead to me
Like a small centipede
Walking for centuries
With the intent to be free
Yet constantly ambulatory
So we become slaves to your movement
When settling would be an improvement

You begin to freely flake
As I start to starve
You say let them eat cake
And my heart you carve
Into servings appropriate for your appetite
While I know something isn't right
But still forced to accept this plight
Of being your minor distraction
Chained by my love's infraction
Of settling on you
I shouldn't stay
But I bet I do

I wish I loved or hated you a little more
So I'd know what to do
As it stands I'm always looking out the door
But I'm unable to move
I want to stick around and see if you do something amazing
Like love me back
Instead of attack
With your acidic apathy
You mercilessly grapple me
And never decide to let go
Of love you never let show

We've been driving down this road for a while
And for the last million miserable miles
You've presented me unpredictable trials
With your nonchalant instinctual style
You've let yourself become extremely impaired
As I understandably grow more and more scared
I feel the answer is in the love we seldom share
But you're never lost when you're going nowhere
And I cannot follow your wandering stare
CK Baker May 2017
Five for fighting
hands to the face
personal foul
player disgrace

Illegal contact
leap in the fray
willful head shot
leg astray

Encroachment defense
mouth guard out
roughing the passer
back field bout

Grounding the pigskin
mis-aligned
horse collar tackle
clip from behind

Knee on knee
offside end
unnecessary roughness
too many men

Gross misconduct
poke in the eye
hooking the shooter
sticks up high

Match ejection
over the top
face off folly
penalty shot

Unsportsmanlike conduct
chopping the block
slew foot infraction
hammer lock

Stick to the head
kick in the crotch
**** end jab
adhering the watch

Slashing the d-man
spearing the wing
running the keeper
back checking

Intentional grounding
stoppage in play
punching and hacking
delay of the game

Striking the ref
aggressor in fight
obstructing the line out
ear in a bite

Loss of downs
hands in the ruck
pinching and boarding
illegal upchuck

Rules of the battle
by the bye
pushing the limits
with a wink of an eye
Nothing like the playoffs!
Tammy M Darby Dec 2013
Pausing for a reaction
A hateful acknowledgement of my actions
Jangling your nerves
For each and every infraction


I push the buttons
To a dangerous ledge
Forcing you closer and closer
To the cliff's edge
Happily for filling to my death a pledge

I push the buttons
Comes a loving embrace
Then retrieve from my memory
Thoughts better erased
The time in my life
Sequence of events
They gave way to my now favorite pastime

I push the buttons
A puppet helpless you will dance
Never again allowed the chance
To have a life without the shadow of a cloud

Forever
Prodding and poking
I shall never cease
The humming of my plastic keys
Enlightening those
Who cannot believe
What lies on the other side
There will be no peace
My appetite  for revenge will never be filled
So I push the buttons



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S517(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Everyone is scared of Death.
I'm petrified of Death.
But am I scared to die?
No,
no, I am not. I welcome the end with open arms.

At night I shudder under my blanket
dreaming of the paths that Death leaves
in its wake.
In the darkness of my room with thunderstorms inside my head,
I fear the hole that is left
after Death has struck.
I wonder what,
who, might come out of it:
Depression, Mourning, Sorrow, Confusion, Emptiness,
and even more Death.


I miss the good old days
when Life could be as easy as
going to bed at night worrying
about what Pokemon version to get,
how to get the latest game console,
what skill in basketball I need to improve in,
when my parents will find out I had an infraction,
how the test next day will go.

But it's funny, Life,
the more you grow in it
the more you approach Death.
"Years from now, I hope we'll still be in each others lives"

I truly wish for this.
I'm nervously staring at a blank page
I can not concentrate
Why can I not explain how deranged
These thoughts will range before I engage with another
Leaving everything getting to me beneath the surface
While asking after others

Internal whispers hint on my actions
Each infraction gains traction
As I fail to supplement the latter with a fraction of a rebuttle
All the while huddling in a corner and never subtle
Like a mortar ready to explode yet I self-implode each time
Because I refuse to unload
It makes my mind the victim within this fight

The fact that I will not attack but rather act and pretend
Like this suspension will defend me or better yet transcend me
Is another cover until exactly when?
Otherwise pending
How selfishly imposed is my level of deceit
Not a second of relief for I am a liar and a thief
To expose copiously my own hopeless struggle crumbling me

But if I don't take this venom that's coursing through me
If I don't choose lemons over poison
That's it, I'm done C'est la vie, ***** me
I'll write out each and every buffer
For this montage of self-sabotage isn't quite enough
To make me suffer

No.

