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typhany Dec 2016
i don't want to
have these
bipolar
conversations
where i threaten,
and apologize,
and demand,
and apologize
again

i don't mean to take you
through the ringer
to make you see violence
and mood swings

i don't mean to scare you
when i don't take
my medicine
i don't mean to scare you
when i cry
for hours
i don't mean to scare you
when i scream
and punch things

i never meant to
do those things
like keying your car

i never meant to
drop everything
and go across multiple state lines
with no plans
at all

i never meant to hurt myself
until my arms
were coated in scars

for all of the times
i self-medicated
poked myself with needles
and drank away my pain,
i'm sorry
i shouldn't have taken so many xanax
you're right
i was wrong
again

i never meant for you to be
my caretaker
i hate those words
caretaker
i should be able
to take care
of myself

i'm sorry i am not managing this illness
i am very
very
ill

i'm sorry for the times
i couldn't get out of bed
couldn't eat,
couldn't move
couldn't go to work

i'm sorry for the times
i made tons of post-it notes
filled journals with ideas
bought calendars
and organization tools

i'm sorry for getting your hopes up
i really thought i could do it this time

i'm sorry for my diagnosis
i'm sorry i didn't understand how serious this is

i didn't ask to be bipolar
i didn't ask to be born

i make cases for myself
in my head
but they're all filed as
crazy

i'm sorry i was delusional
paranoid
and afraid

i'm sorry for the drug binges

i'm sorry for melting
fading
burning
and still coming back
alive

these low lows
and high highs

you've been through the ringer

when you're only supposed to be
support, a resource of compassion...
you had to be a caretaker

you didn't ask for this
and neither did i

i sometimes questioned if it was harder on you
to live with someone with bipolar disorder
than it was for me
to live with bipolar disorder

you wanted to save me
but you realized
that i can only save myself

now i'm drowning
and my lifeline is gone

i'm trying to learn to swim
i just hope i do it
before i sink

i'm sorry for all of the ****** poetry
i made you read

i'm sorry
idk venting
K Balachandran Jan 2012
you are a past mistress in this;
keying in ****** messages
with your finger tips,
in to my erogenous zones.
Bunhead17 Dec 2015
Chillin like a villian
listenin to dylan
writin and thrillin,
as long as the good lord's willin

Sweatpants & a ponytail,
chillin with no make up on.
Cos' it's like my hobby now


Camo sleep pants
led zep tee
drinkin cold ones
and groovin to youtube

Watching scream queens
on netflix.
Texting & trying to figure out
what's next


Keying thoughts
onto my notebook
thinking hard about
a late night snack

Chillin like a penguin
cos' its freezing cold.
Wishing I had some hot coco.
Trying stay up late.


Toasty warm
inside my room
to step out for a smoke
would seal my chill

Chillin' is amazing.
I got the chills,
feeling like a cold hell
Wolf Spirit Poet is amazing


Chillin, blazin
mind **** amazin
oh these nights
dreamin and lazin
Copyright 2015
We were bored. So this is what we came up with.
Fingers and thumbs tapping out messages
so many texts written, so many read, smiles apart
faces, eyes, feelings, never shared
music videos; lips and music separate
empty sounds, never tugging the heart strings.

Thumbs and fingers keying in distance
so much data, so little experience shared, time apart
laptops, smart phones, processing emptiness
unfeeling, sampling blandness, subtleties lost
empty words, crowding our lives.

Curves, flowing lines and spaces, passion
compressed
squashed out are the senses
sweat and smells, laughter lost.

All in the empty kingdom of bits and bytes
reigned by the gods of technology
the mantra being faster, faster
but still
all fingers and thumbs in the affairs of the heart.

As surely as we are propelled forward
into tomorrow
we hurtle
back to the dark ages
the dark castles of aloneness
Empty words, lost in the cells of our separation
all fingers and thumbs.
At the mid noon hour
above the cell tower
over two frolicking kite
swoops a plane on flight.

It has grazed the sky
spotless and dry
smelling ground cavorts
nigh is airport.

Amid wind's flutter
diurnal moon quarter
eyes droop to a rest
weighed with dreams' harvest.

The plane port bound
is circling on a round
waiting landing call
slowing to a crawl.

Love this time alone
up from dirt and grime
fiddling my cellphone
keying nonsense rhyme.
WA West Jan 2020
The noise was incessant, a jungle in a suburban street.  Their uninhibited laughter and carefree glide as they strutted down the pedestrianised street. All jumping in turn over the bollards at the end of the street; shrieking at each other. They didn't give two *****, cocky little *******. They were all hair, charity shop jumpers, and self centered to boot. One of them parked his sporty ****** car in the back-lane, like he was trying to colonise the space between his house and theirs. This prevented his easy access; he couldn't get out effortlessly on his bike any longer (several thousand pounds, carbon fiber, a serious model) or unload his shopping. In a semi-lagered up state; post-Friday night drinks up the town he had gotten himself into a revengeful state. He wanted to show the little ******* that he was not to be messed with. Thinking he was just some bald middle aged fella in a parka, he'd show them.

