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Kyle Kulseth May 2014
Our old uncle, Daedalus,
     he'd grin when he spoke to us
His mouth was missing teeth
and so his wisdom flowed out free
He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
He'd tell us he had seen the world
     and this was his decree:

     "Don't fly too high, you little *****.
       You just might live to pay for it.
       The Sun is always hot,
       the ground gets harder every day."

"But, Daedalus," we would complain,
"You are old and we would fain
see the sights you saw before
          we sleep beneath the clay."

And dear old Uncle Daedalus
     he'd laugh and spit and swear at us
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell.
This life is one big ******* maze
with twists and turns and tricks to play.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

We'd try to listen, try to thank
him for the words, but his breath stank
and, anyway, we thought that he
               had prob'ly **** himself

But dear old Uncle Daedalus
hung Death from lips that spoke to us
and ****** if he weren't right
about the things he always said:
"Inventiveness works, by and by
with daring, you may taunt the sky
                                   like I did
                                  but the fall is long--
my dreams and son are dead."

He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell..."

"Don't fly too high, you little *****.
You just might live to pay for it.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."
Nicole Shaw Nov 2014
Insanity you speak as if it makes people impaired;
What a world we live in where people take another persons thoughts and creativity and push them aside because they see insanity in their eyes;
Insanity, I think of it as a creativity within me;
Insanity resides inside of everybody at the back of their minds;
Running from your thoughts? Why hide from the beautiful individuality in your mind. Shut down the people who hide from the artist inside;
I know you may think there is nothing to hide but i see inventiveness behind your eyes;
If people think your creativity sounds insane then do the world a favor and curse their name.
Mike T Minehan Feb 2013
Poor little octopus.
Big head and eight tentacles
but no *****, ***** or testicles.

What's that, you say? Then how do these poor little cephalopods
buck such terrible odds when they feel like a ****** agenda
and they don't have any pudenda?

Well, it's quite simple, really. He hands her ***** on a tentacle
and what do you suppose?
She says, thank you very much, and sticks it up her nose!

Honest. No dinner first or shoulder massage,
she just whacks it up her nasal passage. You can be quite sure
this is an amazing olfactory aperture.

So the moral is, don't complicate a simple process.
When you're feeling frisky, *** need not be tricky.
Just consider the inventiveness of the octopus with no ***** or a *******.

Because it's the ingenuity of the octopus, not it's ****** act,
that we should court. Compared to the octopus,
the human nose is naught.
It's too high up and tight for such naughty, wicked sport.  

Also, such a human act is fraught with political incorrectness.  
A gentleman who tries this little rort to get the girls to snort
and says, up your nostril, madam, might all too well
receive a rude retort. Or even worse!

I say herein lies food for thought.
                                                        ­                             Mike T Minehan
L M C Sep 2014
practicing mental gymnastics
insipid memories
seeping their way past
defensive buffers
remembering repressed poisons
as a catalyst for making
wiser decisions

lackadaisical reactions to
sharply defined parallaxes
warrant an immediate shift

fractal spectacles
the labyrinth of my innards

inhale the cosmological smoke of suggestion

words become meaningless
when repeated exhaustively
semantic satiation
slicing away at true intentions
paving the way to
false inventiveness

shallow river beds are loud
prouder than their counterparts
insecurity overshadows

a lack of faith in the faint of heart
everything worthwhile
falls apart
Exhale Your Mind Oct 2014
Dear Spanish breeze,
You rolled up my inspirational sleeves.
You gave me a glorious sight and placed me in an inventive light.
I call you a thief in the night for robbing words out of my mouth.
You guide my fingertips and the lips of my pen
by kisses of daydreams and endless ideas.
I am a home where the sweetest poems abide in.
Ready to come out and imprint a thousand pages.
What a delight to travel through poetic time of this artistic city.

Dear Spanish sun,
You burned my lack of poetic desire.
You colored my inventiveness like you darkened my skin.
I admire the way you have inspired me to become the poetess i aspire to be.
Your ravishing art undressed the indecisive poetess in me.
So here I stand emotionally naked in front of written truth
ready to loose myself in your Catalan atmosphere.
"Rest your ears darling and let your eyes whisper poetic visuals," you say.
And i close my eyes. I travel through this dream till forever ends.
judy smith Aug 2016
Ten minutes is all Sabyasachi Mukherjee has. “Can you keep the interview short,” I’m asked, as the announcement of his participation in the finale of Lakme Fashion Week’s upcoming Winter Festive show is made. Is ten minutes enough to recap the 14-year journey of this master of colour, cut and construction, I wonder. But I realised that Sabyasachi in rapid-fire mode can make ten minutes seem like twenty! Excerpts:

What is it about LFW that made you return?

It’s here that I first made a mark as a designer. I’m familiar with the format, and know the people. It is like a homecoming. The good thing about LFW is that everything is taken care of – from building the set to inviting people. So I have the freedom to focus on the clothes. It is like putting together a complete show, but doing only half the work!

Finales are a challenge – given the expectations of people in the fraternity, profiles of attendees and the intangible themes created by Lakme for interpretation into garments…

Well, it’s not at all difficult for me. This is my fifth finale at LFW. Once the make-up and hair are set, it is easy to imagine the look and what the girls must wear. I’m way too senior to worry about pre-show stress. My biggest pressure comes from whether I will like what I create. Beyond that, even the critics’ reaction doesn’t really concern me.

Will this line too be about Indian-ness?

Whether I do Western, Eastern or a combination, I always use Indian handcrafts, and all my clothes are handmade. Traditional textiles, block prints, weaves and embroidery are a constant in my collections. The theme being “Illuminate”, this line is about red-carpet clothes with a strong shimmer quotient.

Sunday was National Handloom Day. Considering our diverse range of homespun textiles, do you think everyday must be celebrated as handloom day in India?

Absolutely. It is mandatory at my stores. My staff wears only handloom saris or kurtas made of hand-woven fabric. My Instagram hashtag says ‘Wearing handloom everyday.’