It seems I need to be hit with lightning nineteen times while struck from behind and intertwined in the jaws of a great white shark before anything productive happens or anything creative sparks. Before I utilize the clandestine confines of this mind to do or say or think of something smart. Just another day to start another chapter in the story of my life. I've come so far and fought so hard to stay away from that knife. Known recognition through prepositions giving meaning to my trifles and tremblings, be they lucid dreams or presently vivid memories...

And never feigning, only straining harder each day
Contemplating carefully
The words that I say
The thoughts that I convey
The everyday reality that's now so far away

What can I do to replace the voices haunting me?
Flaunting their perfect prisms
And what I'll never be

Its never enough
And that's just too much..
Stealing my serene
Leaving me unclean
And never free
'Devils Don't Fly' Natalia Kills
John F McCullagh Oct 2015
Jeudi, 21 Février, 1788, NYC

Il a été dit que la science progresse un décès à la fois. Pour Jeune Docteur Richard Bayley, professeur aspirant des études anatomiques, ce fut littéralement le cas. Il avait besoin d'un approvisionnement constant de cadavres récemment décédés pour ses recherches, et ce fut la raison pour laquelle il était là, la négociation avec les trois voleurs de corps dans le sous-sol de l'hôpital de New York.
"Il ya une jeune femme, Margaret La Stella, décédé jeudi dernier, et qui repose dans le complot de sa famille dans le cimetière de l'église de la Trinité." Ceci est le corps, je dois, pour ma recherche, et je suis prêt à payer le taux en vigueur pour vos services. "
Quel improbable trio étaient ces hommes debout avec lui. Leur chef, James, était un géant d'un homme robuste, près de six pieds de haut, ses deux compagnons étaient des nains par comparaison, à peine cinq pieds chacun. "Rafe ici est un bon pour crocheter les serrures sur les portes de fer et Alfie est rapide avec une pelle en bois. Il les ressuscite dans une hâte: «Je vais pousser le corps dans une brouette et de vous rencontrer de retour ici pour livrer la marchandise et récupérer notre argent. Vous aurez à payer un peu plus que vous le feriez pour un pauvre ou un nègre ".
Il était une négociation rapide et le docteur assez rapidement convenu à son prix, laissant James à se demander si il aurait dû demander plus. Eh bien, une bonne affaire est une bonne affaire, et une médaille d'or chacun Guinée était bon salaire pour un travail obscur de la nuit.
Ils défilaient sur puis, laissant le jeune Richard à ses pensées. Bientôt, très bientôt, il serait de nouveau afficher Margaret. Bientôt son corps allait abandonner ses secrets pour lui et il serait apprendre la mort avait pris celle qui avait été si belle et si jeune. Il n'y avait rien à faire pour lui maintenant, sauf à attendre. Il est assis avec une tasse de thé et a tenté de se distraire avec le journal du soir.
Body Snatchers, ou Resurrectionists, comme ils préfèrent être appelés, sont en mauvaise réputation en cette année de notre Seigneur 1788. gens souhaitent en général tourner un oeil aveugle quand le corps de certains pauvre a fini sur la table de dissection. Un bien faire femme blanche avec une famille était généralement prévu pour se reposer tranquillement. Encore James et ses deux petits complices connaissaient leur entreprise et vous faire le travail rapide de celui-ci sur cette nuit.
James arrêta son cheval et le chariot bien en deçà de la Trinité, ne voulant pas porter trop d'attention à eux. Il serait monter la garde à la porte du cimetière avec une brouette tandis que ses deux complices petits glissa à l'intérieur et fixés au corps.
Trinity Church cimetière était à côté du site de l'ancienne église qui avait brûlé dans le grand incendie de New York du 76 '. Le doyen actuel de l'église avait accumulé des fonds destinés à la construction d'un second, plus grandiose église de la Trinité, mais encore la construction avait pas encore commencé. L'absence de l'église physique devrait signifier pas de gardien et un cimetière qui serait totalement déserte sur une nuit la mi-hiver froid. Avec seulement une lune décroissante pour l'éclairage, les trois hommes étaient dépendants de lanternes à main qui ont donné peu de lumière et à côté de pas de chaleur lorsque les vents du sud de Manhattan serraient à la gorge comme un spectre vengeur.
"Et c'est parti. Rafe se rendre au travail cueillette de la serrure, tandis que je l'aide avec Alfe la bêche et les couvertures. "
«Je vais avoir besoin d'une longueur de corde, trop mate, à nouer autour du corps et le faire glisser le long de la tombe."
Ils ont été surpris par le cri plaintif d'un grand corbeau noir qui a été perché sur la porte du cimetière de fer et qui semblait être en regardant leurs activités avec curiosité et méfiance.
«Je dois la porte ouverte, allez, Alfe, je ne veux pas être là plus longtemps que je le dois."
James regarda les deux hommes petits happés leurs lanternes et des outils et ont disparu dans les ombres du cimetière de Trinity.
Ils ont trouvé la tombe récemment fini de la fille La Stella rapidement, et Alfe commencé tout de suite avec sa pelle de bois pour creuser le cercueil de son lieu de repos temporaire. Il a travaillé tranquillement, mais ses travaux ne vont pas complètement inaperçu.
"Mate, Prêtez-moi un coup de main et nous allons la faire sortir d'ici. Jetez la corde ".
Rafe a fait comme il a été soumissionné. Il a également ouvert sa lanterne et l'agita en un signal à James que le travail était presque terminé. James n'a cependant pas été le seul qui a vu le signal.
Comme le corps a été exhumé une lueur d'or attira l'attention de Alfe. Je t avais un anneau sur les cadavres quitté l'annulaire.
Grave voler était considéré comme une infraction plus grave que trafic de cadavres, mais sûrement pas l'un allait remarquer petit anneau d'or disparu. Quoi qu'il en soit ce corps allait retrouver tell disséqué et articulé, il avait entendu on fait bouillir la chair de l'os de fournir un squelette complet pour l'étude. Personne ne les payait pas assez d'argent à son retour ici quand le bon docteur avait fini avec son travail.

