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sir humbug Jun 2018
the job of the artist
is to be
luminous and dangerous

luminous to others
by being
dangerous to themselves

when the words are ripped from the chest,
atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes,
starburst fireworks,
luminous and dangerous,
luminating the shared night,
laminating your truths,
in poems disguised


and so the job,
our work,
begins
NA Dec 2023
Along our journey
Carved in stone
The words read
"The path from here on,
Must be walked alone."
The mournful cry
Tears of betray
Laminating the path
One walks astray
But you and I
Need not have this faith
For even the pilgrims
Lose their way
Although lost and drifting in time
Through the desert's barren beauty
You are my saving rain
And it is true
Our trail may wind
But it shall never part
As you forever remain
The keeper of my heart
It’s been a while since I picked up a pen and wrote.
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
the lean stammer of long balking ***
froths diligently on my lady's bones
and it plastics a largeness heading
southern sea to lake and fire perpendicular
unraveling senses. a mire of spitted
tongues or saliva all a laminating
her magic gaggle of crumbling...
***** and notch; twin ecstatic jumbled
notes in discorded unity of tentative
lips... mymy
mym
     y
my     my mymym

                                  y
my yoke, my egg, my scorpion. ***** me quickly venom

   i'll a                       sprung!
Leah R Nov 2013
Pulling out of the drive through, trying to turn left.
Look left, clear.  Look right, busy.  
Wait for right,
waiting waiting.
Clear, pull through.  

"WAIT! Don't go"

slam on breaks

sit partly into intersection

i place my hand on your knee,
i see you trying to swallow, hoping i don't notice while you giggle half-heartidly in attempts to trick me.

"That would have been me....."



"can we not..."    as I try to make you feel better.


2 hours later i sit on your bed reading A Thousand Splendid Suns as you play some game (???) on your computer.  

Skullcandy earbuds followed by a prehistoric lamination machine, much like this poem.

laminating those moments within my plastic sheet-brain
cars and stupid
2 drops of tear

Travel down her side eye

Flowing consecutively on a loop

Yet falling into oblivion

Breaking free from her once ethereal sockets

As the icy sideline waves ravage her mind

Consuming every evidence of hope she once embodied

Trapped she is beneath layers of ice

Ice so thick to break through

Yet clear enough so you know she is there.



2 drops of tear

(O once upon a time they were)

Fall not from his side eye

Deposit instead in the reservoir of him

Quietly wearing away the gypsum norms on which he stands

Like the Mosul Dam o he knows

Still his paintbrush daily he holds

Laminating his façade in fifty shades of hegemony blue.


©Belema.S.Ekine
Elena Smith Dec 2015
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sir humbug Jul 2023
five years ago, June 2018,
I, poet Sir Humbug,
wrote:that the job of the artist was to be
luminous and dangerous

<>

the job of the artist
is to be
luminous and dangerous

luminous to others
by being
dangerous to themselves

when the words are ripped from the chest,
atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes,
starburst fireworks,
luminous and dangerous,
luminating the shared night,
laminating your truths,
in poems disguised

and so the job,
our work,
begins


<>

five years on,
somethings have changed,
indeed, the dangers of
being luminous,
clarifying and exposing,
the requisite badge of courage,
need-be more desperately earned

the work is more risky,
as the rules of now are none,
and the risk of good taste,
thoughtful caring,
exposing you innards outwardly,
so easy to demean
and sadly
that titillates the iliterati

like a fire-working fireflies flashing,
their in-concert of ligh attracts the
oohs and aahs
but too,
the restless for glory,
opinionated blowhard,
whose critical boundaries of ill will
are
boundless

yet,
write on, right on
to be where courage be the
sticking point!

your verbs must be pointy,
your direction true,
adjectives of modest innovation,
craft harder, then harder again,
for the work must be honest
in a manner most delicate

now is the time of
subtlety -
if one must bang pots to be heard,
that you to are but a noisemaker, a loser,
an addition to those
lost in the din

quiet passion,
thoughtful insight
to inside, to the tender parts,
will rule the day

and the blow smokers
will rue the day,
as their pretenses chafe and flail wayside,
and your words,
be like sightings of new lands
where you take us utterly beholden,
willing explorers to places most wonderfully

