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Bowedbranches Apr 2019
Each decision were given
every sentence we spit
has been mapping pathways
and to be honest...I'm afraid

I couldnt handle losing
Something so beautiful
Locked
behind our thot chakras
Pupils loosen to
Go all optical
Ilusions
project on screen


and how likely it could be
IT leaves me paranoid
I refuse to be the lepper led
to the poison pit
by somee lovely deceiving mirage

watch it bomb
get up and trek on
can't just let them watch
me rot
Cam, come on,
can't keep stopping

Wake up daily and thank god
I'll always pay homage
to the lot
that taught me this

perpetually in debt
to these lessons
I can't seem to get
cuz I guess Im thick headed

Not all is lost
I know it seems
****** off but there is still
plenty of pretty moments

closing in
freakin focus
or before you lose them
Erom elims Oct 2014
The gem of eons, a breath from procreation.
Diamond girl whose radiant shimmering brilliance everwhere,
Precious like a humming bird's fluttering ballet across
the miles thumping, blooming, circling mechanical planet's churn.

Gaia's sprouting within millennials and ghost archives,
Caesalpinia's in jolt,
dandelions swivel into the blue giant above
as we run across green fields chasing birds capturing molecules, an essence of birth from our start.

I freeze the moment.
Click the shutter in my minds eyes and breath in.
Father time is rounded ubiquitous and tapping on my shoulder,
we fight, we hug, we talk laugh and cry.

Your my star-light in the midnights in my life.
I'll battle dragons, lepper's, thief's and tyrant's to protect my priceless princess.
An infinite germination of lovely and bright smiles.
A piece of art,
swipes, stokes, illuminating those adjacent,
generosity painted all over you.

Curious, like kittens in the spring-timeburst of floral,
the energy of a thousand supernovas hides in the filaments of your young mind.

An Einstein, a monet, a ford and a connection to the mystery of life.

A child of much wonder.
Go on and tackle the world you mighty kid!
Fight who or what ever comes your way.
Brujo Alligatore May 2015
I'm ok
So long as I remember to shhhh.
I get so ******* embarrassed
If I get noticed doing anything
Intending anything.

If I have to choose where to stand
Or who to sit with on a couch,
My brain sizzles and I can't move
I'm stopped up with shame

I like ending up places,
Speak only when I need to say something
I don't want to decide.
I hate choosing anything.

I'm great at dealing with
What I'm given.

I love to sit near anybody.
The lepper, the charming dude, the sweet lady, just don't make me pick!!!!!!!
Anxiety
Jonathan Dyhre Jun 2013
Han bøyer hodet mot vinden
Kjenner historien svinne hen bak lukkede gardiner
Tenker på den kvinnen
Den kvinnen
Hennes blodrøde lepper
Bak mørke øyne
Ligger det en bunnløs frykt
*** faller tungt til bakken
Døden venter ei på solskinnsdager
Sander S Vatn Sep 2017
Pennens krigere
Vi som faller ved sverdet
Men som aldri dør
Våre ansikter blir glemt
Men ei de ord vi skriver
Vi er udødelige
Vi er pennens krigere

Pennens krigere
Vi som kan tape vår frihet
Men som aldri blir dratt bort
Våre ord lyster til opprør
Men vi tyr ei til vold
Vi er uovervinnelige
Vi er pennens krigere

Pennens krigere
Vi som flyr som fugler
Men som er fanget i bur
Våre drømmer er om himmelen
Men de blir lært i lenker
Vi er fanger i vår egen kropp
Vi er pennens krigere

Pennens krigere
Vi er små og store
Men det er ikke stort
Våre ord kan skrives for en
Men gjentas på tusen lepper
Vi er uforutsigbare
Vi er pennens krigere

Pennens krigere
Vi er brødre og søstre
Men ei av samme blod
Våre forskjeller er store
Men vi står alle sammen
Vi er forente
Vi er pennens krigere