He let his resentment get the better of them, keying ''****'' into the car. **** them, a keying well deserved, don't want keying then turn Black Sabbath down. He had felt briefly guilty the next day; eggs on toast and coffee wondering if he should have done something so drastic. He was ultimately mild-mannered and avoided conflict where possible. His guilt diminished when the music started up again; he hadn't had a moment's peace since they moved in. He felt like they were insects on a hot day; constantly invading his personal space and making him feel uncomfortable. They woke him up constantly; he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks. His skin was getting paler, his eyes bloodshot. They should try looking at excel spreadsheets for hours on end, punching in formulas on 3 hours sleep. None of them had worked an honest day's work in their lives, little *******. He hated their flat caps, berets and other arty accessories. Sometimes he thought about lining them up like dominoes in height order and pushing them off the Tyne Bridge. Or feeding them to the dogs at Brough Park- **** little *******. Sliding up the street- carefree and laughing at nothing in particular. Laden down with cheap cider and frozen pizzas. His friendly notes had been ignored, if diplomacy fails then it is time for military action. Politeness was no use anymore. They obviously couldn't care less about keeping him up; night after night, making him miserable. He put on his black Adidas tracksuit and his Berghaus jacket zipped up to his face with the hood up. He put a ball-peen hammer down the back of his jogging pants, he smeared joop on his bald-head, on his ears and on his neck. He walked next door ''Once in a lifetime'' playing in his head, jumped over the little garden wall and banged on the door. As he banged on the door, he heard the clanging of a snare drum bursting out of the window. He didn't have time to react as the stonework from the window ledge above fell on his head. He never did get a chance to make his grievances clear.
linda barrett Mar 2013
Memories of Malinda
@2013 Linda Barrett

Whenever I saw you at your computer terminal,
my heart pounded with fear
You stood five feet and two inches tall
weighing twice your size
obesity bloated you
In your tight velvet tunic and tights
Your face resembled a ball of fat
lips ****** out in a sullen pout
Small brown eyes glared
At your computer monitor
underneath  your bobbed golden hair,
you held onto vindictive bitterness
hatched plots and drama
from all the television shows
you came home to watch
after keying in millions of medical forms
for five days a week
and seven hours a day
The hatred you felt in life
came out in disgust
and revulsion for me
You despised me for being the way I am:
told everyone in the office
of all of my crimes
against common sense and logic
How I couldn’t do anything right
I sneezed in my hands
keyed in the wrong information
picked my pimples in public
forgot to wash my hands
after going to the bathroom
To get rid of me once and for all
You took matters into your own hands
When our supervisor went on maternity leave,
you sabotaged my work
on the computer
verbally abused me every day
played cruel games on me
whispered about me
to your catty little friends
as I sat directly behind you
at my desk
until I started calling out sick
then searched for a psychiatrist
To unscramble my brain
and discover


why I couldn’t keep down a job
like other “normal” people
For a final analysis
I sought out God
If I prayed hard enough,
would He hear me
and pull me from the miry
clay of my office torment
or let this woman win?
I doubted Him at first
until two others caught
you in the act of sabotage
wrestled the claims I entered
into the company’s data base
Out of your self-made drama,
you almost lost your job
When Human Resources investigated
the other department’s members
about the sabotage issue,
you escaped from their questions
by fleeing for the parking lot
and speeding for home
You tried to get your friends
to gang up and save your job
from the others
who exposed your tricks
of data entry daring  do
The quiet speaking blonde H.R. manager
decided to demote you down
to a regular clerk
You went into tantrums
when the new auditor
revealed the mistakes
you used to hide from us
slammed your document folders
over her overhanging desk lamp
spat out obscenities
In childish rage
After a few years,
you quit your discouraging job
said to everyone
you found work
at a dentist’s office
in far away Dublin, Pa.
Even after two decades,
Why do I still
fearfully cringe
whenever I think of you?
Christopher KD Feb 2015
The cab moved quietly
Beneath the street lamps
Pleather seats: torn, faded
There we sat, silent- content.
The driver, a portly man, hacked
Struggling, his breathing deepened
Panting, gasping to regain regularity
Quickly, his breath filled the
Confined, litter-shrouded,
Van with the stench of
Cheap cigar smoke