Était-ce juste imagination- de Alfe ou fait froid main morte des cadavres lui semblent se battre pour l'anneau avant qu'il arracha libre. Immédiatement, cependant, toutes les pensées de l'or est devenu secondary- il y avait des problèmes en cours de réalisation
"Vous là, montrez-moi vos mains!" Il y avait un garde dans les motifs de la chancellerie, un peu de malchance qu'ils avaient pas compté sur. Rafe, pas un héros, sa réaction immédiate a été de tourner et courir. Il lâcha la corde et le corps de la jeune fille se laissa retomber dans le trou, près de piégeage Alfe dans une étreinte indésirables.
Alfe bondit de la tombe ouverte et renversé le grand mince tombe garde qui semblait un peu plus d'un squelette lui-même. Il a entendu le crieur public dans la distance la sonnette d'alarme. Alfe a abandonné toute idée de récupérer le corps de la jeune fille et avait l'intention d'évasion. Comme il sauta de la porte, il pouvait entendre la garde frénétiquement essayant de charger son fusil. Alfe besoin de plus de distance. Il a dû se rendre à James à la porte.

Un fusil à âme lisse est une arme la plus fiable et à beaucoup plus que 100 verges pour atteindre un succès était plus de chance que d'habileté. Alfe entendit à peine la décharge de l'arme, mais la douleur dans son dos était difficile à ignorer. James l'a attrapé avant qu'il ne tombe, mais il est vite devenu évident pour les deux que Alfe ne fallut pas longtemps pour ce monde.
James et Rafe ont travaillé rapidement pour obtenir Alfe dans la brouette et le roue de l'écart. Le gardien tentait de recharger mais la distance et l'obscurité devenait leur ami. Il ne serait pas obtenir un deuxième coup avant qu'ils ont fait à la voiture.
Pour le docteur Bayley il semblait que les Resurrectionists étaient de retour plus tôt que prévu il, mais le corps dans la couverture était pas le corps qu'il avait prévu de recevoir.