Pennens krigere
Vi som søker svar
Men som våger å leve
Våre ord kan vekke lyset
Men bare i vises hånd
Vi er tankens venn
Vi er pennens krigere

Pennens krigere
Vi er helgener for de vise
Men slanger for de tankeløse
Våre ord kan gi sannhet
Men bare for de som ser
Vi er de som åpner øyne
Vi er pennens krigere

Pennens krigere
Vi er forsvarere av våre verdier
Men det er ikke alltid bra
Våre ord kan spre hat
Men bare om kjærlighet blir glemt
Vi er gode og onde
Vi er alle pennens krigere
I'll translate this poem to English later on. The poem is to hounour poets past, present and future.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
i just can't get rid of the moths...
5 for one bedroom
and... it's hardly an enterprise
in cubisms' revisionism...
daddy larva -
should i leave some
cotton for these poor
delights...
                  am i riddled with
a western "world" exhausted...
like... the pops of no new
genius?
  like polyphony was never
at play:
   when the rigour of man
made it: less of an affair that might
suggest green tea
and the superfluous
fling of a pancake at
a constellation of: nowhere...
  a crucial time for messiahs
and for caricatures...
magicians and iranian baklava bite-sized
retreats...
  not necessarily iranian:
could be lebanese!
       it's not like this grand past,
this grand history...
this inheritance tax on the mind
was to be ever borrowed from
a concentration on the trade
routes surrounding the baltic sea...
i... inherited... nada! nothing!
i acquired english when i should
have given inclination
to tsarina cyrillic and minor hector
mandarin...
       it's so unsurprising, though...
to catch up on the bbc radio 3 adventure...
to reach a platitude of i.q.:
i finally! finally!
fathomed the point of an english
soap opera... eastenders...
i didn't find an i.q. focus to mind...
a continuum perhaps...
but it has and always has been
just... ever so tiresome...
to compensate i.q. -
or to overstate it...
             it's not that i found soap opera
dumb... but after waking up
to bbc radio 3... i knew i was missing
a narrative: an assurance...
a soap opera is an assurance...
however banal the pursuit of harlequin
is...
it's there: a persistent brick upon brick:
wall!
      well... it's one compliment to hear:
that children "like" you...
that dogs or cats like you...
but... for god's sake... moths?!
i am not quiet assured a status in alignment
with a buffalo bill...

so much for nabokov
and the whole ****** and the entomologist /
etymologist...
catch them with what?
my bright oozing bulb of a phosphorescent
appreciation for the punchy cliche
goldberg variations?

to be honestly endeared by a dog...
to be made forthcoming
by a quizzical attention span of cats toying
with poker...
      but to make endearing
inquiries in the realm of insects...
who... fathomed... the flies...
a mythological man with an authentic
given name that came to be
the realisation of the myth of Beelzebub...

well... so much for sharing...
on the crux of a noun... like any other...
be it a moth... motte... ćma...
or a butterfly... schmetterling... MOTYL...
globalisation and...
well... no real etymological sensibility....

not even in sharpnel wording:
    in: w,
               im...
                        z: with, mit
o: about, um...
                      od: from, von...
so much for a shared purpose a sharing
of tattoos and ******* blisters...
like old age is a crease...
and youth an argument...
best invested in pickles...

                the ordeal of the night sky...
while having to grind a gripping
reality of something profoundly
stupid that it cannot be anything beside
stupid...
         a concept of a solitary pine...
when a pine as solitary is
impossible to fathom:
or a birch thus solo...

        an oak: while the adventures
of birches have come to their
natural advent of regrets...
           and this solo coffin shadow come
noon stans procrastinating a
show of shadows borrowed from
an overflow of the Styx...