We arrived at her home
The driver approached slowly
Carefully avoiding the icy snow
Banked earlier by the cities plows
Sliding the van door open I step out
Still holding her hand, the night air
Enters my lungs, sobering me
Just for that brief instant

Hastily, she leans in
Without hesitation, I meet her
Ambitious advance, reciprocating
The kiss is brief; I’m no longer cold
Her lips are warm and soft against mine
Retreating, she smiles. I gently brush her hair
Behind her ear unveiling a dark brown eye
My glazed, drunk, stare meet hers
Her grin, now beginning to fade
She looks down in confusion

I sense the cab driver behind me
Growing impatient he lights a cigar
Before turning away she whispers night
Her hand lets go of mine; our fingers part
Complacent, tomorrow she will return to him
Revisiting that feigned, simulated, infatuation
The kind they falsely advertised as ‘love’
Standing alone, I’m cold once more
Keying in, she doesn’t look back

Reaching into my pocket
Scrounging for what cash is left
To the cab, I surrender my last five dollars
This pays just enough to get me where I stand
Dissatisfied with his tip, the driver departs cursing
Unsure what to make of the evening, I begin my walk
Now, not so sobering, the night air dries my throat
The chilled breeze that once blushed her cheeks
Now stings my nose, ears, and finger tips
Alone, I continue west- home
Cold, I have miles ahead
Spirit torn in twain
I walk them.
Michael Kreitman Nov 2015
I got sober over a year ago.
What god blessed me with is morals, honesty and a conscious.
When I was out, I hurt people and I enjoyed it.
It was something, I just had to do so you knew how big my rep was.
I was a caged animal and I wasn't even in cell anymore in my head at least.
Any challenge I met with violence.
I prayed most nights not to wake up.
I happened to have  a reminder this evening.
Tonight I picked up some food and sat at the bar.
Instead of salivating over sharp knives, semi automatics, a broken thumb and what I would do to certain fox news anchors.

First, I saw my old friend jack.
Before we reminisced I told him that, I'm allowed back in my mothers house.
And am home for the holidays especially thanksgiving.
I can hold a job instead of amassing monstrous amounts of credit card debt and fraudulent charges.
And my family tells me they love me.
Well he told me remember the good times, like trying to get hook up with someones girlfriend at a party.
while he was passed out.
 Saying anything that was needed to close the deal.
It just happened that night.
I was bamboozled
Also  I had the privilege of running into some *****-***** who had the gull to tell me.
You have the haircut of a ****.
Her words exactly.
So instead of keying some kind four letter feminine word into her car.
I fell down into the street divider and wouldn't get up till some acquaintances went out there and asked me if  I was alright.
"That of course, was all I most likely needed growing up" said so many counselors who loved to point out the fact that, well Michael you grew up in a broken home with a father who took his life right around the corner from you when you were just ten years old. The prime growing years of any young lad.

Then I spoke to an old college friend after that a noble of sorts C. Royal.
We spoke of past-times of unprotected *** with a so called girlfriends.
All of these women of course who I had cheated on and possibly fathered many children.
Now sober I'm following leads to see if they exist and planning to set up college funds.
If the maternal parent doesn't want me int there life.
Then later in life being the genius that I was cashing in so may bonds to celebrate my future sober life I began spending over 1500 at the tables.
OF course when I was banded from narcotics and ****** at the hotel room.
Whats the point of saving over 1200 in winnings.
Like any good addict I let it ride on black.

I just kept on running into old friends.
It was a hell of a night.
I then saw a french man of sorts and spoke to him last Mr. Marnier.
I told him for now at least  I don't regurgitate Thanksgiving dinners in front of friends families.
And my friends speak to me now.
After that I picked up the food and said goodbye.
I feel like life is based on truth. its like they say those who win the war write the history.
Jeffrey Bustos Apr 2013
I see the sun climb the white cushions and blue oceans
I hear the mesmerizing melody of the doves stringing and keying.
I smell the aroma of roses and tangerines racing through the air and crashing into my nostrils…ecstasy.
I feel the delicate, delicious, delightful caressing massage of silky roses.
I taste the sweet sugar of life.

It is you.
Do you not see?
No. I was
Mistaken.
You leave me with…
Reality.