«Il y avait un garde posté à la chancellerie en face du cimetière. Il faut avoir vu l'un de nos lanternes et est sorti pour enquêter. Il descendit un coup à nous pauvres Alfe obtenu dans le dos. "
Richard regarda par-dessus le corps de Alfe, le nouveau sujet du Royaume des morts. «Combien voulez-vous pour ce corps?" Ils ont conclu rapidement leur affaire, James ne fait pas tout à fait aussi bien qu'il aurait pour le corps de la jeune femme, mais divisées deux façons il serait suffisant pour obtenir de lui un endroit pour dormir et nourriture et la boisson en plus. Alfe allait être un homme difficile à remplacer, mais il y avait beaucoup d'hommes durs bas près des docks qui feraient le travail et ne pas trop parler aux mauvaises personnes.
Il pensait qu'il ne serait pas bientôt d'accord pour ouvrir la tombe d'un dame. Les corps des pauvres ne sont pas si étroitement participé.

Bientôt Docteur Bayley avait le corps d'Alfe déshabillé et lavé et prêt sur la table. Dans sa vie relativement brève ce corps avait rarement eu assez à manger et trop de gin à boire. Les dents qui lui restaient étaient jauni et il y avait des signes de maladie des gencives. Richard était sur le point de faire la première incision dans la poitrine quand il a remarqué une lueur d'or dans la main droite crispée.

Il était un anneau; il était la même bague qu'il avait donné sa Margaret quelques semaines avant. Juste quelques semaines avant la mort l'avait prise de lui. Il ne savait pas qu'elle avait été enterré avec lui. Richard a tenu le petit anneau dans sa main et a commencé à pleurer amèrement, dans la connaissance cruelle qu'il ne reverrait jamais son visage, pas dans cette vie ou la prochaine.
A short story, in French, based on a grave robbery that took place on Thursday February 21, 1788 in Trinity graveyard in New York City.
Sam Jones Dec 2014
They left the gear behind
Art extracted from the wall
Beauty replaced by wreckage

Goal.
Better, cheaper, faster
Supersize that meal
Minimize the standing

Next whistle.
Who violated the infraction
Opened the door and stared into darkness.

Avoid all signs of humanity.
Misguided focus limits potential
Evolution carries
Idea’s reincarnated

Real estate in your cranium
Captured with pencil and paper
Juicy secondary ideas
Endless amounts of protein

Multicolored index cards
Wilderness of imagination
Keith W Fletcher Sep 2018
I can't..just can't avoid
Running into my own shadow
As I dance with myself
Whenever your aura is concerned
Hard to understand why
I feel so strong the attraction
Or why you put up
With the ridiculous stories I constantly unfold.
And I do listen for
Even the tiniest bit of recrimination and never have I heard a hint
For pushing you too far
So what random spin or role of the die led me to your acquaintance
And...and I voiced my affection
A little hint - not any overt abstractions
I would never ever want to be
associated
With the kind to emanate an infraction
I think you understand and I want you to know
At least from my point of view
You are.... like
the best chocolate
a sweetness
an addiction
that just makes me
as nutty
As a peanut butter cup
I would if I could
you know.....??
the line rhymes
so I've said enough
love you ....for
....that way that you are
An infatuation...my..  
Hey...!
Who got their aura ..
...all over my imagination?
Keith W Fletcher Jan 2016
Think you're in the drivers seat
But you're being taken for a ride
There's so many things you once had
That have been taken away -denied
Keep giving you the run around
Until you're too tired to notice
That you're just a pawn -inventory
To help them fill the quota
Moving forward towards a destination
As we all fall backwards
By self segregation
Cops on one side
As citizens take up positions on the other
Long gone -seem to be-those days
When we thought of everyone as a brother
Learn to park the car
So the camera doesn't point
Towards the action the infraction
What good is a camera on the chest
When all it takes is a hand
To cover up the brutality of an arrest
Army surplus filling out the wish list
Of the new urban vision
To the point that things have risen
To a totality of saturation
Where if you don't know your station
They have a back-up plan
In the form of private prison
Build it and they will come
Business as usual- trumps the visual
Seeing doesn't mean believing
Pain for you
Will always profit some
Rich keep on getting richer
Poor get getting trod -on
Politicians say they're getting
Just what they brought on to themselves
That ain't the way I see it
One person one vote
If you're taking note
You will see that they are trying to
Gwrrymander everyone  into encampments
Everyone's building camps of their own
Self-segregation falling into a wayward nation
As tribal-bands expand
With any vision its easy to see
The cost of preservation is loyalty
To the gang with which you hang
Even if it comes to a gun battle
In a crowded parking lot
When cops are prepared and aware
A nation of TOO many law's
Creates a LAWLESS  nation!
Just like we've now got

