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Innocent Feb 2015
The sun glistens
And the ice on the trees shine
While the church bells send a haunting chime
Lost in the glory of the apmasphere
She wraps her arms tighter around herself sensing he was near
She knows the end is ineviable
And unquestionable
These are the risk you take as a spy
You know, being the bad guy
She slips behind the building hoping for a moment of reflection
Believing in reincarnation
Another day and another time we will be reunited
Our love song rewritten
The gunefire echos off the wall of the building
Feeling the sharp pain piercing
Never lettings go of the one piece of hope for another tomorrow
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
Blood lettings, for my thigh and wrist
My blood like fire, the swiftness of grace
My flesh is above all and yet disowned
My spirit is fierce as fires doth burn
These creatures will learn…
Middle class brats, bred from base corruption
A softness and kind of conformity for their kind
Take, steal, feed, greed and gluttonous ******!
But oh how they craft their own plights
Little *****, to think they know plight!
Arch, I’ll give them plights, oh I shall give them sullen plight
Tortuous, tormenting, agonising, haunting plights
Plights of the daughter brought before the beast
Plights of the family too poor too common
Plights of the body taken against will
Plights for my blood!
Your petty little girl, plain Jane, boring and dull, like a corpse
Bring her to the beast and she’d how she’ll fair?
Ha! She is nothing of the woman I am…
Take that ****** and let him see the horrors of thy household
Many are alike mine in this lower domain
He’d break like glass to the father who raises his fist!
And you, what of you? Boy Solider…
You speak lies snake! Not a killer, but only of truth!
Sexuality all in tatters, heart forsaken by she cheated
Dearest Mother to tend to thee at all hours
You never tasted poverty, never saw the world
The world through my blood
None of you, not she lifeless and dead
Nor he pitiful and weak, and you another Father but in boy form!
I pray you never have daughters, I hope you take a liking for men
Never breed your filthy bloodline
Middle class ****! Judging, gossiping, lying snake!
But in those 7 weeks you took a taste of thy blood, like the wine at the alter
It was burning hot like magma, it was filling and sickening
Sweet, bitter, sour, to it your eyes once so blind
Saw the world a new
You saw the ****, the abuse, the bulling, the carer, the suicide, the mental illness
You saw your fictional demons in mine
The blood upon my hands, twas ours
It rain through us all, like a fire
It burned and scorched us with the hands of reality
And once it was done, only I was left standing
With one foot out the door, into the world reborn
But my old blood still remains upon you boy soldier
And I carry the new
Caitlin Cromley Oct 2014
i want to prose you on the kitchen table

with my smile melting into your own.

and i want to prose you as colors of the sunset

awash your skin,

preserving our moment in amber.

oh,

and can i prose you in the morning

before we go to work

and sleepiness has

            not quite

fled from our muscles?


i want to prose you while your fingertips

trail from

my cheek

to my hair

to my shoulders,

effortless like water

trickling down the length of me.

i want to prose you

roughly,

            gently,

     quietly,

loudly,

taking our time,

lettings details fill themselves

between the hours.

i want to prose you in the dead of winter,

with the fire crackling like a whispered secret,

and in the slowest molasses days of summer,

when grime and sweat clings to flypaper skin.


i will prose you ‘till we are speechless,

and sleeping tucked between the pages of a masterpiece.
ashley Jul 2018
rain has a way of welcoming all of us
seeking to give us comfort
lettings us know that we are not alone
others are out there feeling the same
turmoil underneath their own rain clouds
Joseph Church Jan 22
I never thought I’d leave my house and think "God what an awful place."

Drag my shattered body to the pub down the road I call the gaping black hole for debate.

You ask me once again “Why are you leaving?”
Then I tell you everything, but you won’t believe me

And I don’t know why

The landlord said it’s really nice.
But I should have told them no

In this part of town, you’ll see no products in the shops that you haven’t passed discarded on the floor.

Need to move or at least get out of the house, but on all my friends I’ve firmly closed the door.

They’d say, “Would you like to come to London Bridge it’s looking busy”?

“No, I’ll stay in E&C, watch a drunk set fire to a Mitsubishi”

You ask me once again “Why are you leaving?”

Then I tell you everything, but you won’t believe me

And I don’t know why

Lettings said it’s really nice.