Innocence exiled, as a child is stabbed until Breath is livered out of him.
The pulsating bombs of Life against Hope-the genocide of the Eardrums.
The ******, sweat stench of truth lingers over the vulnerable flowers like a gaseous cloud.
The piercing needle of truth injects into every pore. Reality in. Dreams out.
Faith disintegrates in the acid, cavity stricken world with masticated Hope regurgitated at will.
It is my fault. Did i not see?
Hallie Bear Dec 2012
Key figure
Lock frame
Smooth curve, lower lip aligning
Jump click nose
Glide and wrinkle

Slide those teeth into me
Mouth filling with metal
Twist off, open up

Eyes slit,
Scour deep places
Creeping into nightmares
Keying gashes through
The décolleté of my brains rational

Glean wicked wonders
Slinking out
Found what you desired

Trash the place and ghost out
Cleaning off internal graffiti

Better lock up
Next time.
Ouvrir is the french verb to open.
Lol at my teen angst. :P
Maybe it's the obsidian spirit within that wishes to be in her axis spin
A topsy-turvy tango on the turnpike
My heart tries keeping pace
Embarrassment of riches, her smile never saves face
I'm spoiled to witness a heavenly Rorschach test walking
Olympic views sparkling on high
A natural one
Holy smokes
I've seen the evergreens blush red
When she brushstrokes
Her paintbrush-lush hair amidst the background of the Puget Sound
So refreshing
Trapped in her net
Outside the network of jerks
Fishing for lust
Refresh the pages
Reload the look of ages
My type of hype
She's keying in on my keen instincts
Putting wings on my desires
So heights can be admired
So fright can be delayed
In flight, I've fallen.


- Ifeanyi Okoro II
Thinking of You Mar 2012
Dear little wood pecker pecking at my brain,

Please stop if you care at all about me staying sane.
You are small in shape but huge in sound and your beak is pecking and the most fragile part of the ground.
I wish you would go away, or peck at something else.
Because you see if what you were pecking was to be taken, I am not sure how I could respond.
There isn't a back up plan if that rope were to break, and i'm not sure exactly how far I would fall and to where it would take.

It is the only thing in the present I see to focus on and the only thing I see worth keying in on. If I had a back up plan, sure, you could peck away, let your beak not wander or stray.  But right now your pecking at the only reality I see, so please please wood pecker would you hasten you beak.
Loren Mercier Aug 2012
I want a man
who has a big
Soul

I can care less about the size of his
Bankroll

I want you to cook,
And clean,
And do the laundry,
And do the food shopping
With me.

You must play an instrument
I dont care if you ****,
As long as you never quit.
Quitting is sooo
Unattractive.

I can spend the whole week inside,
I love nature, but trees don't pay the bills,
these skills keep my PayPal filled.

I want you to put the coffee on, before I wake up,
Because I forgot to set the timer,
And Put the grounds and filter in,
Even though it was my turn,
And hand me a cup as I walk into the room,
And never mention my forgetfulness.

Starched collars and dress shoes
Don't do it for me,
I need to be able to strip you down in seconds,
Not get lost in your coat and sweater vest,
On the way to your flesh.

Catch me off guard,
Make me laugh,
And I'll be yours,
Even if you grow stale,
And make me cry

I know how love works,
Because I have broken enough,
And saw the tiny cogs and gears inside.

