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Akemi Mar 2013
Tying off every sentence
Before formation
You leave so many knots to develop
Forming a physical
Representation
Of deeper ires and darker fears
Than that which crosses
Daily paths

So many rescinds
It begins to feel
Ordinary
To reject and pull out
Of living these
Daily paths

Soon the ache transcends
Mentality, emotional core
Shivers itself down
Strips and tears itself out
Emerging as
A surface twitch
Developing to
Repetitive kinks
Growing cancerous hives, you carry monstrous minds
Hulking demons that force you
From daily paths
11:41pm, March 1st 2013

Too fearful to utter what’s on your mind, you let all your hates, discomforts and fears brood.
You create such terrible burdens, forgetting how to relax; tense 24/7.
Knots form in your back.
These are thoughts that weigh heavily; dark futures, dark pasts, dark presents in the world.
You brood and brood and brood.
Closed up for so long, you forget how to reopen.
It is more ordinary to be isolated, alone.
These cruel and terrifying thoughts shake your core;
Emerge themselves as dark words and cruel whispers.
You grow so very bitter, unreasonable.
You've forgotten how to speak in soft tones.
Every knot is a curse to utter,
Veering you off from living life in happiness.
You've become as bad as what you hate.
anthony Brady Nov 2015
Choose in life the tranquil path
paved with peace devoid of wrath
where every  woman and man
love makes welcome hate does ban.
Once found - you can never stray
from the quiet tenor of its way.
.
Great your burden, heavy the load:
weightless it feels upon that road
where briar, thorns and bramble
give way before you as you ramble
along a route of stingless nettle
and calm and joy upon you settle...

Dispelling sadness, soothing pain;
cooling your ires as gentle rain.
They, who would this pathway find
are those who caring ever mind
their neighbour, known or strange
through all this worldly range.

Dry your tears, greet the smile
bravely face each yearly mile;
be calm, be kind and you will never lose
sight of the pathway that you must choose.

Tobias
Jacqueline Anne Apr 2015
Anger will devour love
Love loses appetite.
Turning it to hatred,
slowly in every fight

Anger will eat respect.
Respect is chewed by seethe.
In disgust respect will die
leaving its love to grieve.

Anger will swallow joy,
and happiness is chewed.
Ires bitter after taste,
in spittle and abuse.

Anger will devour love
and love will run its course.
Anger gets just desserts,
when anger is divorced.



©Jacqui Slade
sangkutsa— sana'y kartada nuwebe


      stove -- so much inner blue
            in this gruesomeness,
          still soft is the orifice, maiming
         the speech whirling in warm press;

     hand -- to just blindingly toss out
      in wording it so that then this is true:
       we once had each other in the
        simmer of feelings, leaving
         our shadows crazy-eyed in
     elegiac silence.

      rawness -- boiled to a broth:
        thawing largeness, tipping away in
           and of feeling.

    final stages --- half-done in waiting,
      half-undone in wanting. darkness
       condoles with the aperture of
        clouds twitching to rain tritely
   against the tiled floor. islands of
       wet footmarks make the traverse
           viciously slippery on my way
    to your side of breathing.

     all of it -- hand's gentle breeze,
      salt of lake-eyes, melee of tactical pressures sizing down spots gleamed
       and honeyed with ires. a hiss
  on landscaped neck where a peregrinating perfume sits, feverish with
       desire and nothing else,
    blood boiling, whistling through the pores are the saltine sweat
     poised, almost
                               for the mouth's readiness
          in consummation.
Nelida Evelisse Aug 2019
There’s a darkness that crawls within
Seeping through veins
Coursing through limbs

Fury of ten thousand waves
Crashing against the shore
Anger’s rampage and furor to abhor

The strength of invincibility
Masked with pain
Mistaken for strength when it’s rage

Its mission now is to consume the soul
To find the source
And destroy the core

Finding its way
Through its muddy trails
Feeling elated and yet with despair

Looking for something
Bright and serene
Onward it goes to destroy its gleam

The endless travails
Through rocky roads
Leading to places it will erode

At the corner of lies
Amidst valleys of corruption
Straight to the cave of total disruption

Where faith is entombed
And hope is not seen
Right in the street of lost dreams

But deep in the sunset
At a distance a sight
An island of love and wondrous might

Landed to destroy
The Holy contrary of ires
The divine, supreme, blessed fire

The Spirit is there
Tall and bright
Ready to protect the soul’s life

Denying entry
Of that black shadow
That will raise its bow and shoot its arrow

The armor of goodness
Will not go down
And the shield of truth will stand its ground

Dare if you may
To cross the line
The sword of love will slay the malign

Fear and hate
Is what you are
Trying to consume those near and far

You can fight
And you can persist
The soul will have my strength to resist

I am the light
That forever shines
And it will embrace all who are mine

Life is precious
This I’ll save
With every breath till the end of days
Mon ami, ma plus belle amitié, ma meilleure,

- Les morts sont morts, douce leur soit l'éternité !