Thames: a river... with... no authentic
tide: from mountains toward
the sea...
no... the Thames is an inauthentic river...
if it's a river to begin with...
a sea knows a concern for tide...
but a river?
a river should know no mirror
bogus "now" of a tide...
the Thames is like the Bermuda Delta...
an irrational high-rise ****...
enough to pluck one's eyes
out for...
   or don a sheikh hanky panky teasing
that 19th century morbid whitey
of celestial: wool! my eyes! needs! woolz!

some banal Clarice chasing a hunchback
Circe with a Charon towing...
impossible gravity of walking a stupendous
walk of arrogance:
this two-feet-tow...
my bucktooth and arithmetic:
theatre von der nacht:
lepper zeppelin -
   authentically lisping minor details:
an accent "here" or... "dasein"...

teatr nocy...
               ćma i jej obcy:
a moth and her other...
              like some proto-digestion
of custard and borrowed glue...
me left to my own: deus "ex" machina /
**** in machina device-works...
a concept of switzerland came
with both the tickling time-keeper
of a form of clock and some lesser
known 20th century protagonist
by the name of Young...

                  persuasions please!
i can leave my i.q. on the diatribe for
the persistent allowance
of the desired... "englishness" of:
queue...
            bread the brittle futurism of
a sanctity of bread:
beside this "thing" dubbed irish...
and gnats and breadcrumbs...
itches furthest from the last
encompassing loiter...
of a truth salvaged via
a tartare steak...
a kogiel-mogiel...

                  a bread-owned soaking
up of a spilling yoke:
like it's a french... "thing"...
teasing an affair of a wig...
best: warsaw will forever be...
an interlude of:
the concept question from
london toward tokyo...
i.e.: why can't we have nice things...
answer?
we... ahem... never had them...
we tried... vaginal ****-wit
from Brandenburg or that ****-****-wit
from lady muscovite...

here's to samson-frankenstein's monster...
the furore surrounding
the faroe islands...
the 20 thousand(s) composition
of the shetland:
united schkootland repose:
'aggis neeps 'n' tatties!

enough salz undz pfeffer
und we have haz ours...
hinderburg-esque hogmanay!
of the british:
not lived among the vilsh...
or the scuttling furore of the:
'igh 'anders...
          
cutie pie pork chop
worth a *******'s towing:
that last vanguard of / if:
              "too few"...

no... no good lending an ear
to listen to "shared": charred...
etymology of greek or russian...
London's desperate plight:
*** ordeal that never has to happen...

there have to be concerns
for calling it a new 9am...
just because it just so happens
in Edinburgh...
  there's the chopping of wood...
there's the ordeal of castratos
attired in niqabs...
the harems of the ottomans are
still a fetish for imagery best
sourced in Vienna...

            to worship the night:
is to find enough of day...
as sacrificial:
as banal... as enough...
to think with an exhaustion
of compensation:
     it's not that i dare not: dream...
but it's not enough to dream
to begin with...
i will harvest this eternal night...
to eat away at the day's
mediocre...
              mirror mirror...
             your wish for status lake...
i see no question-worthiness
in either sea or river...
how is it that i write
to fathomable formal linguo?
                  mirror in the shadow...
mirror in the lake...
murky time of river
and the hiding grey of the sea(s)...
come tide come swelling of
hinterland ambitions...
this little norse retreat of my
last perspective...
            perhaps i just want
to die a death pronounced by
having to don an agitating
pair of shoes: that demand...
towing a scenic incredulity of
a miser's mile?!

         how's that? roundabout
faroe isles! an itch of spreading butter
on... toasted bread:
notably a sourdough crusted:
new holborn sort of "adventure"...
no.. nothing new...
here's to drinking some more
while making it simultaneously
well-reserved ast having
the same inviting prospect of...
looking for:
a loot of a shakespeare and a full-stop.
Briscoe Oct 2019
Leopard, lion, lepper, lime, linger on.
Sounds. Silence. Seduction. ***. Super serum.
Dilly dally, dissolve dandelion.
Boil, bobble, brim, burst, babble on hobo, ***.
Sonidos sin dirección.
A purple puff pronounced 'poem.'
"William Shakespeare died on 23 April 1616, his 52nd birthday. In truth, the exact date of Shakespeare’s death is not known, but assumed"
-No Sweat Shakespeare

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