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kalpana nayak Jun 2015
Jee aur aieee k sadme k mare ** jte h anjne anokhe unvrsts k hawale,nya clg nya jgh nye dost sb kch hta h nw nw,clg k strtng s hr ksi k dil m hta h rgng ka dar....2nd yr m cnr bnne ka hta h sbko gurur,frnds kai grp m bat jte h,hr koi dkhte h nye luks m,3rd yr m sbko ati h apni jimedari ka ahsas aur fnl yr ata h dston m fasle bdhte h...rah dkhe the is din k kbse,age k sapne saja rkhe the njane kbse,sb bde utavle the yhn se jne ko,zndgi ko dusre trke se dkhne ko....pr njane aj dil m kch aur he ata h,piche ja k waqt ko rok k apne andr sare lmhe ko samet lne ka jee krta h....at d strtng f btech kha krte the bdi muskil s y 4 sal bitenge lkn kse pta tha y sb chd k jne ka mn ni krga...na vulne wali kch yadein reh *** o yadein jo ab jine ka sahara bn ***...na jne aj q un palon k yad bht ati h jin baton ko lekar tab rote the ,aj un palon ko yad kar bht hsi ati h....y sch k ankhein nam ** jte h k mri tang ab kn kncha krga,m apne bton s kska sar khaungi,pranks ksk 7 krngi,ab mjhe kn itna jhlga,ksk smne ntnki krngi,jin dst p lakh kurban whn 1 rupye k ly  kn ldhnge,kaun rat vr bina soye bt krga,kaun bina pche 1 dusre ka chj istml krga,kaun nya nm rkhga,bina ksi bt k m ab ksse ldhungi,bina ks tpc k fal2 bt kn krga,bkws q kn krga,xam k ek din phle o tyri o rate,kn rat var 7 jag kr pdhga,kn fail hne p dilasa dlyga,y hasin pal ab ksk 7 jiungi....yad ati h o rec k choti si cntn bar bar jhn kch v ni mlta mre yar fr v na jane q hum gye hnge so bar...tum jse kmine dost khn mlnge jo khai m v dhaka de ayen sale srs mtr ko v joke m cnvrt kr de,par fr tmhe bachane khud v kud jye....mre hrkton se nakhro se jid s prsan kn hga ,ksk 7 brng lctrs jhlngi..bina mtlb k ksko v dkh kr pglon k trh hsna,na jne y fr kb hga....ky hm y sb fr krpaenge....bdy clbrt,ek h rm p bth k 1 dusre s wtsap p bt krna...rat k 3-4 bje khna pkana....bina ksi mtlb k rat ko chilana....mlk pina...pgl jse hrkt krna..mlk ghumna....kaun mjhe apni kabiliat pr vrosa aur jyda hawa m udne pr zamin p lyga....mre khusi m sch m khus kn hga,mre gam m mjhse jyda dukhi kn hga....keh do doston y dubara kb hga....dil m ek kasak hoti h jb hr ankhein nam hti h,fir mlne k wade se hm ek dusre se juda hte h,kv na akle rhne wle dost bas yadon k sahare zndgi bitate h....lkn jb v y clg k din yad ate h ankhon m hasin aur ansu ek 7 late h...engnr bnne k khusi v ansu rok na pai ,q k njr aa rai t doston s judai...ab jo hna tha o ** gya akhir m sbse juda ** h gye....aj v un palon ko yad kr k ansun rok ni pte h ....nkl he jte h...aur yuhi lkh lkh k apko pka rai hn....char sal yu he gye hmri beet..ab khn mlnge wo dost wo mit...dua krt hn sb k ly race y zndgi k jao tm jit....
I ms my clg clg dys.....
Filmore Townsend Feb 2014
“but you are too old for apprehension.” her
voice had sounded so, and of this one’s voice,
‘you are never too old for wariness of
an unknown.’ responded astute, drunk
on logic. returned was breathless thought
to the void, filling emptiness with irony.
(oxymoron) and weened the way thru,
concision turned derision with repetitious
definitions that found no actual meaning.
all thought without justification and no
thought with classification. words,
actions, wailing:
          empty, empty, empty
then existed less and less from want
of purpose. less and less from interest of
the known; this once forged fear of life. and
with impressive derangement, grabbing at the
only sober keychain. they, with twitching vesper eyes,
their hands jit’ for a false-meeting fix. to nix
the nihilism. and:
      ‘People can go **** themselves.’
words of this one’s voice. of her’s, “thank
god you’re alive.” from those days, when rains
ranted down, and the trains tripped us out.
those days of our wood’s reclaimed trailer. and
each syllable was never thought to be anything
until aged eyes ached for review those epochs
of breath. but:
      ‘People can go **** themselves.’
voiced in response to a romanticized thought. and
all epochs lingered upon are no more than a
journal of the winds that blew while we were present.
some diary of listless lust left undated. of the woods, of
a reiterate span in once anonymized transience. and falling
back, thumbing pages for proof of experiences passed into
skewered memory. left are three lines, ill-verbed, to represent
an entirety of past lives. of time once present in yellow-lit
motel room, of apocalyphic musings, and veering prophets
of doom. they, turned sincere apocalyphites. their prayers
writ boldfaced, platitudinous, in concern of endless words
restating – in constant rephrasing:
      ‘People can go **** themselves.’
but they just kept goin’ on without concern for the dawn.
Ryan Nyberg Feb 2016
ya vijy vi volnyetes' moi dryg
y vas tryasytsy ryki, plyashyt nogi
vi pozabili vsex i kajdogo vokryg
boyas' svernyt' s pryamoi kak shest dorogi.