If you think I've gone too far
Then ask yourself who it is
Who it is ...
That we really are.
Tommy Johnson Jan 2015
Way out in its own oasis
Its very own brand of homeostasis
Passed the jarred ideas and whacked out mazes
Is a spot

Full of unknown faces
Hailing from unknown places
Look at it, fall out with out protracted traces
Vacant lot

Then let's settle the score
What is your original face before your mom and dad were born?
Why not start over with a clean slate, as the smell of new dawns pervade
I forgot to eat

Maybe if you gave the derelict half a chance
And looked at things from the ambivert's stance
People wouldn't notice your ego's protuberance
Upstaged by an under study

Pull the button, turn the lever, push the switch and flip the ****
Predicate the incendiary infraction
Reductio ad absurdum
Lip service provides scrutiny

We've been normalized, what the recipe for ice?
We're full of emptiness, nothing exists
No-thing, not a thing does not exist
Life is deathless

I'm looking for multifaceted individuals
To fix something that's irreparable  
An eerie parable, something terrible
My future's told by flash cards

I put my head between my knees
Just wipe my memory
Leave me at the bottom of the sea
Leave my dignity to discard

When two separate divisions are over lapping
What's the sound of one hand clapping?
Comparing then and now every now and then
Again, never will I say"never again"

       -Tommy Johnson
Jeremy Betts Dec 2023
We are a bad design
For example;

A vain person disgusted with the same person in every reflection
What insane being had the unmitigated gall to be insertin' that complication into a person
Self-deprivation an infection of a mind nurtured from inception
Do I even need to mention the who, what, where, why and when of my formation

...I've heard it said over and over again...

It's the creator of all creation, although I don't know where they're getting their information
I've read Genesis through Revolutions over and over again, no revelation
A costly salvation, so much rejection for every little infraction
Never seen an open invitation with so much expectation

...not a single one of us are getting in...

We're designed to sin due to his lust for "discipline" lookin' down at the chaos with a menacing grin
A master of manipulation, the "do what I say not what I do" origin
If he's who we're based on then he's who the worst of you see in your reflection
"God is good" should be turned into a question though I understand the hesitation

...I know the fear it's based in...

Not even a good god adaptation, parts of old religion taken and added to your own doctrine
Each page of "his words" a contradiction of the last no matter the translation
It's always been, it's not just now going through a mutation
Under face value it's basic power retention, not somethin' they'll be changin'

...you're in for a rude awakenin'...

Be smart, search your mind not your heart, that's only for circulation
It's lifespan based on repetition, same mission as the Reverend and fellow brethren
This whole things a set up, a con, a lie that people won't stop spreadin'
And if the threat of eternal damnation is the only thing keepin' you from sinnin' then listen

...those morals are set by an immoral faction...

©2023
Alexander S Mar 2010
Just when you think it has ended
And people have matured
You’re ready to have all the fractures mended
But another infraction occurs

Four, Sixteen, Twenty
Some think it’s too much
And some think it’s simply plenty
Well I don’t give a ****.

Some are still just part of the flock
Letting the herd dictate their life
And I had honestly thought I’d stopped
Having to deal with that kind of strife.

Who are you to think you know better
Keeping things between the lines
Following arbitrary rules to the letter
So refined?  No, so confined.

Who do you think you are
Trying to put me on trial
Well you won’t get very far
Sieg heil! Sieg heil!
Carl Stevenson Nov 2011
I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
The chorus of voices come from nowhere,
And lead me equally so,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
Apologizing for an unseen infraction,
Nothing is unforgivable.

Did it explode?
They keep walking, breaking glass.
No one around them can stop them.
Paying no attention to the pieces of broken glass,
They continue on their deadly masquerade,
With a malevolent soul supplying the masques.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
The chorus of voices return,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
Bringing more meaning to the racing thoughts.

Footsteps.
Paranoia.
The cicadas stop in an orchestrated silence.
Step. Step.
I’m alone. No one is there.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry
A dream? Is that what it is?
I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Am I crazy?
Where are the answers?

I need to tell someone.
It is killing me.
I need to let people know.
What good is it, that the ones I need to tell, are yet the ones doing the killing?

