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sweet jesus
life is outrageous
listless alligators
try to upstage this
drift from forms
to formless sages
residual wages
furnishing your cages
threadbare leather workers
raid our refrigerators
rage is impulsive
sullen lisps and swollen lips
frame our faceless daughters
in their water glasses
houses of hunted howling
hourglasses
dreamcatchers and dancers
humongous lanterns
burning pages
place-mats
on your dinner tables
why do they feel so out of place
is it the way we are made
have you any
doubts about your origins
what is the worst
thing you’ve ever faced
are you exposed
to typos regularly
tokens of penmanship
and fraternity hazings
hostelries and banquets
growth is dependent
only on intangible quotients
Dan Reese Oct 2018
Fallen from grace , and to the ground dearly laid. Debtor unknown, to a service paid. Wearly departed and unvisited , underneath a night stark with nothing in it. Hopelessly bound and full of regret, behind a thousand yard stare a prisoner once was set. Flying alone from this earthly plane , leaving sincerely with no pain.
Saint Audrey Jan 10
Vanity, a flippant curse of heart and mind
Conjoined as one, feeble as the end produced
The whole mass aches and shivers
What I tell myself, and what I know as truth
Are two separate things entirely

Humility, an apparition of soul and spirit
Unity at the cost of knowledge and it's pursuit
My thoughts elapse, and it all slips further
What I told myself before, in this exchange is forgotten
And I'm something else entirely

Morality, in arbitration, I ground myself clear
Wrought against the will of better self
Tooth and nail ground against my gaunt spine
All the words said before, robbed of meaning
In the context I find them, am I something else?

Are you a part of me?
Why can't I hear you
Deep inside these walls
Aimless, seizing
Are you through with me?
I cannot hear you
Can't feel your echo
Only creeping residue
Mara W Kayh May 2017
I am your bird of prey

Caught between 2 posts
And a glistening fence.

Neck broken,
beak to the ground,
Half way trapped inside
your field of green.

I am your bird of prey,

Wings on a wire,
Still soft and light,
with feathers gleaming
where promise of flight,
newly broken, fell to earth.

'Twas passion that lured me to your
nest, where the cloud kissed Sun
with time
turned ashen my listless frame.

A testament to nature's seduction,
there was no escaping
your embrace
As the warmth
slowly left
my still
beating
heart.
Inspired by a beautiful Robin I found yesterday, stuck in a fence I had put up around a field of garlic.. it must have fluttered to death, trying to escape.
spacewalker Sep 2017
I have my grocery list in my hand,
a pack of razor blades
a gallon of bleach
a bottle of *****
an egg
I have my grocery list in my hand,
but I am listless.

Sometimes I crack a smile
when my dog wakes me up with his kisses
Sometimes I make eggs
for him, of course,
I would never waste them on myself
With this list, I'm gone
I make my dog eggs and me a bath
For me, bleach, *****, razor
soon to be listless no more
I open the bottle and welcome the burn
at first, I really hated how it had no clear flow but it kind of captures the sense of pointlessness and awkwardness  I was trying to portray
Tom Spencer Jul 2018
a serpentine plume
of saharan dust

unveiled by radar
an ocean spanning

exhalation
of opaque

talcum haze
seeping into and onto

cracks metal glass
amid caustic

simmering
and listless

longing
for cicada drill

and aircondtioned din
to mute


Tom Spencer © 2018
At present Austin (my home) is choking on dust from the Sahara. World wide grime.
ryn Mar 2015
Night came and conquered my ceiling
Head tilted back to inherit it's familiar splendour.
But she isn't there... Left my heart slightly gaping.
O twinkly one, have you seen her?

She's mysteriously veiled tonight,
Playfully on her halo, dances gentle light.
Don't give up on her, listless moongazer,
She wants to be conquered, put up a good fight.

Persistent skirmish that sets dreams and reality apart,
Eyes don't see what the heart knows so clear,
Clarity eludes when forgotten scars start to smart,
Do you know if she even realises I'm here?

She knows, and dreams of your happy eyes,
That only her will hold on their feverish gaze.
Unbroken threads of hope, your yearning to baptize
And her ice cold craters to be set ablaze.

Fire in my vessel still burns bright and strong,
Never extinguished behind the facade of my weary husk,
My flame would endure just as the wick is long,
Tell me dear star, will I see her next dusk?

When the sun's swords will seize,
slashing the sky in dazzling blue,
When the air will bring a comforting ease,
Her glistening "yes" will welcome you.

Your comforting words ring only of truth,
Winking in codes, you might be right .
Darkness had claimed and engulfed all proof,
Will you accompany me through tonight?