All I want
Is someone,
Who will give me the key to their
Heart.
Let me move in, and make it my own.
And even after I wreck the place up,
In an irrational fit, and storm out,
keying your car on the way,
You'll never change the locks,
Or take my key away.
I **** at titles. I'm open to suggestions.
Francie Lynch Nov 2021
I forgot the present.
I went back,
And watched a flower open yesterday.
Imagination turned real.
There was banter and banging;
Strumming and keying.
I witnessed a chick, hatching,
Breaking through.
After the picking and pecking,
Their scratching and scolding,
I paused in need of help:
Get Out.
No one is that good
.
Watched *Get Back* and swooned over the band. No one person was ever The Beatles. They were a unity. Never to be seen again. So glad they gave us such timeless music.
CJ M Jul 2015
Classic fairytale love is what it was to us. You being the spoiled rich ******* the block and me the poor, lonely expresser who stole your heart as if I could live off the mere heat of it.
We were fated, middle school crushes, High school sweethearts, college lovers. Our closeness judged by the length of time we spent together, and as college kids, our making love was sweeter than honeysuckles, more spiceful than Spanish rice. We had a poetic passion unlike any the world had ever seen
But your love for me wore off fast, you’d acquired a taste for un-sampled  cuisine. That would’ve been fine had I not found out on my own. I found out about them, one or two would’ve been bad, but Six?!?! Do I bore you? Don’t try to wiggle your way out of this, it only hurts me more.
Your voice gets tighter as you ridicule me for my actions, but I can’t hear you anymore. I don’t know you, I fell in love with a love and a lover, not this whorish display in front of me. You yell louder, climaxing my urges, I send a jolting hand fast across your cheek. I already feel the guilt and regret, tears spilling from my eyes, I get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness.
You forgave me.
And somehow we ended up making love that night, only, it was no longer love. My regret fueled me, but I didn’t want to touch you anymore knowing how many hands do so in my absence. Now I thought we should go our separate ways.
We stop speaking but remain on friendly terms as you continue your cheating barrage on  your new lovers. I still have feelings for you, but the betrayal has me cornered in a pit of emotion that’s  steady pulling me down, down, down into an aggressive element.
But we are still friends, right? So I’d like you to come to a show that I’m making, I intend for it to be a wild ride. You watch the crumbling masquerade with painful eyes, the other audience members leave in shock at the agony of the destructed art. The show was a disaster that destroyed any chance at a career I had. You consoled me, filling my head with sweet words and fantasized hopes, keying in my engram of you.
We ended up in bed once more, bare bodies spent as we fell asleep. All it took was a moment of weakness.  I leave you momentarily to doze as until you fall asleep, crazy thoughts run through my head as I stare at my **** body in the bathroom mirror, a body that had been reserved for you. I tried hard to suppress the urges again, thinking of the good times we had and the wonderful love we made, but it wasn’t helping, It was only making my shy, sweet mind turn vicious.
No, don’t make me do this! Screaming in my head as a homicidal idea takes over my conscious mind. She had nothing to honestly do with this! But my rationality ebbs as my snapped heart seeks its retaliation. My world begins to disappear around me as the urge takes over. I am sensually invisible: no hearing, no sight, no feeling.
But the sensation seems to last only seconds before my senses snap back on and I discover what was to be…
What have I done !? Two slits where your cherry-wood brown eyes used to be and the guilty utensil in my hand, a knife, colored crimson all the way to the handle. I panicked in my guilt and got on my knees. No repentence for what I had done, too late and too heavy a burden to apologize.
But there was one way I could make my wrong a right, I could second the wrong. I could join you on the other side and remake what we had. The idea only flashes in my grieving brain, but it’s enough to make me settle on it. I put both hands on the handle, thrusting it heavily into my belly and commit my own honorable seppuku.
Passion killing is what they called it when the authorities arrived. Two long time lovers, dead before the dawn, I was influenced deeply by my mind, and my heart was betrayed by it. But now I guess we both know the extent of a betrayed Poetic Passion.
Look XD this has nothing to do with my personal life other than I was inspired by a book lol sooooo
Brandon Oct 2011
I wake up to the first note of my alarm
Ringing loudly into my dreams
Pulling me from the depths of sleep
Out thru the ocean of slumber and awake

Never anytime for the snooze button
I have no extra time to spare
I set my alarm for the last possible minute

I stumble into the bathroom
Rough my hair around a little bit
And peel the sleep out of my eyes

I turn the shower on and step in
Standing still for just a few minutes
I think that maybe I may fall back asleep

A lighthearted prayer escapes my lips
Hoping the hot water will be enough
To wake me from this grogginess
But of course it never is

I’d really rather not get ready
And just crawl back into bed

Ten minutes have passed
Now it’s time to get out of the shower
And get dressed

I blindly let the dog out of her cage
Walk her outside to do her business
In the thick early morning fog
She plays around for a few minutes
It’s all the time that I can allow

We rush back up the stairs
And back into the warmth of our home

I hurriedly pack my lunch
From a limited number of choices
And empty cabinets

The dog accepts her treat
And trots back to her cage
She is trained well

The thought occurs to me
That if only people were so well behaved
Maybe I’d enjoy their company more

But I’m running late by now as usual
So I don’t have time to dwell on this thought
As I close the bedroom door
She watches me and I hear her whimper
A soft goodbye with her eyes

I grab my lunch bucket and head out the door
Muttering a poem of early morning under my breath
Which seems to hang frozen in the air

I unlock my car door and slide in
Keying the car on in one smooth practiced process
The radio booms to life because I always forget how loud
I had the music playing the previous day
And my right hand quickly reaches
For the volume **** to turn it down
But only a little
At least until I get out onto the road

Every second of my drive to work
I sit talking myself into not turning back around
To go back home and go back to sleep

Most days I’m successful and I end up at work
Punching the time clock for an eight hour or more shift
Of busting knuckles and periodic book reading

Most days though I really should just turn back around
And go back home and go back to sleep

Most days though I really should never
Have gotten out of bed in the first place
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
What I hear when you speak today