But I should have told them no
Universe Poems Mar 2022
The mind
can go in many,
different directions
Outside stimuli
Taking your cream pie
Adjust the settings
So you can focus,
on just your lettings
Cream pie for one
Outside stimuli done

© 2022 Carol Natasha Diviney
A bemusement used, a taken way...

Usually reality is realized
after all seemed
done, ready as we appear
in the bubble
of all that has ever been known, or told
in medium made
to hold collective gnosis,

recognosis' last realization
known as common sense
we, who read already know,

but so far never use altogether.

---------------

See time, imagine seeing time,
prepare perception per
happening, per
turning, re
turning to go…

go on,
perform the day,
become the knower
asking for interpreting
translation retaining prettiness.

Can you, with your tools, presume
every reader ever sipping this piece
or part of the wholesome inspiration,
each reader already
wills the fist,
fingers wound, thumb bound
to knock
on the portal asking egress,
apparent,
from this far, retrogress,
inward vision,
to the core, here,
whither heart and lungs work
the works within us, pumps
for the fluids we intake,
and rework into blood
and phlegm, snot gobs and spittle,
to lubricate descent into churning acid,

that burns, dissolves, breaks down, food,
for thought used for reason, to answer
why, or how, when, where, who,
enough, for any character, I or
you, the other, there, seeing

time made from theory
of entheos enthusiasms thought
through though roughly, being as

distance traveled in experience, known

between us, emptyness, in truth,
nothing to see, no evident connection,
save the absolute reality these letters let

be, the meaning, the unspoken,
or, the finite bespoken spell,
ordering attention, pointed

precept perception, taken in,
via letters letting translators
make all who read be mankind,

wombed or un, we always insist,
persistence in life is what we live
to prove worth the wait, we run,

in the manner of machines, spring
driven, wound up to run down, sit
still
waiting for impetus to push us, ag
us into aggressive response, obeying
fusing forces restricting chemistry
laws of valence and ionic charge
informing recognizable
smell and taste, certain flavors used

to make one think, any thought thing,
reifiable, if one trys to think what if we

both sides
of these ephemeral lettings,

as one pulls, the other pushes, we run,
like a mechanical mind, winding next
around now, making ready, peeling away

the protective rind around the feeding
mind's first fruit from sleep and coffee,
catalysts few think of as tools, prepeeling,
pre
parings falling prophesy a letter Y, why
because, of course, you shall be loved.

----------------
Let each stitch contribute,
leave each line remember next.

Each stitch taken to mend, saves…

Thread, twine, or more twists,
tieing strands set aside for good,
useful
lengths as linear tying tools holding

this or that, to other parts, already, in
the frame, weft strung taut, strummed,

harpish notes, each string tuned
to perfect tension,
within our loom's frame, adjusted
to the background noise,
participating notes unnoticed
in the finished goods sent to market.

---------------
eh? Commercial quality, y'say?
it is naught, it is naught,
but the buyer lies.

By now, the asking price is paid.

What market, who buys my confusing redoing
weaving the wishes of me as a boy, into final form,

old man, looker into the abyss, and listening, humm

of life in the flesh,
in the reality you seem
to become future real in,
stepping away from the well trodden road to riches,

landing in one of those engineered ditches, sudden,
instant after falling, laughing, glad there was no rain,
since, were that superfluity
relief never forseen as
needful, even essential,
to prevent a total washout
of roads
from ever before
to ever after, where
when as ever truth does tell
it inevitably must rain too much.


------------------------- Epilog
Simple Simon met a pieman,
Going to the fair;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
"Let me taste your ware."
Says the pieman
to Simple Simon,

"Show me first your penny,"

Says Simple Simon to the pieman,
"Indeed, I have not any."


Well, then eat a poem,
for truth once paid attention,
works like a penny, for simple men
wishing but something to chew.

Pi, and spinning and wishing all work
spells we wish we knew, roundly.
E to the nth degree evolves to rest

Entheos inspired, empathy aspiring…

letting be what must amused remain enthused.
Evident bemusement, in the space of time.
Thank you, first reader. Yet to be, you are the first to find lines lost in the flood of letters forming nothing until you happened to read them. True or false, if that were the question attempting its own answer.

— The End —