*** vistypaet, v ygolkax glaz stoyat slezi
ne v sostoyanii stoyat', sidet' i govorit'
vi plachite, dlya vas vse tak ser'ezdno
moi dorogoi, ny kak tak mojno jit'.

no ne volnyisya, dryg moi
podojdi;
vi rano so schetov spisali vas je;
i esli mi seichas ne pobedim
to vperedi mi viigraet i dvajdi.
betterdays Apr 2014
the cacophony of whispers speaks again ....giberish spouts from my bloated brain ....my head is .....
rotating.. tating around the room whispering at a decibalac boom . . .  up is down and down. .  . is no left turn... drumbeats skid off my dishpan brain... i see a mark.... liqour green.... an unholy stain.... parrot like my mother squawks.... that won't soak out ... you've ruined your best brain ...
my my mind is ... listing to the right....and feels.... decidedly....  strained like ....custard bumpy..  and lumpy...... the whispers....... screams chunk about... and i ****..... awake.....sweatslicked,
drymouthed....... and ......jit...jitt....jittery...jitter...

i sit a second ...and then reach for reality .....a toddler who's had a bad dream.
...no more...leftover pad thai
and  double choc brownies
followed by an afternoon nap......a decidedly bad idea.... lol
Descovia Apr 2022
Please, put my respect on
my name when you think of it
or get caught up in some ****
If it ain't broken then why you're
over here pitching a fit?
I'm no easy target
So, you betta not miss
Try me and watch it go amiss
Up, up, away, in smoke. Set fire and burn all of this!
I am growing tired of cursing in my pieces
but these fools wanna play me like a *****!
I want real one by my side, call us Lilo and Stitch.
I'll be ****** if anyone takes the light from you like a sith.
I be on crazy ****. Never harm a jit. Losin my temper quick. Pop a fool like a zit! . Descovia is the name. Ha! Remember it. Play with my demons. They dismember ****!

I am with problems out the ***.  Call me the "nemesis"
**** suicide, I'll go genocide, I'm going through the tides, I am limitless!
This is for Isaiah, Charlie, Mason, Princess Genesis!
What in hell on earth do you mean? The corrupt deserves all forgiveness?!
If only you can see and feel what's in my mind as victim and witness.
I don't care what it takes, I'm breaking the numbers and chains for a difference
I am advanced at this, and you're only an apprentince.
Make change for your life if what I say catch interest!
Why is it I gotta get loud to get everyone's attention?
I need you to hear me out...
Please, just listen
I apologize for the profanity.
It was fitting for emotional release
It's better to influence others to feel and think
than to use violence to achieve a point.
Michael R Burch May 2020
You are welcome to share this poem for noncommercial use and dedicate it to your favorite mother, but please credit the author if you share it on social media or elsewhere on the Internet …

Mother’s Smile
by Michael R. Burch

There never was a fonder smile
than mother’s smile, no softer touch
than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than “much.”

So more than “much,” much more than “all.”
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother’s there, nor how we reach
from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.

There never was a stronger back
than father’s back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,
then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, then flew.
But, oh, a mother’s tender smile
will leap and follow after you!

I have dedicated this poem to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, and my wife, Elizabeth Harris Burch. Published by TALESetc, Famous Poets and Poems, Poems for Big Kids (anthology), Victorian Violet Press, Better Than Starbucks, Promosaik (Germany), Pour Femme (Italy), Korean Palmers, JIT Jaipur (India), Inspirational Stories and Care2Care; also Penguin Books Valentine’s Day Contest Winner and included in the Children of Gaza song cycle by composer Eduard de Boer. Keywords/Tags: Mother, Mothers, Day, love, compassion, tenderness, encouragement, selflessness, sacrifice, comfort, hugs, kisses, smile, smiles
Descovia May 2021
I'll petrify a goon with
the power of ice
  My fire running
Through the universe's veins
Who is he! What is he?
Spirits of the frozen
  Stay following me
  Repent and cast away
  The pain Into the flames!
  