They say that with the right equipment you could pick up words in space that were spoken years ago they still exist they continue with
Out end when I visit with someone it can be in many ways even in a still photograph you speak obviously of the current moment and
What’s going on in your life but your saying a lot more in both senses in the silence where you’re not speaking and when you are
Speaking there is multiple layers coming forth not just the immediate words that are heard we speak of a seasoned instrument or
Person how they have such a quality the past emerges unbidden in conscious thought loves lost days that were cherished are constantly
Wished for bleeds and blends into our words images of human family and friends and nature’s wonder are never squandered this rich
Texture of reality came and always remains when you start to speak the great instrument of the mind instantly races back over these
Revered regal investments and not heard openly but there glory flows if we could know this truly the word bored would pass from our
Vocabulary our experiences are so rich and varied from outward to inward joys brought and left by life that is what is so rich about
Meditation and mussing with the right keying effect these grand unforgettable pieces of our life history rushes forth into vivid bloom
Day dreaming everything outwardly is one reality while you’re in a spherical unending circle that has no end only twist and turns of
Delight your limitations are determined by how much imagination you expend little children are so precious they live that way every
day then some where there is a cut off place then it is driven underground what a pity never to dream is to be lifeless they proved
That without dreaming in natural sleep it can affect your physical health troubles are part and parcel of this life it is recorded that people
Who faced life and death situations by going back through thoughts and dreams found their way through present dangers this is just a
Few words of encouragement to kick off the New-year know this you’re up to the task you have a store house of treasures that are
Filled with every describable blessing you have ever encountered in this life review them let them melt the cold or hard thorny jungle
That tries to overwhelm tries to take away your gift of life you’re on a journey started by a most powerful benevolent father he
Equipped you to win when in Eden it was disrupted he came and hung between earth and heaven to fix the breach his glory is
Our magic carpet spoken of in fables but in this sense it does exist truth fused with imagination your victory is assured
Nylee Apr 2023
I am not your favourite person
it is not right, you know nothing about me
I am a closed book,
don't open me to read,
the empty pages are not yours to fill,
I am normal, don't make me feel bad
It is exceptional, the part you expect me to fill still,
But I am my own person,
Keying my destiny to be apart.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.
If you like it, I'd love if you shared it in whole or in part, it is a whole chapter in a novel form of literature, native to the internet age,
type set for vertical receivers
Ottar Apr 2013
Be listening to the Adagio in G,
When you go for a walk, any walk, or walk all alone, lonely
Be listening to the Adagio in G minor,
When you look South, where your life has gone, without you,
The clouds are moving bringing rain and storms, to spite you,
Be listening to the Adagio in G minor for strings and *****,
When careless words leave scars, like someone keying your car,
When thoughtless people talk like you are not there or anywhere
How soon, you wonder when things will change, if, for the better?
Be listening to the Adagio in G minor for strings and ***** composed by
Remo Giazotto.
And, snap out of it!
Inspiration provided by:
Adagio in G Minor, for Strings and ***** Composed by Remo Giazotto
Song:Adagio in G Minor for Strings and *****
Album: The 50 Most Essential Pieces of Classical Music
Performed by: The London Festival Orchestra and Alberto Lizzio
Pearson Bolt Apr 2019
i live to watch the words spill from you,
hot and sticky as your fingers work
their magic. slick from sweat,
frantically flicking, thrumming
out another string
of syllables,
eclipsing me with ellipses
blinking in the bottom
left corner of the screen
keying me in:
you’re still typing.

i am a ******,
afforded
a first-class seat
addicted to the way
you tease me
with your words:
gently.
slowly.
and also all at once.
i could hang
myself from the precipice
of your fingertips—
plying secret messages,
peep shows
for my eyes only.
you’re showing off,
and i can’t get enough.
svdgrl Jun 2018
I want to say you've left me all broken into jagged pieces,
that luckily everyone seems to want to pick up,
but they're sharp, dude.
I'm nervous.
I've been cut so far,
before the glass was broken.
I can only wonder-
I can be soft-spoken.
I'll try for  moments,
in which I'm grateful I'm not alone.
But I flip through your new pictures,
with the girl you said not to worry about,
I scurry about
memes in hand, I don't need a man,
I've buried the doubt.
I'm edgy.
I try my best to keep myself from writing my own elegy
But I know I want you to read this,
it isn't the best poetry.
It's just what I wish I could impart to you,
after keying your car and using your tooth brush
to clean my dogs *******.


deuces
*******, you abusive piece of crap.
I've contemplated messaging your new lady,
Out of the fear that just maybe
you'd grab her by the neck too,
and assume she liked being treated like ****.
(20 minute poetry)

It's time to change the record,
to spin another disc,
time to forge ahead and
make that leap, to
take a risk.

I used to **** on rusks for breakfast,
I knew that couldn't last,
how to grow up in a careless world,
to leave what passed
back in the past.

Pay one more bill that's due in,
watch my billfold get thin while the
cats are getting fatter,
something's definitely the matter.