Social media plays a significant role in promoting tradition. Smriti Irani’s ‘I wear handloom’ campaign on Twitter and the 100 Saree Pact are recent examples. Isn’t it time designers too found new ways to promote heritage?

Yes. As more and more Western brands enter the market, our designers must first establish an identity of their own. The Zaras of the world are bringing active prêt into the country, so it is important for us to revive the market for Indian clothes. Reinventing tradition and rethinking marketing strategies are critical at this point.

Has the hustle of today’s business taken fun away from fashion? How do you strike a balance between creative expression and commercial viability?

Oh, that’s very simple. I set my own rules. For instance, this year, I had too much on my calendar. I didn’t do ramp shows, I only had a showing on Instagram. Established designers must create new templates that suit their creativity instead of allowing the market to set the pace for them. Because, at the end of the day, only if you have the time and space for creative expression, can you create beautiful clothes that determine the durability of your brand.

If you were to spell out two major problems faced by the fashion world, what would they be?

Lack of originality. Lack of self-belief.

Fashion has evolved into a glamorous industry, and today, many youngsters want to be part of it. But most of what we see on the ramp and in the retail space are risk-free repetitions.

Well, for designers to evolve, the market has to evolve. But the mood is changing. There are designers who are willing to push boundaries and clients who are ready to experiment. Facebook, Pinterest and Instagram are changing the way people see and respond to fashion. The horizons are widening. This is a wonderful time for young designers to launch their labels and sustain their inventiveness.

Very few Indian designers have taken the effort to document fashion. What about you?

Yes, I will at some point in time get down to writing about my brand. But for that, I will first have to find the right publisher!

Many corporate players are keen on collaborating with designers.

I receive so many proposals for collaborations that I refuse one every day! I am collaborating with Asian Paints, Forever Mark and Christian Louboutin. Another huge one is coming up – but I will not be able to speak about it at the moment.

Do seasons really matter any more in the world of fashion?

Global warming is making designers understand the importance of season-defying clothing. And people too, I feel, don't shop for seasons any more. They just want beautiful clothes.

Can you update us on your forays into jewellery design and interiors?

I have collaborated with Hyderabad’s Kishandas & Company to create some iconic pieces that are hugely popular — and of course, plagiarised! I have a line coming up for Forever Mark. As for interiors, I wanted to design homes, but people did not seem to have enough confidence in me! (laughs) So I ended up doing up my own stores. I have also done up the Cinema Suite for the Taj in London. Celebrities who have stayed in the hotel have appreciated it. A significant collaboration in interiors is happening in October.

Your suggestions to keep traditions going…

People need to be educated about handmade textiles and crafts. A time will come when China will lose out to India because as people become aware, they will only want to support products that are ethically sourced and foster craft communities. Surprisingly, the new millennials are in favour of luxury that is completely handmade. I see that as a positive sign.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Genevieve Apr 2014
What is originality anymore?
The pop songs we listen to day in day out,
That are only updated remixes of
Songs that our parents
Already know every lyric to.


Is it the pranks we play on each other at school,
Poking holes in the top of water bottles,
So we don’t get caught when we try to catch our class mates.
Drowning them
In carbonated energy drinks.

Don’t think you’ll get away with it.
The teachers already know,
About flicking elastic bands at the backs of girls knees,
So they scream a little louder
And turn around to see
Boys smirking faces,
Because they have been there before.


Define originality.

Originality
. /əˌrɪdʒɪˈnalɪti/
noun
1. the ability to think independently and creatively.

•the quality of being novel or unusual


synonyms: inventiveness, creativeness, creativity, innovativeness, innovation, novelty, freshness, newness, imagination, break with tradition, resourcefulness, cleverness, daring, individuality, unusualness, unprecedentedness, uniqueness, distinctiveness
.

Is it smuggling ***** in water bottles,
Or sneaking down to the back garden
To have one last cigarette with your friends,
At 1am
On New Years
When you have had more to drink than your parents
Yet you are only 15.
Watering down whiskey from your parents liqueur cabinet
With apple juice.

Getting caught drunk
After being out with friends, Stumbling in at 2am
On Sunday morning.


Storming up to your room
After having a row with your parents.
Slamming the door,
Screaming at the floor,
Calling a friend,
And ******* about the people who brought you into this world.


Maybe
I’m not as good with words
Than I thought I was


O r i g i n a l i t y I s D e a d


Your parents Grandparents
Aunties and uncles
Have seen it all before
It’s a fact of growing up
And one day
You will too know
Exactly how it is
Idk I was just thinking too much
Edited because I didn't like itt
Paul Stevens Nov 2012
I sit before you a shadow of my former self, where once I would have reflected all that is you,
Now I absorb your freely beamed energy, hoping to feel the way I did before so long ago
My strength is my inner wisdom, not the outer shell; although still handsome some would say
A depth of character resonates from “those eyes” dark black/brown still smouldering, still alive, knowing
The delights of the body still wanting, occasionally satisfied, the mind plays tricks, for a while young again
Ambition becomes survival; action becomes interest and discussion, finally knowledge and experience
A struggle for acceptance or a path cut into my psyche through the ignorance of youth and inexperience or
Was it the innocence of not knowing and the eagerness of an open mind with a thirst for facts and the truth.
The incomprehension of reality continues to acceptance “I am older now” my life thus far an adventure,
Limited by health and financial restriction, inventiveness rules the day, a shared belief a shared involvement.
Phosphorimental Oct 2014
She is a tress of hair out of place,
combed in slow sweeps from my forehead.
I thought her an enigma to perchance unravel
by the press of well-paired lips
or by a mind besotted with moon glow
and Grenache wine;
one wicked with wisdom.

Saccharine words stirred into woody coffee,
I, Whitman, imagine her
the chill of Robert Frost
clung like sugar grains to my Leaves of Grass.

Almandine eyes of the nine Mousai
revved up by unbridled inventiveness…
I twinge too much to hold it inside,
she triumphs beyond the rim of her vessel,
so our ache and exultation
steal past the musing sentinel of apprehension;
and leap from once dormant imagination
into spirit shadows and splendid motifs.