I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
that the truth cannot be shown.
Bob B Feb 2022
Russian aggressors made their move.
Now they're in Ukraine.
What is Putin trying to prove?
What is there to gain?
The autocrat's messages are cloaked
In lies that Russia was provoked.

Stand with Ukraine as Russian forces
Put Putin's plan into action.
We already know that this of course is
More than a mere infraction.
Playing the role of boogeyman
Is part of Putin's larger plan.

Putin claims his forces are there
To stop denazification.
The argument, which is full of holes,
Is total fabrication.
We already know that he's obsessed
With Ukraine's interest in the West.

We watch as the egomaniac
Causes death and destruction
With this unwarranted attack--
Another Putin production!
Stand with Ukraine in this sad hour
As Putin basks in his ill-gotten power.

-by Bob B (2-24-22)
Ajay Apr 2012
I know it sounds cliche
Just try to brighten up your day
The slightest infraction from your schedule may spiral you down
From which you stood to the hard earthy ground
Being unable to get up, but you have me,
Your friends, your love, passions, interests...thoughts
I will carefully, soothingly lift you off the barren soil
Carrying you though my foot is broken. cracked,
My mind has morphed into desolate waste.
I will never leave you in the midst of danger
Rescuing you regardless of what happens to me.
I will be there, not just because I love you,
But because every entity in my being has the urge to Care,
Genuinely care for you
Standing there,
Breathing, inhale, exhale, coming to a realization,
Moments like this only bring us closer,
Strengthening our relationship
Creating unforgettable memories of joy
Even in the most irrefutably painful situations.
I will endure because of you,
So in stressful situations full of angst or worry
Never forget the most difficult task: remembering,
Remember I am and will be there for/with you
Sam Temple Mar 2015
Sure,
I work in maximum security prison
grow large scale medical marijuana
have 22 year old twin daughters,
who are beautiful and without child…
a nineteen year old son,
with no police record,
and enrolled in community college –
Yes,
I have a Bachelor’s degree
I received at almost 40
served on the parks and rec. board as vice-chair
was president of a prison education awareness group
have not had any sort of infraction
for 20 years –
It’s true,
I am a white man in America
free and over 21
I vote so I feel free to complain
eat GMO free and organic
try to get in a little exercise
spend time with my wife and children as fun
enjoy the company of my friends –
I’ll concede
I am a good person
make positive choices
for not only my life
but with future generations in mind
ecologically friendly
with an eye to restoring the natural habitats……………
…………………………………………
…………………………………………
but,
I am
no
hero
I’m struck
Struck, not by stubborn winds
nor seeping rain and bitter snow
I am struck by the audacity!
The audacity of life itself…

Grating insults hurled
middle fingers flashing like upturned fangs
sumptuous thighs, bare and glistening in the sunlight
heavy alcohol dripping off the cheeks.
Failed relationships,
I was bored so…
Isn’t that always the excuse,
as to why I can hear her
***** him
didn’t she know I’d be home?
Who cares.
It’s the audacity of life that bugs me,
because,
the simple answer, with every infraction,
is,
I do so, because I am.
Now leave me be.

But I know they know it can't be that simple.
They're all the 29th round boxer fighting a shadow:
an unyielding mass of darkness
chained to our souls
occupying no more than the air itself
yet heavy as the bedrock of hell
deep and destructive.

I've seen these shadows break a man.
I was that man.
So I tremble at the audacity of life.
Wherein the puppet manipulates the master.
Wherein the blind see more than the visionary.
Wherein the beggar is imbued with purpose,
and the money mogul strips his vassals of soul and sympathy.

Yes, and I have the audacity to write this,
like I give a ****,
when I'm just like you.
Another day...
Another dollar...
With this poem, I wanted to reflect on the reality of living in a world one does not understand, as well as the presence of hypocrisy that seems to be, not only a fact, but a staple of human consciousness.

How do we shake this weight?
It is our willingness to bear duplicity that splits, then weakens, then shatters our "self."
Every building needs scaffolding to become a grand structure.
I think humans are much the same.
Our lives get so complicated that we forget we are organic.
Mortal.
Fallible.

Anyway, enough for today!

Enjoy!