And the matter is material
so vital to well being,
keying in the pin code
finding cash flow on the overload.

Going red,
reached the top,
cannot stop,
on a camber to
amber, green
back to where I've been before, to what I've seen before,
if this is life what am I living for?

I've been depressed
can't be bothered getting dressed, impressed by lack of
motivation,
tranquillised by the situation,
reduced to this, a stinking wreck,
hand me the rope
where's my neck?

It gets better
always,
not many signposts to show which ways,
I go anyways down the least obvious route.

An escapism to fantasy or just the long road to reach reality?

It still looks like Oz
to me.
Taylor Apr 2020
i lost 5 pounds,  am i skinny enough yet?
i used that lipstick you told me to use, does it look good?

i bought those new clothes everyone wears,  do i look cool enough?
i join the cheer team to fit in more, do they like me yet?

i had *** with that popular guy, am i breaching my adolescence
i started smoking ***, am i a cool enough stoner yet?

i started wear a full-face of makeup, am i attractive enough yet?
i shrunk my waist 5 inches, am i more desired now?

i started skipping school, am i fitting in with the status quo?
i started sneaking out, am i risky enough?

i got my nose pierced , is it edgy enough?
i dyed my hair to the blonde white you have it. so we can match?

i keyed that girls car who's such a freak, is that more acceptable
i bullied that girl and she killed herself, wasn't she such a freak?
__________________­_

im in the hospital now i lost too much weight
i ended up failing school for so much
im in debt for all the clothes i bought

the popular guy ended up getting me pregnant
i got arrested for keying her car and threatening her
my hair ended up falling out from all the bleach

my organs are shutting down from all the weight loss
i ended up addicted to drugs
my face now breakouts from all the products i used

i ruined my parents marriage by sneaking out and lying
i joined the cheer team and ended up trying to fit in
im currently dying ,  do i fit in enough yet?
this is about what we struggle with in our teens years
Hie did/do cha did cap cha a clue
you want me....... yes sigh dew
and will hew
a path in tandem with the help of uncle loo
on guard on mind our peas and queue
in an effort to earn my stripes for u
and even join tribe of village people per view
wing a Flintstone lifestyle where…whew
mebbe, many a close call chased by a giant beast,
   and saved
   by the released arrow whack,
   sans bulls eye thwack (no lion) respite of a Zulu.

---------- while ----------

Awaiting my modified sentence  -
A fictional injustice landing me in the slammer for fone he ears - with no penitence.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
No way to dodge fiat decreeing death sentence twill span
the rest o' me life, cuz such incarceration haint part o ma plan
for this abetting dodging, hedging rambling man
voicing objection - that thee trump petting don iz no fan
of mine, and who felt unready to kick the can
on account of violating what...freedom of speech ban
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Against abominable illegal mandate
with no way to commute death sentence this late
for simple act of voicing opinion against
   existence of heavenly gate
nor hellish underworld despite religious ******
decreeing penance as one articulate prelate
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Spurious pedagogical poetic rant,
ache kin to melting wax growing a candlewick
not the ravings of some half mad lunatic who doth tick
tock carefully plotting recitation that springs quick
from combined teachings of kant did *****
the mind of this jolly old Saint Nick
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Charges ******* up per this average don
purportedly blaspheming judeo-christian paradigm
as an atheist many beliefs outdated and fore gone
upending blind faith equated with hill of beans upon
which dogma erected epitomized by
complex edifices via grime
+ ****** tears and trifle pay for toiling for a bombastic scion
sweat shed by Polish slave labor
usurpation of freedom stripped analogous
to yearning Palestine yearning their own Zion
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Until outspoken persons risked life and limb
to invalidate existence of supreme deity
many still accredit with creating life proper and prim
whether for extra credit or perhaps on a whim
Adam from whose rib cage without anesthesia
but razor sharp knife sprung Eve
with a physique quite pleasing and trim
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
But rather than get lost in the Garden of Eden myth
final seconds countdown of existence tick away
while this keying nonchalant hammering word smith
doth not capitulate, aye deem heart of religion flimsy as pith
without intent to recant statements
   solely acceptable to b’ni brith
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Prompting last words of mine as oye vay
thing in the wind or house of cards vulnerable to blow away!
Robert C Ellis Nov 2016
The doom of the marsh,
Of conversations,
consonants keying the walls
The trickling, like stroked water
Delicately balancing history
Atop The Dream of Money
Enough to not feel
Not to reel
From the chokers, the faucet
The bloodlet
The cross that's carved deep
because
we have to keep a memento.

but I know without seeing
that someone is keying
the code in
forever
sticking the nails in.