She is a stranger to all,
but to those whom she whispers as lover.
We, two strangers of sun and moon,
curl nubile into night
to take our nuptials at dawn.

One hundred million miles and
one earth between us;
now bound as one, we pull the tides
into an unexpected tempest in my heart;
a tender act of indiscretion
undoing a tame, near tepid, bearing.

Thus muse and artist
feast upon the provender of providence
and all delectable in between them.
To concretize my theorized love,
I could play the accidental odds and strew
slippery tongues of spotted petals
onto thickly trafficked highways,
or use the best predictive modelling
to deduce when and where I can poke out
a well-heeled boot to trick unwary spills
and ****** a kiss from the unsuspecting
lips of any suitably compatible
passerby oft times inconvenienced and passed
on by.

These well-oiled and crudely experimental
methods do produce expected results,
but not the breakthrough nor the looked-for
satisfaction of appropriate reactions,
so I'll keep my dotted eyes tucked in
their pulpy stems and my shoddy toes curled back
while I beam my bits of invitation through
circuitous routes spatially arrayed along
parallel paths where one might search
with an extra-terrestrial inventiveness,
and wait.

I know the trials of these errant waves
won't add up to a guarantee
my burpy blips of a pulse can reach
the receptively comprehending and responsive
soils I seek, but it's the remoteness of a stead
to come stalking that appeals, and despite
the Hawking drone of unveiled warnings
I might regret such contact, I'll risk it all
on vaguely washed wishes this astronomical
anomaly with an alien sensibility has
one match.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Counterpart opposite
and depleted by measures of time.

Time no longer counted upon
And its hands that measures the distance
All  
one, two, three
of
them
Watches closely with intuition
as
the
minutes
go
bye.

Resolute is absent and the balance of His nature
Is unstable.
Both have grown feeble, lacking interest.

Burdened down by the weight of unevenness
Absalom has risen above the absence of the absolute
leading to a labyrinth.
.
Mystified by the maze,
He
Sits,
counting backwards,
rotating on an unhinged alignment,
expounding the injury of His inventiveness.

In another dimension of Himself, all one, two, three of them
Helios is staggered as Cupid, The God of Dark Love’s
Bow
is broken.

Now
His
equilibrium
is
faltered by the parallels between its thoughts.

Wanting love’s incarceration corrupted no more
He teeters on a stool in attempt to reverse suicide
yet the ensuing ideology of procrastination’s pride
has detoured His dilemma
However in their misfortune,
Love,
hoping to be reincarnate into another lifetime, dissolves in its delusion.

Time, in its barrenness discreetly measures the depletion and void,
and
the hands
all one, two, three of Him sits opposite
Being His
Counter in
Part
- K T P - Dec 2012
Again my eyes awake.
Bright rays of light glare,
In its piercing endless wake,
Within my new infantile stare.

My chubby hands quickly raise,
As I flex my newfound fingers.
My eyes perplexed in a deep concentrated gaze.
As my giggling mirth lingers.

I have a new toy to play with,
My chubby flesh, growing day by day.
This body grows at its own natural tithe,
Developing sturdy legs for my feet to lead the way.

I stare out the school’s window.
My mind drifting away.
Cluttered with rehashed knowledge we refuse to stow,
Within the body of our residential stay.

The bell rings on my last day of school.
Fellow classmates jump from their seat,
Bubbling with knowledge, urging to spew.
My gaze seeks the future they seek to meet.

Pale walls and dismal views,
Surrounded by co-workers dressed to bore.
My eyes choked in melancholic hues,
As workers sweat over their daily chore.

I stir within this cage of flesh,
Fidgeting, yearning for my freedom earned.
My muscles yearn to stretch their mesh,
Slowly dying as nature’s presence turned.

Every vessel bares new toys to learn.
Phones so small that they fit in ones ear!
No more long distance loves to yearn.
No more hefting the once powerful spear!

It is a blessing to see all these new toys.
The convenience and inventiveness lures one in.
Falsely deceiving all into their useful ploys.
Sloth luring them all into lazy dependent sin.

What ever happened to the days of the book?
When one’s eyes would not water from radiant glass.
Such a simple pleasant vessel for my eye to look.
Much more convenient then scrolls in mass.

The urges of this body compel me to find,
Pleasure in both flesh and electrical charms.
So I must seek a vessel with which to unwind,
My pent-up frustrations over this life’s endless harms.

It is funny how the flesh spawns more flesh.
I stand still as I see the newborn gazing up at me.
I wonder who resides in this new mesh.
I poke, **** and peer, trying to see.

Time passes as I watch this newborn grow into a man.
My protective instincts fighting for control.
Yet his essence develops as it itself can.
As he seeks his own spot in society’s role.

By now my toy has gone limp with age.
Bones crack, flesh sags, brain fluttering away.
All I can do is sit and watch the world like a sage.
Finding the safest way for all my family and friends to stay.

My friends gather as my toy finally unwinds.
My eyes close as my essence lifts.
Releasing me from my earthly binds.
Finally free to see heaven’s gifts.

Such freedom in this new state!
I speed through the ever blue clouds,
Droplets clinging to me in my wake.
Buzzing over antlike human crowds.

Ah to be free and roam the wondrous halls of nature.
The sea breeze seeping through my ethereal being.
Only from this sense can one see the lands distinct feature.
As I wonder the world, becoming all seeing.

What is this? There is a commotion ahead.
A lady is giving birth in a low shanty hut.
My will is pulling me without my stead.
I know now, my freedom is now shut.

The grasp is too strong!
The newborn’s urge to pure.
I feel it won’t be long,
The infant has set its lure.