This piercing question you don't have to ask me,
For even though my light's billion of years away,
Twinkling in your dreams I'll always be,
The night companion, under your moon's ray.


ryn*
*Dajena M
My third collaboration with Dajena M.
Hartaz Kaur Oct 2018
Day by day I fritter away
Upholding decorum as best I may
Meet me as you meet — reserved somebody
Leave me as you leave — dull nobody

Dreary, weary, listless, spiritless
A resting spirit clamours to emerge
Unguided, wild, free and seeking
Boldly defying reserved somebody

But how, just how do I unleash this defiant spirit
For it is to cross all conceivable limits
Oh but a mask, of course a mask!
The perfect accessory for this task!

Careless of propriety
Boastful of daring
Acting against my will
Or in tandem with it?

This mask — just now I can't discern
Ponder I do with great concern
Does it shield my identity
Or render truth to it?

So now just what fun in masks
One may ponderously ask

Masks, bring to life fantasy
Fantasy, a realm of our reality
Reality, wherein lies multiplicity
Multiplicity, within each individuality
This poem takes a different view on a mask. Does it shield who we are? Or does it allow us to be who we truly are?

Isn't it ironic fantasy too is part of human reality? A realm revealing psychological truths.

Masks addresses the various facets of a personality. Our fragmented identities. Multiplicity in individualities.

Halloween is round the corner. If you had the chance, who would be the Hyde to your Jekyll?
P E Kaplan Apr 2014
First I spied the neck, sagging innocently enough,
one might even say blissfully, reflected in the glass laptop.
The phrase "whodunit" came out of nowhere,
and a low, silky, voice whispered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The villain left a few clues; the wispy hair strands;
some scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles,
listless, crinkly, skin pale, lightly pimpled,
and a weird, wrinkly crevasse teased,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

Totally hooked, curiosity piqued; southward I spotted
where a once perky treasure "chest" was hidden,
two solemn, half-empty grain sacks, laying sideways,
basically lifeless they lazily muttered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The final chapter, the mystery solved,
no crime, no villain, nothing stolen, just flesh alchemy.
Where once a taut, flat, plateau of supple skin, resided
now a lumpy, bumpy, flabby belly, murmured sweetly,
"Boston Creme Pie and a cup of tea would hit the spot."
ConnectHook Apr 10
Kabuki monstrosities of cute

   White snivel, and children who sniffle as they walk.
    The containers used for oil. Little sparrows


shopping-malls of Shinto reactors
tsunamis of Hello-Kitty schoolgirl ****


   Pretty, white chicks who are still not fully fledged
    and look as if their clothes are too short for them


tiny plates of aesthetically-arranged trivialities
meaningless Engrish phrases on T-Shirts


     Last year’s paper fan. A night with a clear moon    
       One needs a particularly beautiful fan for some special occasion

in herd-like apathy, they download Anime Girlfriend App
the robotic allure of the Orient defined


    To wash one’s hair, make one’s toilet, and put on scented robes
     An earthen cup. A new metal bowl. A rush mat


cramped restaurant-bars with detailed replicas of food
PROMPT #9 : engage in another kind of cross-cultural exercise,
inspired by the work of a Japanese writer who lived more than 1000 years ago. She wrote a journal that came to be known as The Pillow Book. In it she recorded daily observations, court gossip, poems, aphorisms, and musings […] write your own Sei Shonagon-style list of “things.”
Bison Jan 2017
Sweep clean the system
Shards of glass and bullets bloom
Party's over, no survivors
Shredded red ties and silk pant suits
Will we cower in glass houses
Stained panes fell through these rooms
War bloomed in the fresh-flowered noon

Don't believe what you see
Truth hides in deceit
Patron saint of finest filigree
What is gold but an excuse for filling blood seas

Chop shop, our listless hearts
Power brokers in bulletproof cars
Build your walls, we'll take your streets
The first house to burn is the house of greed
Thankfully you sold your souls for gasoline

If this is the end of everything
I'll make sure it's beautiful and free
Like fire off the edge of an endless sea
And you'll be the first to confess to fake history
Gutter Grimer Oct 2018
Beam at me
Baby blue
My bitter moon
So far away
Your golden truth

All too easy to please me
Bring me to my knees
Until euphoria is all expelled
And I'm left bereft of reason

In too deep
Navy blue
Echo-less room
Bury all poise
In this sunken tomb

Drag me back down under
the sheets and leave me
To succumb to my delusion
It befits this physical pain

Is this love?
This bleak, black doom
That makes its way
Into my veins
When I am destitute

Implicit and distant
I should cope
On my own
But all alone
I only suffer visions of
The ways I might still try to die
Darla Bean Oct 2018
look at all these people
playing at life's game
i'd like to think i'm better
yet I am just the same -
writing a listless poem
this one without a name
a spew of nothingness
i hope sticks to your brain

no, i don't do this for me
this poem is for you
and perhaps if you felt the same
you'd be this way too.
writing poems while alone
feeding the human zoo
a mind ablank and empty
i'm just enjoying the view
ryn Jul 2014
Heavy and laboured the air permeates within
Coursing through the maze of tunnels.
Undeterred of where stone ends and rock would begin
Survival that drives to fill its channels.