Have you been to the place beyond
the place where you think
you can't face it?

it's somewhere behind me,
waiting to catch up and grind
me down doing a
left, right
left, right
marching off into the,
is that daylight?

Words fail me as the scales fall away
and the Dragon breathes fire across,
what was the name of that bay?

watching Morecambe on the
web cam
an old man on a trolleybus
going to the fayre.
January thirteenth two thousand
and nineteen will complete
mine third score orbitz round the sun,
who as a youth evinced

demure and effete
traits, and now weathered, Ongepatshket,
and plenty seasoned,
I feel ready to greet
a garrulous, humorous, and indecorous

Shikse for an indiscreet
liaison, where she will
get reddit to shutterfly,
and twitter like an uber keet
oozing with NON GMO

gluten and monosodium
glutimate saccharine dripping
with au naturale oversweet
ample ***** shapely waist,
and derriere replete

with plenty of junk in the trunk
cavorting, flirting, and issuing manumission
to fraternize, friskily frolic
fruitfully mixing bedlam with bunk
sundering politesse as a "FAKE",
gentlemanly, and honorable hunk,

when in truth,...this lapsed (Lou Zoo Lee)
christened nebish lunk
bookish, loutish, and wonkish teasing
seminarian formerly seclusive monk
keying into my inner philanderer,
yeah...yeah...yeah overdrunk

with prurient fantasies donning an imitation
of (guess who), one
narcissistic trumpeting punk
at heart my idol, no matter the teetering
ship of state he nearly countersunk,
which purportedly mirrors

his Wharton curriculum vitae,
which...well showed he nearly did flunk
apprenticed as POTUS with
FLOTUS attractive trophy
wife (number three) female chunk

and,...oh yes aesthetically
pleasing female real estate
from appearances marriage
barren and devoid of great
je nais sais quois,

though Melania rarely irate,
and partial government shutdown of late
reverberating with fallout, that does oscillate
furloughed federal employees to perspire
principally at increased amortization rate.
Dennis Willis Oct 2018
I press bullets
into skulls
with fire

Discover myself
holding
my phone

Carefully keying
Gorilla glass
with black photons

they die
in your
eyes

I'm Laughing

Out the back
of your skull
comes nothing

This is so
strangely
satisfying

Caught
in the act
of poetry



Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis
things where dreams don't be
things that look like you and me,

the door (whirs open)
which
spares me the job,
but
it's an electrical impulse
and
no charge for that information.

They're keying us into the system
bolting us to the frame and
where's your religion
when even Jesus forgets his name?
Ha! That catch phrase
     (kid ding lee writ)
     hoop fully goat yar attention
truth be told, (no...no...
     no...not by me
     boat some tee else of course)
     mine min (yute) yen
for light banter i.e. badinage,

     (this ***** toad juiced ribbing...
     frog *** about it), yea,
     I know that punning
     while keying (NOT SAFE),
     sometimes dill lutes
     ma serious pickling attempt ren
doors an unsuspecting reader
     (bajillion times out of zero) pen

ultimately probably discourages,
     an increased virtual fanbase,
     rectified by the following asinine
     non-sequitur (a come men
dib bull double
     entendre) totally tubularly
     barbed with Freudian
     slip age, that ken

figuratively grab immediate
     interest of hen
pecked recipients (with pock marks
     to prove such assertion)
     might strongly concur even
without being aware how
     psychoanalysis ***** ******
significance of phallus

     in everyday affairs,
     particularly how peppy
     (even after applying
     WD-40) can rust
and/or atrophy as if cell bait,
     hence thee **** cree,    
     that ******* a must
(as told by this husband
    
     in a sexless marriage
     as a result, I might
     join a convent) as a lust
result, either that or
     go set me a
     watch woman as mistress
     tubby integrated within
     my private life

     even if one
     needs tubby bussed
from the outer limits of the
     sterling twilight
     zona pellucida ideally,
     where love of c**t tree and
     priapism maketh sea men go bust!
Netflix and pop ****
Sorry pop corn
Didn't know which way my hand was
Girlfriend's beside you
Somehow she's coming closer
And nagging
Touching brings resonates
Remotely
With frivolous flirtations
Bring you up to speed
Of recaps and replays
Of your trusty TV
Conversation's nice
With a pizza slice
When the important parts
Are featuring Radhika Apte
Aptly the ghouls of the past
And the flower *** that are now glass
The monocles that my father's father had
Keep me spectated about history
Somehow the floral essence of
Music that rings from pianos
Hanging by the door
Of rosewood and mahogany
Mahogany being the piano
And Rosewood door
There was no concept
Of Ebony and Ivory
Keying at the door
"Ebony and Ivory"-Stevie Wonder And Paul McCartney

— The End —