I feel the suction.
My will is set back.
I feel the reduction,
As my will is sent to black.
It is not always easy to express one's self
When his artistic creations are never placed in galleries
They are often forgotten of
Sitting there gathering dust on a storage shelf.
It seems as if ten more people are at the same task
As which you create with
Comparing their outcomes to your own
Your light of hope fails to light
Due to many missing you that must express
such visions
A dog starved to the bone.
Eyes meet the other exhibits
As your kiosk is primarily never sought for business
The confidence of challenge is there, however, it soon melts away
When all of the hard work which you have placed
in expressions for the world to see
Fade to darkness like the "dark side of the moon"
As night simply ends the days.
Questions remain about what you are truly "gifted"
at or "ahead" of other game pieces on the board game of life.
When so many are inventive such as you
One too many is a crowd.
You pull down a fake smile. A fake shrowd.
Now the net is neutral
Damaging my once vibrant flow
As my hands are now tied to how I can grow
The rules of the game are now many and harder to get around
Like a roadblock in your sight of your future
The air begins to become too thin and your mind weighs heavy
As the cut in your creative inventiveness
Bleeds too heavy and needs a "miraculous" suture.
Needing others on my team
Every time  I seek out such
I'm the "driver x" at the "speed races"
and the "forced gun" to bear uninspiring
and lonely expressive paces.
Is their justice to the laws limiting one's freedom of expression
just to protect those in the "top few?"
When the own half of the platform on which you try and "compete"
However, you are too small to be seen as "you."
This poem is concerning Net Neutrality. It shall place too many restrictions upon our freedom of expression. As it needs not to be limited enough to cruel competitiveness and other hefty charges to earn the privilege to post that in which you create, the government hits the final blow. They are slowly suffocating us artistic souls and silencing true brilliant voices. Bringing forth needed information to the world.
During this sort of fallow period
my inventiveness has been
hibernating within for the months
that are beginning to feel endless
where are the fresh shoots ?

Do I need a salvo to stir
the soil so that like poppies
long lying in wait under
too undisturbed soil pop their
red clarion call being vivified ?

Here I chop down pen not *****
and loosen the words waiting the
flowering of fresh inspiration.

There - just a flick of the wrist.

(c) C J Heyworth September 2014
Helen Murray Jan 2014
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh.  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh. Creation is groaning.
Its beauty is losing its wonderful face.
Tears there are streaking and staining its liberty,
Yet there’s the Spirit of Truth in His place.

F = ma and G = gravity
falling at 32’/s/s.
Natural law doesn’t change from its infancy.
Earth was made perfect and that’s on the record.

Why then this fracture of precious inventiveness?
How does it happen that something went wrong?
Was it intended, this frightful disaster?
Why this dischord in a beautiful song?

Earth waits in agony for re-commissioning,
Blood on the ground.  It’s the spirit of death.
Yes he was placed here to sort out the heartening
Souls of creative men tangling with Truth.

Creation is groaning ‘cause Truth is the soul of it.
Those who embrace her inherit the earth.
As for the others, when death’s reward comes to them,
They’ll know the Truth, but destruction’s their path.

One day the Son will arrive to inherit
This earth, and restore it to vigor and Life.
He’ll have no party with lies and their consequence.
King of the times He’ll just rule out that strife.

Then will the earth once again reach its majesty.
Then once again mighty mountains may dance.
Then will the joy of the great restoration
Complete the perfection, the longed for romance.
Romans 8: 21, 22.  The creation itself, also, will be delivered from the ******* of corruption into the glorious liberty of the Children of God.  For we know that the whole creation groans and labours with birth pangs together until now.
Emily Nov 2016
I would always favorite some signs over others. I would always say "Oh I'm so glad that I have no gemini in me" or "I'll never have a scorpio baby one day." But after analyzing you, I have learned that you are a little bit of each sign and that is beautiful to me. I've learned that each sign has contributed very special and important traits to craft you just the way you are. I am no longer so close minded towards some signs, you have taught me that beauty can come from any and all of them.

I love that you are a Taurus and that I am a Virgo and that that is a great compatibility. I love that we are both Earth signs and stable and practical because of this. I love that your Taurus sun allows you to be patient, calm, and cautiously slow. I love that you live simply and if it's not broken, you don't fix it. I love that your Gemini ascendant is the reason you are so restless and why your eyes wander all over the room and back in a matter of a few seconds. I love that your Gemini moon provides you with a quick intellectual mind and persistency. I love that your Mercury is Taurus provides your constructive mind and your second nature of observing. I love that your Venus in Aries allows you to be strongly sensual and flirtatious. Your Mars in Leo allows your great drive to put your ideas into actions and your warm, lucky personality. Your Jupiter in Sagittarius is why you think big and profit accordingly, and provides your higher mind capacity. Your Saturn in Pisces is your vivid imagination and intuition. Your Uranus in Aquarius is your inventiveness and originality, your wry sense of humor and your unique mind. Your Neptune in Capricorn is why you are extra practical and concrete, and good at Chemistry (your major)! Your Pluto in Scorpio is your tendency towards secrecy, psychic abilities, and passionate side. Mars in your 3rd house is your determination and need to stay active and speak your mind. Jupiter in your 6th house is your success in work, loyalty, and dependability. Pluto in your 6th house is your excellent concentration and intent on seeing results. Neptune in your 8th house is why you are a visionary and you seek to give your life more meaning. Uranus in your 8th house is your unusual outlook on life & death. Saturn in your 10th house is your self-reliance, ambition, perseverance, self discipline, and likelihood of achieving success. Venus in your 11th house is your sociable side and your desire to marry a friend. The Sun in your 12th house is why you enjoy privacy and quiet, you have difficulty expressing yourself, you are only close to a few, and success may come later in life for you. Your Mercury in your 12th house is your tendency to be contemplative, and your ability to work things out for yourself. Your Moon in your 12th house is your sensitive side, your reception and intuition towards others, your tendency to hide your real feelings, your need to get away from others to restore yourself, and your creative imagination.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Slurping accolades on Book of Faces,
****** poet **** romances himself.
Lubricating through superego Groups,
disorganization and breakdown of controls
chips him into corner. Bleak
moments of "Like" successes
are momentary arousals,
while blessings of truer constructive
criticisms become real get-offs. Spooging
on his own "Like"-abilities and
word-stock inventiveness he mops up
whatever approval he can.
Internet-tionalistic
becomes his coinphrase. He'll
Google-gunk it up in translation
to any language. So long as it buys him
some sensation. Forgive him,
for where else would he get it?
mike May 2017
You can put me
in the ground.