DEW
Sara Shaw Jun 2014
How intriguing the thought
of serendipitous chance
A fortunate omen of sudden romance

Through glass and fog of distance and time
A like-minded, almost kindred affinity
brings a new effervescence to the presumed absurdity

If time was a place, located by thought
The distance that breeds connection
Is simply the means to the desired perfection

How gracious and bold that time must be
To create such a lasting attraction
Where an end seems a pity, a waste, an infraction

The balance of forces that compels the unseen
Opens closed minds to new perspectives
And clouds the indignant, old and tired objectives

Misplaced emotions and volatile benevolence
Lead to perpetual indecision, and wasted dreams
Where the goal is unattainable and sacrificed for schemes

Pondering the options that are created as such
Lead to open possibilities of endless means
Where whimsical notions are an effortless tease

How long the path winds and curves to sight
The ingenious and recondite plot of the teller's tale
Unbeknownst to those who may leave it for fail
Thickens more as it turns and toils
Breeding excitement, adventure and a life all its own
To be nurtured, or kept, or ever grown.
the ones of courage
stood up to bravely defend
they saw that injustice
was in need of amend

others looked away
not seeing an infraction
yet the valiant warriors
forwarded into action

they dared to do
what was right
and didn't shun
the just fight

showing conviction
was JAX and Kim
who stood up to advocate
for the apt Jim
A poem inspired by the courage of Kim Johanna Baker and JAX SPADES. Their advocacy for others is without peer.
Lauren Prather Aug 2016
Ropes stretching, squeezing my lungs,
binding flesh in, and expanding pink tissue,
suffocating, coughing, choking up words.
My throat pinched, struggling to say
                           What I Need To Say.

Scars on my heart and on my hand,
reddish bruises covering my pale abdomen,
shrills held in, but do I risk it?
What's one more beautifully purple mixed blue
                           Infraction?

Why do I stay with a creature,
morbid, able to inflict pain on someone,
                            On Me.
Gasping for air, that salty, watery substance
inundating my every crease.

"I love you baby."
But he loves me. I've never been loved.
I can't lose something I have been needing.

Covering up my myriad continual pain,
the marks that I'm constantly reminded of,
turning into a vibrant watercolor painting with each passing day.
I've had enough.
I'm done.
Please Stop!
"but I love you"
(I wrote this light hearted communique years ago when thy youngest of deux darling demure offspring found more enjoyment then she would as a soon tubby celebrating nineteen orbitz round mister Sun).
-----------------------------------------------------------­----------------------
Just my luck on a freaky Friday, while living in another world unfettered from the parent trap that a life-size machete conveniently available to fend off mean girls racing in their life-size love bug christened “Herbie fully loaded” while cranking up the song “ultimate” somehow found me to get a clue that raven-symone a prairie home companion.

Please pardon this bard of Belmont hills for brazenly barging into your life – without even so much as a gold plated invitation. The nerve of this nattering nabob of Narberth to perform a google search in an effort to pay homage to such smart as a whip wealthy woman, whom maintains lustrous beauty even whence approaching the half century longevity chronological benchmark.

A whim to scribble stream of consciousness thoughts about the mother of one constantly caught in the infamous cross hairs of media blitz krieg must induce chronic ferocity against this plague of tabloid locusts.

Such scrutiny seems to be the price one (and/or her/his kith and/or kin) must unfairly pay to be in the limelight of fame and fortune.

As one absolutely anonymous any man ambling along the boulevard of broken dreams, I envy luxurious lifestyle of the rich and famous as all my children (two teenage daughters) freely scamper away from dark shadows indicating the edge of night as the world turns.

Also, no great expectation (by dickens) goads me (an ordinary mister mom manning the ongoing – nearly infinite – needs and wants of thy fourteen and twelve year old lasses, whom contribute immensely to a more purposely driven life no matter they present untenable wishes.

Back in the day when this papa could afford plethora of fios cable channels, but mainly thru the subtle influence of thine younger offspring (who will celebrate her thirteenth anniversary of existence on this temporal plane or rather oblate spheroid in space), I chanced to watch television programs with Lindsay Lohan as one (if not) the leading actress(es) and found the characters she portrayed quite entertaining to escape the cares and concerns of an uncertain global state of affairs.

These days, aol headline pages incessantly splash with minor infraction(s) that inevitably lands your lovely Lindsay incarcerated for mere misdemeanors no doubt stoking the fires of fervid frenzy within your being.