  Rather be remembered
  as a face without a name
  Don't get yourself played
  Like the game!
  You and I nowhere
   near the same!
  Another year
  dying for a better change!
  I must become it,
  before I go insane!!


    Breaking bad.  Breaking chains. Breaking habits. I am savage. I go wreck less. Bring the havoc.


Bringing damage.  Can they handle it? Can't hear your voice over the static!

Change the tactic.  Lyrical addict. Morriss code encrypted spells, can they manage?

I remain erratic.

Talk on us, like we ain't the best,  I am not having it!


Cannot. Will not. Shall not. be silenced under any sound.

I am going over it all. Traveling dimensions. Our voice goes beyond the underground!




I  Burn more trees, than
  a forrest fire in the summer!
  
Don't play me, like
  I won't clap back with thunder!
  
Don't act like
I won't pull up on you

We know shooters and runners

  I am tired of living in a world
  Where we're just a NUMBER!
  
Hope my voice
hunt you Snowflakes
  
in your slumber!
  
It's not about pride
You should been one up!

Even at my lowest I gotta
Keep it 💯

Got so much ****
You only know the sum of

Now I see/ why everyone that

Bangs puts their guns up!

Do what I gotta do

For my babies

From sun set to sun up

At the end of the day

I just want to

See us all come up!


Please, put my respect on
my name when you think of it
or get caught up in some ****
If it ain;t broken then why you're
over here pitchin' a fit?
I'm no easy target
you betta not miss
I am growing tired of cursing in my pieces
but these fools wanna play me like a *****!
I want real one by my side Lilo and Stitch.
I;ll be ****** if anyone takes the light from you
like a sith.
I be on crazy ****. Never harm a jit. Losin mah temper quick. Pop a foo, just like a zit! . Descovia is the name. Remember it. Play with my demons. They dismember ****

I be on the problem's ***. Like I am the nemesis
**** suicide, genocide, I'm go through tides, I am limitless!
This is for Isaiah, Charlie, Mason, Princess Genesis
What in hell on earth do you mean? The corrupt deserves all forgiveness?!
If only you can see and felt what's in my mind as victim and witness.
I don't care what it takes, I'm breaking the numbers and chains for a difference!
I rather take the trash out then let it build, eliminate it from equation of existence!
I am advanced at this, and you're only an apprentice.
Make change for your life if what I say catch interest!
Why is it I gotta get loud to get everyone's attention?
I just need you to hear me out...
Just listen...

(Peaceful warrior)

will set it off by the count down
like 3,2,1! You can try it but you
better be slick, the mind of  a cowboy with guns.
Set it off. Like propane with fire in the sun.
I dunno why ya'll playing  games? Then you run?!
You better be with it if you got good lungs.
God ****** Bobby! I'll kick your ***. Get popped. RICKY!!
Wish a *******, would put his hands on my motherloving son.
On his *** like a sour stomach with the runs.
Take your time eventually, it will all be said and done.
If they are really bout it, then why they gotta media stunt huh?!
I been on it, since day one. **** a ***** out of a million for  thinking, I am not in league with any of the number ones!


No need to flex. I get it . Believe it. (YES)
No need to stress. My son knows his limits. (BLESS)

Strap me up, I am ready for war! (BET!)
No. I am NOT nike. But I will get you in check to get a check. (LET IT REST
sheila sharpe Nov 2020
shewereasnarrerasanarrer, but with cleavage to die fer
so she dressed in fancy spanks from Marks ‘n Sparks
‘cos she’d gorra job as earned hersen a bucketful of dosh
typing  jobsheets fer the Faktreh’s Senior Clerks
Now one parky Sat’dy neet,
our Peg the padgeowl chanced to meet
an Irish navvy wi a twinkle in ’is eyes
and ‘though Peg judged him as a Yokel
still she took ‘im dahn ‘er local
where they podged theysens
on stout and chips and pies
but Paddy got right larroped
‘as down the jit they galloped
and, chucklin’ sed  “now gisagleg
what’s behind them fancy skanks
did yer gerrem from them Yanks?”
but Peggy only showed a little bit o’ leg
but the navvy cut up ruff, and said “that’s nor ennuff!
I’ll ‘ave the rest – and I’ll ‘ave it right ere!”
but Paddy, tight jobber, never bought a dobber
and as weeks passed it soon became clear
to Paddy, the digger, that Peg’s waist  was gettin’ bigger
so, when Peg said, with a tear and a sigh
“There ain’t no bloomin’ daht
that you’ve got me up the spaht!”
Paddy skanked ‘er
- dahn the jitty - by and by!
A poem in Leicestershire dialect.  Read it out loud to get the effect please and let me know how you find it - oh, and have fun looking up all of the dialect words
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
evil comes to the conclusion
that:
           if it's not a res cogitans...
then there's
a res vanus...
         that's in need of being
filled!