You can surely do that.

If you have hands,
sure

and a knife, yes.

a gun, of course.

or,
i don't know..

run me down
with your car

toss me in
a vat of acid

or maybe
train your
Lioness

to maul me

and

to eat me.

you could get inventive with it.
inventiveness is good
i'd adore you for that.

or,

well..

i'd say,
make it
an old fashioned
kind of affair.

swing a shovel
well into my head
and bury me
where i lie.

you'll want a shovel.
yes you will.
your hands,
they're ***** enough already,
i'd say.

and,
it's an awful lot of work-
those graves.

can't make em too shallow.
you don't want to hang.
cuz they'll find you.
and they'll hang you.
they can't dig enough graves
when they forge for themselves
the RIGHT to do so.

...above ground cemetery...

They make Junkyards
out of neighbors.
strangers..

-anyone..

..anyone they can CATCH!
that they can get
enough sets of HANDS on
to hold down.

To judge.

With the collective mind
of the many-headed-beast.

and you're one of the moving pieces
in that swarm of hate..

..that frenzy of Blood-thirst.

that Madness of Zombies...

You are a vital *****.
I've seen how you Pulse,
like the red in your eyes..

and,
so,

my friend.
my enemy.
I tell you this:

You can bury me,
i'll allow it.
I might flinch.
I might scream.
The body is involuntary.
It's a shaky contraption.
And you can bury it,
however you want,
but you can not **** me..

THAT....you can not do.

No matter how much you might hunger for it.

No matter
what DEVIL
your name may be.

You can not **** the Heart
which beats outside of this body.

You can not **** the Heart
which beats beyond this world.
I am still a marble block
Being sculpted into a beautiful bust
My creator chips away
at these rough edges
To illustrate a new and inventive "crust."
At this time, such is merely a face and half a block.
Artistic Beauty
Such as Individualism takes time
There can be no Race against a clock
Aristotle, Socrates, and Di Vinci took their gift of time
to create
as a gift
Some of them, these artists were not discovered until years after their deaths
and their works remain dusty in a supply closet
Sometimes discovery happens by accident
It is not always planned
Isn't such evident?

Not for fame..But for inventiveness and a view to finally be seen by naked eyes
A name added to those legends who changed the world.

Rays of light under darkened skies.

Society takes too much "pride" in only mingling with "equal levels"
as far as fear of being "weighed" in as lower than they demand
If they unearth a newer rookie or are seen conversing with what "appears"
to be dusty paintings, sculptures, and creations that are considered "Not yet"
When such comes to the rules of the "social books."
The Lady law is blind for a reason
The scales are run by her for a reason
If each one of us would have a chance to make sure that we end our fears of someone else taking our "rightful spot"
By defrauding the art community and success-social life balance
Then, we, ourselves, have committed treason.
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
Inside the box of dreams contingent to divergent nightmares
In the confines of a large painting and solitude and suns
You smell the beauty of her soluble features in the eyes as one
Does it do to have a surplus of truth
The ego of driving id letting your inner self spasm without word's worth and worthiness
Relate to someone, whose heights you must torch and focus on oh so much
Buffering winds and engulfing flames, and paint of wolf and werewolves
The moist stench of inventiveness and red veritas of the current year, in the current art of the raw and cooked
Often, thousands of years could be prepared, before you learn a decade of failure, brewing strangely
Decadence doesn't exist in this defined structure wither the body withers in song and dance
Sundry and adamantine guillotines do sew her flesh in hatchets, axes, and bows
Arches and gallantry of cavalry in a dither and dearth dense censuring, of diseased purgatory
Looking at yourself beyond the riches, and rags to ditches.
So, this is a failure to communicate. Well, I'll take history any day.
nivek Mar 2016
Tides time laps at your feet
a constant stream

The ocean spit you out
millennia ago

A slaves bracelet
adorns your wrist

Merciless tides time
clockwork countdown

Oh the inventiveness of Man
to enslave its soul.
Arlene Corwin May 2021
Simplifying

I think the isolating medium -
(Pandemic’s global impact)
Has done the job for me;
Few demeaning ultimatums;
Calls returned, lunches met,
Malls paraded through
With nought of worth to do.

Oh, the benefits of saying in!
Throwing sins of wasteful time
Into the garbage bin of slime and time.
Everything brings inspiration.
Anything a motivation,
Open to inventiveness of one's creation
Which, in turn means making choices
Truer to an inner voice;
Not fiddling, waiting for some muse
To lift you from your busy-ness.

There is a principle I hold to:
Everything you wish to do
Will always be simplicity
But never easy.
That, my friend
Is, you could say, the end.


Simplifying 5.22.2021Circling Round Everything II; The Processes: Creative,Thinking,Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Unbeknownst to me if royal
gilded crests comprised
my rusty dust caked coat of arms
hence, I take liberty successfully farms
productive crop to contrive fictitious
Medieval Age forebears
with favorable charms
strong agile hands

hurling crude accouterments
centuries prior to invention of firearms,
which weapons (of mass sieve construction)
privy to proto gendarmes,
this inventiveness of mine conjures
courageous knights in shining armor,
perhaps monogrammed,
hammered chain metal,

nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore
where love's labors not lost,
viz hub bully accepting, condoning,
and employing embellishments extempore,
whereby solar rays alight,
flickr, and glint glore
re: us astral motifs, the stellar
craftsmanship one (even a poor,

indigent destitute beggar
like yours truly)
could not ignore
exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic
trappings incorporating magical lore
aesthetically pleasing

fascinating, and appealing to one poor
uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian
incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating,
and fancying deplorable basket case to restore
himself, the legitimate true heir,
who could double as

courtly jesting troubadour,
whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris
violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War
constitutes dreamy gotcha your
attention fabricated and
facilitated to Zoar,

an actual ancient city
anachronistically inserted here
thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference
Google made me aware,
which ye probably care
nary a fig about, but
placename linkedin mere
to allow, enable and provide bare,

lee tenuous appeal dare
ring me to trump
poetic formality near
rolly returning full circle (one tough Job)
manufacturing prevarication
recounting "FAKE" heir
essentially envisioning, imagining,

and jimmying gallant
high in the saddle career
timeless lifeline chess piece
of centuries gone by
enshrouded with reverence by this air
rent considerably less provocative
then missives by Baudelaire.
Arlene Corwin May 2021
Going On Forever

I don’t want to disappear,
But stay here
Growing, learning,
Watching its eternal earning
With a quiet eye.