Slow rumble that ignites the need to beat
Awaken functions both lacklustre and listless
The engine behind these dread ridden feet
Drag its load through mundane tasks emotionless.

At the core there resides the truest of stones
A jewel of sheer rarity that inspires wonder
Breathes life selflessly into dead broken bones
It throbs and ebbs with silent subtle power.

Claimed it and perched it deep on a pedestal
Protected it like it's the one and only source
It's what that keeps us sane and tolerable
It's what that pulls us through our course.

Whenever I think of if this gem would last
This monolith of a heart that I prop up *****
Stands steadfast hopeful of the light it'd cast
We have learnt so much of it to know that it is perfect.

*You are perfect...
Lauren R Apr 2018
Lately at night I’ve been feeling listless, my mind churning thoughts in the tepid cauldron of my brain and spinning about how my name is erased from fond memories and funny stories, replaced with "someone" and my heart is no longer on my sleeve but on my feet and the only time it rests is when I sleep after a day of walking and crushing it with every beat but I can’t sleep, not til 5 am, an hour before my alarm clock screams and I dream of old women birthing cherubs, their angelic hair like hot wire vivisecting their poor hosts’ bodies and a picture of me is sent to you and you say God, remember when we were friends? And then you laugh
Kaiden A Ward May 14
I exist in the space between worlds,
never truly a citizen
of any one of them, just
a wanderer passing though, looking
for a home
I will never find.

I live in the gray that
separates night from day,
weaving and bending my existence
to blend into the background.

I am the static you despise,
forgotten in the silence between heartbeats,
stalking the shadows
of your imagination.

I am the fog that bridges the gaps
between realities,
formless and boneless, I
smother the void between the light and the dark
so you need not fear the sight
of the abyss.

But, I warn you,
be careful in your step
for I only obscure the in-between to
safeguard your sanity.
I cannot keep you from falling
into the fate I have become.

Though I grow weary of this listless journey.

I am but a ghost
stitching together the worlds
of the living
and the dead.
My attempt to describe something I've always felt.
Partially inspired by my friend's comment that I like to live in the gray/ be the gray person.
Mike Robbins Oct 2017
In the dim yellow light beneath deciduous trees she spun methodically in Autumn. Shadows loomed aloft, chirping their approval. She spun and seemed to levitate, the flickers of the evening flame reflected in her pale green eyes darting in between loose strands of bland vermilion hair. And she spun and spun as if she'd spin forever,

Autumn.

She was Autumn there and then, personified in glints of golden green and faded yellow brown descending listlessly to greet the open canvas of the forest floor.
And the shadows pressed into the earth and disappeared as overhead the rain slashed through the shyness of the crowns betwixt the trees.

And she slowly spun her last, and lastly, panting stood before me naked, shivering in the gentle gales that rose and fell like Mozart's heavy heart.

I beckoned her with dead weights crudely fashioned to the pauldrons of my coffin that hung lowly, swaying listless as the leaves. And she smiled a tired smile and blew the kiss I yearned for seasons to receive before collapsing in the dirt.

In Autumn.

-Mike Robbins-
October 1st, 2017
Arianna Oct 2018
I have sailed upon the tossing seas,
And seen the sunsets turned to wine;
I’ve watched the waves lap ravenously,
Those suns down from the blazing sky.

Beneath the brilliant stars on deck,
The ivory-winged sail-birds soaring high overhead,
I’ve anticipated the shadows of mystery worlds
Peering inquiringly over the tides, as a child from her bed.

Day breaks, and I wander foreign shores once more,
But the lustre of Morning gleams wan;
I pass avenues of roses, eerily sure
Of having passed them already countless times before.

Day falls like clockwork,
Night’s indigo blood drips once more
Through the heavens.

                               But Blue is eternal.

Nightfall-Nightbreak,
Daybreak,
Heartbreak...

All are consumed
In the madness of the Sea,
Throwing herself against the rocks
And shattering:

                                         High-tide suicide.

The ivory-winged sail-birds
Hang listless:

                                                   Lost.