             only recently my
algorithm reach for encompassing
a touch-with-a-"history"
has been blockaded...

      i find it harder and harder...
to view a video,
beyond the 2016 and the 2017
arena...

     A.I. is what gave us, man,
in an S. I. environment
                (synthetic intelligence)...
something that composites
a continuum,
     rather a stable posit to work
from...

        the easiest route of
miscarrying, exploitation;

   what? existentialism wasn't about
the hyper-exploitation
of punctuation marks?!

      dumb dumb d' dumb
  drum roll...           expectation.

god looks at the use of language,
per se,
   not at language, used,
with a per se, and a subsequent
usage of,
             without a per se!
                            becauase, how on earth...
am i to make a humanist
statement...
                 by "over"-complicating
the said, use,
                       of using language?

can poetry even become a mediator?!
membrane!
                    well, **** me!
hands tied behind my back scenario?!
            tiananmen sq. "whoopsie"?

death by a riddle...
  or death by pachelbel?
    ****'s left to right right to left
when using the basic hand-"gesture"
of expressing a papyrus
          "tattoo" of a handwriting?

eek-onk?!
yes... becauase there are no
pigs in the desert...
  which i buzzfeed use
to offset a lack of salt...
       ******* copper,
brazen with melt choc. "aura",
sultry quacks of a melody
requiring a choir
             of transgender *******!

can't exactly look at a sunset
having "acquired"
the current socio-pathos
conformity narrative...
it's like watching
a really bad hopak aversion
to a take on performing
ballet...

    oh... so bad for the toes of
ballerinas...
    what about the cossack knees?!

never mind the handerchief...
what about chaos theory,
butterfly, hurricane...
                 and the sneeze?!

surely the world cannot be
unfathomable,
yet fathomable...
   within the confines of
a metaphor...
              a non-"literal"
      ascription of: losing count
of the number of given examples...

A.I.?
  what? the argument to express
putting a ****** on
a circumcised phallus?!
   i don't mind...
but owning a phallus not
circumcised...
   stop basing your intellect
on me jerking off...
      S. I.: synthetic intelligence...

       ha ha...

  putting a ****** on a circumcised
phallus...
          
              i like that...

  no wonder the ones with
circumcised *****...
  do not know how to express
pleasure from a ****, jit-jitty-jittery
one-off with jamaica in mind...

to always require a woman?
must be painful...

             learning from my
grandfather... and the *****
of a mouth that constitutes my grandmother?

            go through that one
with me, one more time...

                 so...

                no *******?
       and you wear a ******?
      and it's not latex in being wholly
****** clad in it?

                          guess only the ones
with an intact ******* can
play the part of an audience...
and even, remotely, enjoy
the dutch spectacle of watching
***** without a Cain-induced
grievance...

                             harsh though...
circumcising...
    and even remotely,
      implying a second tier of an impetus
to miscarry
the original:
     well... i hope i'll receive
an epitaph "marred" by an inscription
set to stone....

          any argument from
the non-circumcised party of women
wondering about my final
statement on the relief that
comes with: no. 1, no. 2... and no. 3?
f.g.m.
   is probably the only "answer"...
you'll ever, get.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
here's one draft that got away...
カラカン timidity -
that's a googlewhack...
the original had me sentence the word
カラカン (karakan)...
it must have arrived in Europe
via the Mongol invasion...
a way for the Mongols to joke
about: how the Spanish might
find self-deprecating humour
when the Spanish Armada was...
thwarted by the north sea winds...
and no second battle of Hastings
took place...
a bit like this...
but カラカン (karakan) is a racial
slur... some Europeans associate
with orientals:
mid-itch: mid-jit...
not a dwarf... or an imp...
something compact:
might possibly fit inside a suitcase
and be allowed: smuggling rights...
the word must have origins
in katakana...
it has syllable stresses that
wouldn't all it to exist
in a framework of: "too many vowels" /
"too many consonants"...

you could literally rewrite the word: CARE
with an ancient Latin grapheme of:
AE...
Adam and Eve being the Siamese genesis:
CÆR....
if you were to rewrite it utilising
the proper diacritical markers
to leave an itch for syllables...
you'd require to write something akin
to CA-RE... CA'RÉ



but katakana syllables don't cut it...
i'll need some Hangul...
i won't be able t write any of it on this html
canvas...
i'll provide a link where it might
be available...