luminous and dangerous!
Donna Nov 2015
Attached to a body that I want to bend out of
Practicing for the day I return my sand to the beach
Laminating all the times the brilliance in my smile swallowed my pride whole
Accepting the opportunity to flush out the karma that made my soul rotten
There is generosity stitched into my teeth
Manners under my nose
and grace carved into the back of my heels
A direct reflection of the Human in God
woolgather Jun 2016
Not under midnight, not over morning,
Under a roof, as it seems to be.
Theoretically flailing words in a keyboard,
Sitting within four concrete walls.
Blotting out nonsense,
On hopes of creating sense.
Laminating ideas in invisible walls,
Thoughts thought to be relevant,
Stapled to nothing, becoming nothing.
Alluring ideas of randomness,
Netting creativity away,
Dancing in no rhythm.
Closed is not my mind,
Or the thoughts that come in,
Gyrating is my head,
Spinning weaves of cluttered madness.
Thoughts I have 4:32 in the morning
Mujen Suraj Mar 2023
No letters on the desk
nor the playlist remained to listen
hundreds of time, one more time.
I knotted a muffler an hour ago
and don't want have a walk to the
nearest pole, today too.
I sipped a glass of water
but lots remained in the glass
looked out of the window, it is orange sky.
May be my friend forgot to click,
he must be playing hide and seek and missed the sky.
Yesterday it was raining now,
I made a paper boat, rushed to out
but my window had not a river
then I flew the boat in the sky.
Now I am off to a nap
I put opened book
over my face.
I smell it, and I slept then.
In my entwined dreams
the only thing I remembered was
the rays of the Sun laminating through my palm.
And this was the Sun of last happy December.
डेस्क पर कोई पत्र नहीं
न ही प्लेलिस्ट सुनने के लिए रह गई,
सैकड़ों बार, एक बार और।
मैंने एक घंटे पहले मफलर लगाया था
और टहलने नहीं जाना चाहता
निकटतम खंभा तक, आज भी।
मैंने एक गिलास पानी पिया
लेकिन गिलास में बहुत कुछ रह गया
खिड़की से देखा, नारंगी आसमान है।
हो सकता है मेरा दोस्त क्लिक करना भूल गया हो,
वह लुका-छिपी खेल रहा होगा और आकाश से चूक गया होगा।
कल बारिश हो रही थी अब,
मैंने कागज़ की नाव बनाई, दौड़कर बाहर निकला
लेकिन मेरी खिड़की में नदी नहीं थी
तब मैंने नाव को आकाश में उड़ाया।
अब मैं एक झपकी के लिए रवाना हूँ
मैंने खुली किताब रख दी
मेरे चेहरे पर।
मुझे इसकी गंध आती है, और मैं तब सो गया।
मेरे उलझे हुए सपनों में
केवल एक चीज जो मुझे याद थी वह थी
मेरी हथेली से टकराती सूर्य की किरणें।
और ये था आखिरी खुश दिसंबर का सूरज।
Yazad Tafti Nov 2019
i love the Frost fingerprinting my bedroom window
laminating a translucent sheet
Jack seen only by his palm prints
the widow's window of opportunity
covered with frost
turbidity caused from a loosely stranded past
she never sheds her winter coat
frost is always clinging on her summertime pane
in winter she wears extra layers
jack was here
May today bring unbridled bliss
delivered courtesy sunshine kissed
giving Midas a run for his money.

When the last trace of night
evaporates analogous to milky hue,
whereat a dreamy state
pervades thy being from tropical delight
as  approach of Dawn
highlights morning landscape Gaia drew
ah, a paradise
in pristine majestic light
arced, bathed, chiseled displayed
described, elongated, fingered gilt
heraldic imagery joyfully

kindling luminosity
markedly novel picture
quintessentially resplendent
sedating this ubiquitous voyager
waking xing vision
yawning zealot acquiesces
bounteous chimerical dalliance
betwixt Goddess delivering break of day
against defeated quotidian
celestial vault, where Mithras dethroned

the capriciously finicky
inky beleaguered darkly crest
etched fading faux French Gendarmes
into humongous jagged lances
endowing sinosoidal amplitude
modulations nudging raiment
donned by trumpeting requiem,
quiescent pronouncement
obliging new morning laminating,
kneading, and jettisoning

remnant shreds twilight
understood voicing willingness
Xerxes yeomen paid tribute
as did preceding and subsequent
captivating Earthlinked
fighting globe trotters held hostage
upon thee third rock from the sun
straddling an invisible saddle
which oblate spheroid
forfeited, manacled, and pitched
tarry sky (vis a vis feathery touch)

as one more ordinary day
wrested, tussled, and quickened
nocturnal nod toward solar spears
betook the reluctant
wrap of blackest night soundlessly forcing
transient ******* (overruling
the cerulean skies) until
dark shadows prefacing the edge of night
once again admirably, willingly,
and unequivocally surrendered  

a fair pact to take solace
whence the morrow allowed, enabled
and provided a ray of shining hope
(every now and again eclipsed)
via the Lunar trajectory
coinciding with axis
when spatial relations
commandeered thru cosmic consciousness
dictating gambit heft
forging atypical sliver of night

before cosmological laissez faire
retreated into the back round,
a universal choreographer
envisioning, insinuating,
maintaining quirkiness  
until recapitulation
sans astronomers predicted future
trio of heavenly bodies
would be aligned bedazzling Primates
access to espy Corona of the sun.

— The End —