                       No sea-breath buoys them upon the air,
                           Nor current bears me here or there.

Not here,
        Not there,
                 Upon the sea ⸺

                                             Not anywhere
                                             Is home to me.

But had I wings
To call my own,
I’d cut those angelbirds free;

And far from earthly seas we would fly,
Darting and dizzy between the planets whirling
Across the Universe
Venturing

Until,
Weary with wandering,

D
           r
                   i
               f
                         t
                                  Motionless:

                 ­                           Paper cranes

                                    In death dream

                                                         ­ Vertigo.
Paul Jun 3
In the quiet of her chamber, Olympia,
propped on one elbow, one breast hung
toward the bed; unkempt, unattended,
unmade. No fruit, no flowers, no servant
bending to her needs, but the sun at noon
reaching through her window with gold
shafts that baste her soft flesh gold. She
exhales, listless as the breeze that moves
in the curtains and lifts her tussled hair.
after Manet's Olympia
Bison Nov 2016
Part I

Listless illusion of disease
Flitting petals in the sickly breeze
Ivy sinks into the heart of me
Roots becoming limbs to breathe

And it's me or the hollow trees
And it's me or the hollow trees

What's repeated couldn't call for help
Cannot speak for lack of breath
Poisoned air and the scent of death
Empty eyes drifting to the vacant left

And there's nothing like the Martyr's pelt
And there's nothing like the Martyr's pelt

Part II

What have you seen, little light
What sky might you make night
Don't lay aside in absent fright
Don't take the side of tyrants, fight

For there's nothing like the Mad King's hide
For there's nothing like the Mad King's hide

Over old logs and under dead cold sun
Over dark water, hum the hunter's song
Do you hear the call to arms, don't wait too long
Do you feel the air that thrums, let the blood flow gold

It's for you or the end of endless love
It's for you or the end of endless love

Part III

So slow to the earth, now silent in the morning
Little light fell to night and declined adornment
I still see her in the dead forest, a quiet warning
No love to the loveless of mourning

And it's her or the rope of discordance
And it's her or the rope of discordance

To fire the blue of innocence burns low
Take the arms of the earth and replenish your own
Raise the corrupt world to the oldest throne
Surrender to none, surrender to the Great Below

And there's more to agony than I care to know
And there's more to agony than I care to know
My dreams whisper sweet things
And surreptitiously speak to me
My waking words are rote and empty
-spilling with hypocrisy
Yet their comforting embrace
Simply bring smiles to my face
Filling my mind while I'm asleep

They send messages lined with silver That vanish when I wake
To bring about a dull and listless form Who is shaping my last mistake
You see I wake in a storm
Simultaneously feeling constrained
To my bed
I can't get up while there's no filter
For the rush of noises in my head

If there's a difference between
What you know and what you believe Then why is it not as easy
To imagine my reprieve
Why can I only experience a vivid life
While I sleep
Then once again wake up
To this Fear Doubt and Anger
Choking me

Invoking me by pushing buttons
Of their endless promises
To for certain be found in youth
While my vision is livid sinning
Contemplating and pinpointing
Who too close is uncouth
You sit there and feed my veins
An explanation to your lies
With all the compromised
Washed up water
Memorized methods
Coping mechanisms
While it's your heart that remains
Aloof

Then sit there in desperation
Reiterating as if you know
The deep introspective answer
When any fool can see your wisdom
Is wrought in the vanity
Of a talented dancer

If you lost the truth of sanity
Would you retrieve it for ten cents
Or would you search inside
Before hiding from the confines
Of a necessary moment
I'd rather die or sacrifice my life
Before cowering from what's hidden
The message so raw
That counts your flaws
Like there was some proof
In what is missing

But ultimately I guess
It comes down to the small decision
The chip on my shoulder
That became a boulder
When I reached out
For my inner vision.

So while I feel so disparate and alone
In the trenches losing my senses
Will I be the hero or be the villain
Will I let the poison make me it's toy
Or take the penicillin

*Some days my life feels as heavy
As that last breath left over
From how loudly I shout
But I guess a general synopsis to you
Of how I sometimes feel inside
Is a decent first step to waking up
While I'm down and out
I realize that a lot of lines were taken from other poems of mine. It's supposed to be written like that
Doshi Jun 7
Hammered on the wall
listless
a once-rebellious girl
looks out
Sun-up, sun-down
there she hangs
with an apathetic gaze
that mimics mine
when I look at the man
lying next to me
A little aged, dusty
but mostly the same
still vibrant
on the outside

A prudent investment
at first glance
turned constant reminder
of wanting
something different
Undoubtedly it's time
for a change
I guess I'll just sell
the painting.
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