******... karakan: i believe the mongols
brought the word over...
settled down in Crimea and became
the... Tatars...
   funny... somehow...
they too were short... yet they brought
around a Japanese word...
they probably ended up bringing the concept
of the dumpling...
although in eastern Europe a lot of pork
was used... and mushrooms and sauerkraut...

tomorrow i fiction a death of me...
i have a death wish...
i need some Hangul scribbles...
the katakana will not do enough justice...
sure... **** a lemon squint eyed...
break at many bones in the body
to exact an extension of height:
oriental... wannabe pharaoh...
   the David vs. Goliath analogy works just
so much... before there's that other
analogy concerning dogs...
some... *******... mongrel mutt...
some mongrel Mongol...
some nipper barking up a leg of an
Alsatian...
it's just... ******* annoying...
the small dogs bark...
the bigger dogs just itch for a throat to bite...

i forgot to squint: to **** at a lemon...
never mind the Thai suntan...
i just keep forgetting towering over
these pawn-escapades...
not that they are:
height is by no means an advantage...
but the word is still intanct:
i can't excavate the original draft:
the web page reads a message:
502 Bad Gateway...

i too can't believe in a linear variation
of Hangul...
but since the originator of the phonetic
is so modern...
i cannot have any suspicion
that: patriarch Abraham invented the
Hebrew script...

god... i love this following sentence:
avant-garde typographer ahn sangsu made
a font for the "hangul dada"
ダダ...

mahler's: i don't like mahler...
but... der einsame im herbst -
the wind can whine and pretend to whistle...
the mountains might want to shuffle
toward a chime... the bells seemingly have
forgotten...
i don't like Mahler... but...
scatter brain bound as i am...
i can see the "funny" side of t'ings...
orange bulwarks of spinning fire...
eating themselves to perpetuate
a leverage of presence...

   when one doesn't require on some
pop Orff... the recluse is left with
the availability of... Ma... surd H followed up
with a Ler: not leer...
a square turns out to be a rhombus...
this ugly side of the readily available life...
it took me 4 sessions to sit through
watching the Fisher King by a Terry Gilliam...
it usually takes me the same amount
of time and interlude:
to watch a movie these days...
not some mythological absentee purpose
of a last reserved me...
too worded:
i just don't have the passion
to be entertained when i can be
the script baron: predicting all that's too take place
in some televised drama...

it's not fun watching something so
predicable...
re-hear-sals...
salons of: rehearing...
            opera dies a most tragic impromptu...
as must ballet...
it's not that it's not important:
it's only that too few of the most important
people... don't care as much
to keep it: living...
a sadness creeps in:
a sort of sadness associate with:
not postmodern-re-constructivism...
something that requires: revision...
an added: oomph!

the romance has seized to exist... to be preserved...
i can do this alone on
a single hard-on...
i'm consolidating my presence like
Horace might have at the turn of the tide
when paganism of the cultured people was
replaced by the newly found monotheism
of semites readied to burn books
of the Alexandrian library...
and there... was this concern...
for the northern barbarians and their
polytheism..
wood on wood:
i like the term:
                       oculus per oculus...

to the heart of stone... an uvula of
pearl...
teeth as letters: better still: some variation
of lettering...
congested molars of consonants...
teasing lady vowels...
attired in niqabs... piercing eyes...
all new no other way that's easy
via h'americana..

- mind you... i'll just visit a Turkish *******
and forget... there might have been
a wife... a child involved?
there was all this investment in... baron hope?
like my grandfather?
like my grandfather hoped...
oh... right... his wife created a consiracy
with her son and a distant cousin...
so that his grandson didn't make it to
his deathbed...
i had spare time on my hands:
i had hands!
i could have catered to this dying son...
if he wasn't going to meet up with ol'
Abraham.. he might have met up with
a Czarnoboch...

so much for family...
i preserve the unison of me...
if i disappoint i'll disappoint myself prior
to having to disappoint anyone after...
that's a comforting thought.
first i fail...
and if there's no one i could possibly
fail...
beside myself:
hmm... Diogenes of Sinope...
he must have been a man-child...
at least a man-child is creative till his death...
i can't contest a similar argument
for a woman-child...

how about... no?

https://allpoetry.com/poem/15995108-%E3%82%AB%E3%83%A9%E3%82%AB%E3%83%B3-timidity-by-Matthew­-Conrad

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