Yet and yet, not able
To face label Death,
There is a daring me - preparing,
Filled with stashes of creativeness
That make up for
The fear of disappearing.

Without forethought I find notes to play;
Better than before or ever.
Unpredictable the throat, but I don’t care
Because inventiveness is there.

What might have been a vanity,
Self-consciousness and worry,
Is an energy of nonchalance
Letting in pure chance
And taking in delight
In finding just what’s right
In word or song,
As if the wrong-est word
Ought still be heard by others,
Thanks to confidence
That smothers fear of being judged;
That if I’ve fudged a phrase expected,
Anything can be corrected.

Hence the fire of desire
To go on forever,
Bedded in indebtedness
Undying.
Going On Forever 5.20.2021 Birth,Death & In Between III; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Ken Pepiton Aug 1
Suppose, Cain, the first born son,
came after at least one sister, real world.

Pretend the Torah narrative is useful knowing,
if the story version we have is the public
version of the mysteries involved in why
Adam, ee-shee one, could not find a mate.
- How could God have imagined Adam
- could find a way to procreate, sans Eve?

{as a reader, with live edit privileges, I find
the idea that spiritual enlightenment can be
made up, faked entirely, and has been, often.

Each fruit from the Scribes and Pharisees,
who devised the canon after prophets,
that select kind of prayed for offering,
suffer little children to come unto me.
Such prophets, after Constantine,
all who knew the lie told it.
Business is busyness,
we pay attention,
prophecy vows
all went into
commercial exchange and property law.
Most specialized
in making time interesting,
quantifiable for accountibility to the instant…

walk away from the ideas Catholics hold sacred,
walk into the wilderness to be tested, not tempted,

how would you handle a real powerful accusing
spirit? Eh,

same form as G_D, who must be worshipped
in spirit, in deed, using mind as mind is now

known to be more filled with mere ideas
from all the collected works of all mankind,

representative ensamples, we live
in a treehouse, that my father built,

and once he built one with tumble weeds,
and I crawled in and was delighted,

then we burned those tumble weeds,
and danced like Indians in Peter Pan.



God did not imagine Adam could find a wife,
but for a ritually told story,
details fall to teachers
- who travel and return,

Why not, well, says the competent old teller
the story of all people, begins from our people
surviving as a people, since the most recent
effective winnowing of the gene pool used
to form the biological processes active
in our bubble of life, in said to be unlikely
conditions just… just right, adjustable
to practically perfect. Eh,
to American Standard averages and distribution.

Stacking order,
marching order, sowing order, reaping order,

thing use knowing, hurt pain knowing,
why hurt pain making hurts have use,
a whip for the creature pulling the load,

how long did it take to feel the weight
of knowing all the seeds, and which were best
for what use, nettles for thread for holes,

Needles, little needs, I need, to hold, this to that,
Ah,
remember those thorns, needless to say.

Thorns serve me, the mind with the will
to correct a misconception that has formed a lie,
that is my point.
I am a burr in your sock. A seeded idea.


Cain had sisters, likely older than he;
therefore, he was likely doted on, if he
is ever a living part of living story truth told.

A culture formed atop the scripturalized myth,

and myth it is, amigo. We really do know,
the reason for the book compiled as Tanach:
Together Torah, Nevi’im (Prophets) and Ketuvim (Writings)
comprise what is known as the Tanach.
This name for the Hebrew Bible is made up
of the first letter sound
of each
of the three sections
of the Bible.
Das Buch.
The Book, then spends centuries as stories, before
the first book intended to function as a binding story,

offering freedom from fear of death.
For obediance fed to children daily.
By rote. Written authority, right, power.
Some wombed man, in UR, what was her name?
Ai know, in my extra long term memory, she called her-
holy self,  Enheduana, and claimed authorship,
in writing, I, Enheduana,

- hours and hours
- days and days
you see the pattern taking times
shape from when we guessed, it,

this it, we inhabit the planet in one
of these possible solution situ-thingies
a cusp at the edge of next,
applied Christianity, of the merest sort,
sieved and dried,
ground to finest dust,
viral original intention proof
**** into the wind, looping reality
at this scale, human scale, stretching

as when a black hole ***** reality,
as witnessed by

many, who saw it on TV.
Magic acts, tricks of the trade,

attention merchants,
lend me you ears,
can you hear me now?

right up there with
wheres the beef?

Mikey likes it.
Life. Good ad.
But I skipped the 70s.
Got no TV generation inoculations.

M'using, musing,
thinking, denken,

spacing, zoning

Worthy sacred making time
deemed worth the effort to explain.

There is an after story after
the story told for four thousand years,

The bible, Tanach and the 27 pieces
after Jesus,
done what he done…

Billions of people learned to read,

trillions of worth units were created
to pay the price
to teach the last lie necessary,
for the republic, you know, perfect
form for a society powered by slaves,
and the spirit of inventiveness.

Guardians, yes, those must believe
the call of duty from a story's
teller's testimony is true, and to
those who hear the call, as truth,
the loyalty oath is mere insurance,
break the oath Christ told you not to swear,
now,
that you recall the pledge, American, vet.
Semper fi.
Yet, we release you from all debt.