Only heartfelt commiseration found me to tap out this missive (while a golden opportunity existed to co-opt our only macbook – while the spouse soundly sleeps and thy progeny preoccupied with interpersonal connections) to express said sentiment of compassion and adulation for a most superlative maternal role well done.
Anais Vionet Jan 2022
In my family, a convent in Lucerne, Switzerland loomed legend large.
Its name is “La Madone Noire” (the Black Madonna) and according to my mom, it is a “finishing school” where captious girls, who lied or who wouldn’t behave, were sent to live with and be schooled by nuns.

It was, from all reports, a terrible and stern place where there was never any ice cream or bedtime stories and the toys, when there were any, were made of straw.

Most of the time it was my older sister Annick getting the dark Poe-like lectures, but I was there, in my high chair, listening wide-eyed. The very idea that Annick could be snatched up, for some infraction, and sent off to the nuns horrified me to the point that my heartbeat seemed to come through my whole body.

Eventually, as we grew, “Lucerne” became a shorthand for “shape up or else,” and oddly,  it never lost its potency. Hmm, you know, come to think of it - there was no equivalent monastery for my brother.
the stories we grow up with can shape us

ch#65    BLT word of the day challenge
Captious: "tending to find fault or entangle in argument."
smallhands Jul 2014
I
you could say I have an addiction
to obsessing over
every square centimeter
of your existence
but that's not wrong
it's no legal infraction
to be so immensely captivated
by the shadows on your cheeks
and the dizzying inflections of
your voice
surely I am not crazy
you are
for being so ridiculous
and impossible
to forget

-c.j.
Keith W Fletcher Feb 2017
I'm running along this abstraction
But I can't seem to get any kind of  traction
Still bewildered by your initial action
And I never expected that kind of reaction

I hope it gave you some kind of satisfaction
Trying to break me down to a simple fraction
I just don't think I'll ever see what is the attraction
So it seems that there's no need for any protraction

The light that once shined in my eyes refraction
Has now obviously become some kind of distraction
Whatever once brought us to an impaction
I guess those dreams that were - suddenly weren't - by contraction

Nothing is ever as simple as finding what was ...wasn't
Or could suddenly couldn't
When you find out you were what you thought you weren't
And now tears... I knew I would though I told myself I wouldn't
We still are what we are or we aren't
I got to go now...
... As it suddenly seems that to still care is a new world infraction
I guess satisfied always  has to end up becoming satisfaction

And as I'm running along this abstraction I just can't seem to get any kind of traction.
Ammar Dec 2018
Left,
The happiness we reaped
Was left to rot
By an infraction that could've
Been forgiven.
'Ello
AnonEMouse Aug 2018
What I fear most
Is that intellectuals and scholars have never been understood
And that I stand among them
Like a ***** in today's time
Unworthy and misunderstood
The slightest Infraction a death sentence to a meaningful existence
If, for only a second, they could see things how I do.
How grand it could be.
betterdays Jan 2017
my mother throws
the wet headed mop at him,
expecting him, nimble and atheletic
to jump over it
but it hits his calf
and ankle with
a sickening crack
and he falls
like tree felled in a storm
as he hits the too long green grass
there is a wet thud, thud.

then a momentary silence
striking in it's completeness
so profound, it is almost zen like

broken by the high pitched wail
as the pain receptors in my brothers brain
kick in to high gear,he writhes on the ground
my mother hovering over him
repeating this mantra
"you were supposed to jump!
you, were supposed to jump"

he was foueteen, the local sport star
arrogant as only teenagers can be.

she would have been middle to late forties
a single parent having worked a double shift

I cannot remember his infraction,
there were;  oh, so many
but still 38 years on
I can feel the silence
so absolute....
and hear the mantra....

you were supposed to jump
                                    you were supposed to jump
My mother to my recollection only ever twice lost the plot in anger....this was one of those times....as I say I have no recall of what my brother did...
My mother worked hard and was a good mother...and father to us...
I write this today...because  I found myself un a similar situation...
not that I was violent toward my child
but that I was so blindingly angry that  I could have been.
As to why that is another story entirely.  Suffice to say youthful exuberance, and no fear, can be a mix that makes Momma mad.....

My brother was bruised by the mop handle, every body carried the shock of that moment with them for a good many years....My mother apologised profusely to us all for her loss of control....and I think that was when we as children had that epiphany children have...that parents are humans too with strengths a d weaknesses.
As a child I was in awe of the monentous nature of that moment, as an adult I do not condone the violence within it, but after today...I may have a better understanding of it

— The End —