Laisse-moi te le dire en toute vérité,

Tu vins au temps marqué, tu parus à ton heure ;


Tu parus sur ma vie et tu vins dans mon cœur

Au jour climatérique où, noir vaisseau qui sombre,

J'allais noyer ma chair sous la débauche sombre.

Ma chair dolente, et mon esprit jadis vainqueur,


Et mon âme naguère et jadis toute blanche !

Mais tu vins, tu parus, tu vins comme un voleur,

- Tel Christ viendra - Voleur qui m'a pris mon malheur !

Tu parus sur ma mer non pas comme une planche


De salut, mais le Salut même ! Ta vertu

Première, la gaieté, c'est elle-même, franche

Comme l'or, comme un bel oiseau sur une brandie

Qui s'envole dans un brillant turlututu.


Emportant sur son aile électrique les ires

Et les affres et les tentations encor ;

Ton bon sens, - tel après du fifre c'est du cor, -

Vient paisiblement mettre fin aux délires,


N'étant point, ô que non ! le prud'homisme affreux,

Mais l'équilibre, mais la vision artiste,

Sûre et sincère et qui persiste et qui résiste

A l'argumentateur plat comme un songe creux ;


Et ta bonté, conforme à ta jeunesse, est verte,

Mais elle va mûrir délicieusement !

Elle met dans tout moi le renouveau charmant

D'une sève éveillée et d'une âme entr'ouverte.


Elle étend, sous mes pieds, un gazon souple et frais

Où ces marcheurs saignants reprennent du courage,

Caressés par des fleurs au *** parfum sauvage,

Lavés de la rosée et s'attardant exprès.


Elle met sur ma tête, aux tempêtes calmées.

Un ciel profond et clair où passe le vent pur

Et vif, éparpillant les notes dans l'azur

D'oiseaux volant et s'éveillant sous les ramées.


Elle verse à mes yeux, qui ne pleureront plus,

Un paisible sommeil dans la nuit transparente

Que de rêves légers bénissent, troupe errante

De souvenirs et d'espoirs révolus.


Avec des tours naïfs et des besoins d'enfance,

Elle veut être fière et rêve de pouvoir

Être rude un petit sans pouvoir que vouloir

Tant le bon mouvement sur l'autre prend d'avance.


J'use d'elle et parfois d'elle j'abuserais

Par égoïsme un peu bien surérogatoire,

Tort d'ailleurs pardonnable en toute humaine histoire

Mais non dans celle-ci, de crainte des regrets.


De mon côté, c'est vrai qu'à travers mes caprices,

Mes nerfs et tout le train de mon tempérament.

Je t'estime et je t'estime, ô si fidèlement,

Trouvant dans ces devoirs mes plus chères délices.


Déployant tout le peu que j'ai de paternel

Plus encor que de fraternel, malgré l'extrême

Fraternité, tu sais, qu'est notre amitié même,

Exultant sur ce presque amour presque charnel !


Presque charnel à force de sollicitude

Paternelle vraiment et maternelle aussi.

Presque un amour à cause, ô toi de l'insouci

De vivre sinon pour cette sollicitude.


Vaste, impétueux donc, et de prime-saut, mais

Non sans prudence en raison de l'expérience

Très douloureuse qui m'apprit toute nuance.

Du jour lointain, quand la première fois j'aimais :


Ce presque amour est saint ; il bénit d'innocence

Mon reste d'une vie en somme toute au mal,

Et c'est comme les eaux d'un torrent baptismal

Sur des péchés qu'en vain l'Enfer déçu recense.


Aussi, précieux toi plus cher que tous les moi

Que je fus et serai si doit durer ma vie,

Soyons tout l'un pour l'autre en dépit de l'envie,

Soyons tout l'un à l'autre en toute bonne foi.


Allons, d'un bel élan qui demeure exemplaire

Et fasse autour le monde étonné chastement,

Réjouissons les cieux d'un spectacle charmant

Et du siècle et du sort défions la colère.