Feel free to assume final form.
Inherit the wind.
Novel forms of muses used since ever had solidstate RAM
POETIC PREFACE:

An inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax

(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting ice caps or igloo,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos, faith...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget

Old MacDonald with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu)
or poor ole Winnie The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue

doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
mien hating solution
to eradicate toxins humankind doth spew
into the atmosphere
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...

Earth Day 2021 – Thursday April 22

Every day ought
necessitate reverence towards Gaia
a vibrant living and breathing planet entity
experiencing upon her land and seas.

Bajillion banshees scream ****** ****** methought
upon Biblical (lionized) forebears stalking heads
birthed courtesy accursed beasts hood besought
winds howl across the oblate spheroid
methinks courtesy **** sapiens horror wrought.

Climate change/global warming siren song
Adam event since time immemorial against
sacred covenant doing Mother Nature wrong
April 22nd waning hours warn us King Kong
antithetical, egotistical, & heretical caretakers
over populated quintessential rowdy sinning
rawbit & powdermilk biscuit munching throng.

Antiestablishmentarian gambit voiced, I tootle
(albeit figuratively), and feign playing trumpet
challenging when born with submucous palate
lamely feeble attempt made tinkering with words
aware crushing humanity legacy takes Herculean
effort to implement global revolution, staging and
coaching proselytizers to shine klieg lights where
industrialization tattooed unseemly sights land
once (unimaginably) pristine acres irrevocably
repurposed into grotesque disfigured terra firma.

Fifty one years ago come
(The First Earth Day in April 22nd, 1970)
courtesy Senator ******* Nelson
orchestrated first metaphorical telescoping
lens zooming close
far more horrible than
"fake" special effects we
as collective species
impacted planet harkening
back when nasty, short
and brutish proto humans

mastered steely ironic
mettle to fell one after tree
after another, I need
not axe the question if queasy
induced state imagined
envisioning yourself, née
Pandora's box (purported
inventiveness) suddenly vaulted
and unhinged inkling,
when beastie boys plus goo

goo dolls loosed goods
no longer under lock and key
i.e. raw materials to fashion,
whatever struck fancy
re: innately "gifted"
descendent afforded momentary
recognition (nameless
naked apes) that hit upon idea
way manifold generations
before iconic light bulb lit

western civilization taming
current of (ohm my dog)
flow of electrons to supply
amply charging electricity
countless intervenvening
millennium one after another
survival of the fittest likely
accidentally melded insight
with (then) near infinite
natural resources labored away.

Unbeknownst, when chance
cerebral serendipity gave way
where inchoate deliberation,
how ardent smarts applied today
gave dawn of consciousness
quantum leap launching landlubbers
****** into the seven seas eventually
marshalling routes to unknown,
nevertheless pirated quay
zee whirled wide watery web
long ago hushing nay
saying doubting Thomas
(English muffin chomping chap),
especially at financing
and cost courtesy bourgeoisie
the same old bay...
sic yacht ta yacht ta yacht ta.
Travis Green Sep 2022
How magical to stare at your crash-hot morning glory
Laying beside me in your satin-soft lavender-hued king-size bed
Fabulous fair skin, remarkably soft and sparkling lips
Your broodingly storm blue eyes enthrall me
Tall, refined, macho, and inviting
Mantastically manlicious, dreamy glistening body hair
Rock-solid jaw-dropping chest, broad, picturesque shoulders
The most bright and electrifying biceps

How I hanker to landslide into your luscious fresh-cut seductiveness
Wrapped in your unsurpassed crackerjack masculineness
Unquantifiable magicalness, so much lovingness
Embedded in your untouchableness
Flexing psychedelic rebel, you are so extra swell
To my heart and soul, my greatly enamoring brilliantness
You charge up my heartland, bring stillness to my softness
Make my homoness blossom, swathed in your machoness
Fraught with remarkable top-notch cologne

With your ring-shaped ravishing cognac eyes
Gaudy robust lips, sizzling slick smash hit
You gleam tremendously in the enjoyable perpetual sunshine
Hairy turgid rarity, immersive tattooed ruggedness
In your madness of massiveness
Enthralling and legendary shimmer
You are infinitely incomprehensible
And iconic inventiveness, bright, insightful delight
Everything I hanker to devour

Feel your virileness all around me
Aesthetic thugacetic poeticness
I never want to leave your perfect debonair world
I want to marvel at your unstoppable bad boy beauty
Feel a tremendous substantial wave
Of blissfully happy vibes
My heart’s calling, my alluring admiring gent
My magically red-hot lover boy
In flawless faraway wonderland
Travis Green Mar 2023
He takes me away to a specially selected location
Where he amazes and tastes me, where he hijacks
And ravishes my gaytasticness, raps with my active, attractive Masterpiece, tackles my thoughts and feelings
Makes me so entranced by his brilliant slinky inventiveness

Face to face with his greatness, in a state of nakedness
He takes me outside of my mind, stimulates my vessel
Flexes his astonishingly enthralling hotness
Opens the walls of my inner world
Where he conquers my warm earthy structure

Make me linger in the adventurous relentless sensualness
Of his stunning heart-pumping thunder
I lapse into his 24-karat strapping masculineness
Hankering to be by his side to allow him
To entice me for hours on end

Let him speak to me with his fervent terms
Of poetically shimmering endearment
Send me in transports of delight
Take me beyond robust hot-blooded Mars
Spark my homoness, make me melt
Into his magically moist magnificence

Manhandle me, regulate me, cause me to be at a stand
Let me feel him inside and outside of me
Wrapped up in his lip-smackingly
Legendary and thrashing magicalness
His grooviness is the smoothest **** that gets to me
That finesses me deeply, makes me so high
On his delightable high-powered invitingness

I am so intoxicated by the way he gazes at me
With his bang-up dangerous fieriness
He is like a shot of whiskey surging through my system
So distinctive, ultra-premium, and mouthfilling
So incredibly sippable, a crazy hot symphony in my throat