Nous avons le bonheur ainsi qu'il est permis.

Toi de qui la pensée est toute dans la mienne,

Il n'est, dans la légende actuelle et l'ancienne

Rien de plus noble et de plus beau que deux amis,


Déployant à l'envi les splendeurs de leurs âmes,

Le Sacrifice et l'Indulgence jusqu'au sang,

La Charité qui porte un monde dans son flanc

Et toutes les pudeurs comme de douces flammes !


Soyons tout l'un à l'autre enfin ! et l'un pour l'autre

En dépit des jaloux, et de nos vains soupçons,

A nous, et cette foi pour de bon, renonçons

Au vil respect humain où la foule se vautre,


Afin qu'enfin ce Jésus-Christ qui nous créa

Nous fasse grâce et fasse grâce au monde immonde

D'autour de nous alors unis, - paix sans seconde ! -

Définitivement, et dicte: Alléluia.


« Qu'ils entrent dans ma joie et goûtent mes louanges ;

Car ils ont accompli leur tâche comme dû,

Et leur cri d'espérance, il me fut entendu,

Et voilà pourquoi les anges et les archanges


S'écarteront de devant Moi pour avoir admis,

Purifiés de tous péchés inévitables

Et des traverses quelquefois épouvantables,

Ce couple infiniment bénissable d'Amis. »
Giuseppe Stokes Feb 2018
What a Cnut! (13)


Lazy river bends twist through ages past.
scoring dark foreboding lines between the course
and curse. Forgotten pits, tombs long and vast
bear pain. This sufferance an ancient source
behind whose name, Ozymandias, who?
Forgotten one, with statuette and dust;
With little plot of land presenting; cue
besotted fans and weeping stands and rust
-ed crimson stains. Pyramids worn and sunned.
Grizzled maws gnaw foxholes. Anxious shadows
creep, kettling the dreams of untold freedom
long since sold. The sons of emp-ires fade.
Mocking wizened worries and wet laird Cnut,
who knocking heads with entropy slumbers cut.
Eyen F Dec 2019
I saw the shamrock fall,
I saw the shamrock mourn and rot
for Ireland's children, noble beings,
succumbed to England's scorn.

The mother's arms are open,
her children run from her breast
for the English started hanging us
for the wearing of the green.

O' Ireland, your tears have spilled
and reddened your pretty Celtic eyes,
you're full of forlorn and pain
for the Ires die away.

The English rag arises,
the cross barefacedly waved;
the ****** red, left-right strokes
have been drawn on Ireland's chest.

She was stripped of a family,
all bleeding and alone;
now she's fallen to the ground
where her children also fell
when they broke their necks
or when their air was gone;
now all that's left is the wonderful grass
where us fallen lay beneath;
our loving mother is back,
protecting us wearers
the wearers of the green!
let me elaborate... like a tender realisation: why do i abhor Strauss and Brahms? waltzes... classical music composed for dancing... and not thinking and going mad... classical music intended for dancing! seigl ******* heil! nein nein nein! scheisse... little operas and even littler: loitering theatricals with intended amusement uplifting with song no desired existential pangs... blah! ah... long the days of rivalry between the gemeinsamvolk songs of the tavern and Teutonic monks... ugh... classical music dedicated to waltzes... Germans dancing, back then, even now... conjures up a concoction of vomiting, diarrhea ******, scratching one's ***, picking one's nose and lighting a match with devilish insinuation of arson. Valkyries screerching...

because living among
the English is
never, ever so rarely
as demeaning as
living among the Germans,
ironically
maybe not...
maybe not in how
i so abhor German opera
sung in the 'Leash...
such a terrible tongue
to sing opera: perhaps church
alms of praises...
but so welcome to learn
that i abhor Strauss as much
as Brahms...
can't help myself:
withheld at Schumann and
Schubert...
**** deutsche vox...
but then how much
of the English is deutsch'
if i find the isles of these
morose fabric
an extension of Scandinavia
like Denmark is: too?
among the Britons
those Velches and Scoots
and Ires of the green land...
an Anglo-Slav among
the mongrels of alt pocket
of Saxony.
geographically, though...
if Denmark is Scandinavia...
then England isn't?
peculiar... that concept of
"west": Europe...
as far west and uninhibited
as France and Spain...
as far "east" as the centrality
of Poland? Bohemia and Germany...
England is a Scandinavian
country... the miserably-happy
platitude of workaholics:
arbeit macht frei: poignant:
more than ever.

— The End —