All I know is that I wanna smoke his big strong pole
Choke on it, behold its dope growth
Revel in the flavor of its contagiousness
Lick it everywhere, slurp on it, cherish his shiny veiny thickness
Watch him swing it in my eyesight
Guide me in the matrix of his engagingness and tastiness

Carry him deep within my innerness
Feel his broad **** pecs, his killer slick abs
Tongue his long, manly thighs and ankles
Venture into the deep well of his aesthetically
Compelling and flexing impressiveness

Traverse in a circular motion with my yummy lips
All around his brutal bonzer *****
Insert his massive badass ******* in my trap
Permeate me with surrealistic sensualities
Let me seek completion within him

Interchange of new-found desires and powerful smoking poetry
Entwined emotions, solid-gold soulfulness
I **** all over his ferociously mind-blowing bone
Dwell in his mantuary of ****** rhythmic litness
As he forces me down on his solidness
Tells me to take all his **** and spew out
Hot salty juice down the tantalizing trail of my throat
CharlesC Jul 2019
Perhaps there are types..
inventions of mousetraps that
catch with compassion..
celebrating the inventiveness
of the finite mind..

but what of those appearances
of brushstrokes or words
which seem from afar..
as from the whiteness of
this page..
or the sudden juxtaposing
of nature's dissimilarities..

those sudden types
seem available to all..
do not depend on our
diligent preparation in
schooling or craft..
or culture or beliefs
but only upon a
recognition of ourselves
without  the opaqueness
of a masking resistance...
In the green pasture I couldn't stop doing healthful deep-knee bends
with cyanical-blue deep sea friends or uric-yellow sheep *** friends
who'll attend 6 ewe-cross-human *** fairs pushing 32 ******* trends
“There's something hateful about you,” the proctologist said. “But I
just can't lay a finger on it with the pig blood you've bloodily bled.”
“There are 15 traits swinish about you,” the **** doctor said. “But I
can't put a finger on 1 with the piggish blood you've bloodily bled.”
F-off worthless U.N. eaters! My fat hogs-to-market are muddily fed
before blowin' their brains out rendering 'em big time groggily dead
& chilled to be, after purgatory, down the primrose path foggily led
as saturated dirges, under bridges where bums ****, are soggily read
to mug inquisitive ***** lion-tamers of Afrocentrical inventiveness
without deying the endless toil of food-stamp-getting relentlessness
Weird is wired to borrowed dots once dotters abandon plotted plots
for the ******-bad equity of besotted day bed county jail-issued cots
Travis Green May 2022
I am me, and that’s what distinguishes
My individuality among the rest
I don’t have anything to prove to anyone
But to embrace my sheer vibrant sexuality
My flamboyant unparalleled gayness
My ardent chocolate body dances
To the irresistibly exquisite beat
Of my smooth lissome feet

I am the eternal eastern wind
Moving ever so freely
In the keen gleaming heartland
Delicate, reverent, and fresh
Pleasantly sweet and refreshing
Soothing lucid notes rise and shine
All around my flawless fabulous frame
No one can convince me that

I am a genuinely brilliant gem
Within me, I am bursting with boldness
Immense inventiveness and ingeniousness
I shine in my own private world
Where I delight in the bright
Sunshine and rainbows
The most dazzling fireworks
That glitter with hot magical wonder
Delicious and rich as pure golden honey
As thick, incandescent chocolate
Melting on my soft tongue

I am a fiery flowery man
Traveling at the speed of light
Through the immaculate spectacular galaxies
In synchronicity with all the
Phenomenal, prodigious planets
I breathe in the supreme sereneness
In the resplendent rings Of Saturn
I gain profound insight from venerable Venus
Locked to the hotness of macho Mars
In ripping rhythm with electric eclectic Neptune

I am a jazzy jamming gay sensation
Greatly enamored by marvelously favorable Samsons
Dapper, dreamy-shaven marvels
Bearded, dark-haired rarities
Tall, suave, and incomparable
Cherishable and imperishable
Brimful of vivid and wondrous dreams
I adore their blissful headspace
The way they move throughout reality
In all of their royal and luxurious splendor
Mellow soul-lit dopeness
Deep, stellar, and refreshing as ever

I am immersively colorful
As the gorgeous, sun-kissed flowers
Flourishing in the delightful, fanciful, and
Enchanting landscape
I know no bounds to how
My aura sparkles in their world
I am me, thick with self-love
I don’t need to be validated by society
To exist in all my gayliciousness
Travis Green Jan 2023
I vigorously anticipate stealing away
With your sexually exciting and inviting beguilingness
In the long starry night
Take in your irresistible and listenable voice
Your charismatically bedazzling and eye-grabbing mantasticness

Inhale your majestically fresh heavenliness
Consume your coolness, rudeness, and smoothness
Check out how you flex your supremely skilled
And superhuman finesse
Desirable high-power kryptonite

I wish for you to peel me
Like a carefully selected and market-fresh banana
Eat you up like an edible melt-in-your-mouth watermelon
Your unconquerable personable machoness
Charms my thoughts and feelings

Groovy soothing movingness
I wanna live it up with your respectable relishable incredibleness
Swirl in your fervent splendiferous world
Of entrancing gargantuan manliness
Sink me into your addictive and dreamy breeziness

Let me fall for your remarkable applaudable grandiosity
Feel your crunkalicious sumptuous hunkiness
Linger in the sensual streams of my existence
Suffused with exquisite and effusive delight
Perpetual and continually seamless inventiveness

I wanna feel the warmth of your magnetic standout sparklingness
Feel you curl around me like heady, sweet-smelling smoke
I covet to caress every stellar sector of your alluring moist hotness
Feel your unequivocally bewitching street heat
For a covetous month of luminous Sundays
Ryan O'Leary Dec 2019
The space between thought
and sound is inventiveness.

Vocalising the end product
requires careful consideration.

Ulysses took seventeen years to
write, for some, a lifetime to read.

— The End —