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Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
armon May 2014
I was a no name worker bee
Yet I had a million bees all working for me
I was a caryatid, house wife, never had the life of a queen
Stole my honey from the wasps with the wax in their wings

I was a comatose burn victim
I could hear the nurses whisper sanctum sanctorum!
They fed me nutrients and cleaned my ******
They either didn’t care or they didn’t think I could hear them

I was alive when the lightning struck
But I was dead by second, to survive my luck
I wasn’t anything special
I was a mass produced individual

They had no names worth knowing
They had no future where they were going
And I never thought twice about what I did
The quiet megalomania of a caryatid

And then my patience turned to rampage
I took a page from Genghis Khan
I wanted the roaches gone
I hatched suburban escape plans
Because my angst was delayed
A generation late & afraid

Now in the presence of the gods and goddesses
And in the confidence of infinite this is
Another power grab a singularity
Another force to fight reverse polarity

I’m all about the lust and not the wander
I am the lingering presence of a long goner
I’m here to clarify the **** of daughters
The spider stink in the breath of fire

If we could **** for utility instead of a performance to showcase our species’ ability
Then we’d be hunted by viruses
The gods and goddesses with the instinct to extinct humanity

Chaos is healthy, its part of reality, essential to symmetry, like night is to day
When life is weighed on a pendulum
Like sanctum sanctorum
The delicate faberge

There isn’t anything to bother with on top of the monolith
I’m shouting mantras from the mountain peak

There isn’t any time to practice with a modern creation myth
A lullaby in a language I don’t speak
vircapio gale Aug 2012
my grandmother too, is love.
in the weeks before she died
she writhed.
in pain and suddenly,
her attention shifting inexplicably
though no less pain it was in inner diastrophisms of the falseness carved in masks she shuddered forward all herself
at 97 and in shining reservoirs of urgency
she went through bouts of chanting:
'i love you' moans and 'so much, so much'
and 'thank you, thank you, i love you' for whatever hours
there were visitors
to hear.

her cat still slept on her head.
she with all her flaws expressed it to the point of drymouth,
perfecting mantras never known so well
her brink of death an apex in our hearts




















.
this is in part a grateful response to My Grandmother, by Shonna LaRae Dillon
Michael W Noland Sep 2012
[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero
this is a work in progress
PtAnand22 Ji Sep 2015
Pt.Anand Ji A To Z Problem Solution 72 Hours And With 100% Guaranteed. 45 Years EXPERCANCE  With In Astrology Systematic Call To Guru Ji +91-8239810997 And Get Advice From Him. Any Problem In Mobile +91-8239810997 Vashikaran Mantras or love spells are used to control someone whom you love or want him to love and marry you. If you are in love with someone and want to get him back and married to him, you can use these powerful shabar mantra for vashikaran or love spells to make him under your control. This is strongly recommended not to use these mantras against mankind. It should also be kept in mind that success in vashikaran spells or using a vashikaran mantra is never guaranteed. Always remember that God is supreme to all. Luck and circumstances always matters. If somebody is giving you the guarantee for any type of vashikaran or love spells then he is wrong and making you fool. Use your mind and take right decision. Mantras works under the powers of its deity (ies) and deities are not our servants. They are independent supernatural forces, free to accept or reject your prayer or ritual. Any work which is being done in the interest of humanity will bring fruitful result but if you are trying to use a vashikaran mantra just to get someone for your benefit, it may bring dire consequences before you. Further, it is also suggested not to use evil powers, thoughts or cleverness to bring your dreams come true. It will bring dark future to you nothing else. So be careful. Beget true love in one’s heart for you is vashikaran. Why our parents fulfill all our wishes, why are they always ready even to die for our welfare? Because they are under powerful emotions in terms of love for us. They are under us. This is vashikaran. This is love. So, vashikaran is creating love, a beautiful feeling to be with someone, always.   all problem solution here SOLUTION WITH 100 % GUARANTEE EXPERT IN YANTRA-LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC BRHMA SIDDH JYOTISHDARBAR CALL ME WORLD FAMOUS GOLD MEDALIST  WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/ INTERNATIONAL SERVICE WITH GUARANTEE POWERFUL LOVE ASTROLOGER Pt. Anand ji FROMPUSKARJI RAJASTHAN 45 EXPERCANCE  ALL PROBLEM SOLUTION BY SADHANA Hello can u disturb in your life problems and not get desire results? Here is the solution of all problems like as follow:- := love marriage := Business problem solution := Problem in husband wife := Foreign traveling := Problem in study := Problem as childless := Physical problem := Problem in family relations := problem in your love := Willful marriage := Promotions our wised love back all solutions in your life within 72 hours and with 100% guaranteed. With in astrology systematic call to guru ji and get advice from him. Any problemsin Mobile :+91-8239810997WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/INDIA /West Bengal OMAN Cape town canada america Usa in Ontario , Toronto Kuwait , Qatar , Doha , Saudi Arabia , San Francisco Singapore , Italy , Germany , Paris , Belgium, France , Berlin , Spain UK, USA, AUSTRALIA, UAE, DUABI, CANADA, Sydney,ENGLAND,united kingdom,SINGAPORE, NEWZEALAND, GERMANY, ITLY, MALASIYA,Abu dhabi London New York kuwait SouthAfrica,South Korea,Thailand Qatar,England,Queens California HongKong Japan Brazil
More info visit my Website... http://www.thelovevashikaran.com/
Email  .. [email protected]
Contact us. .+91-8239810997.............
India May 2018
We perpetuate heartbreak culture,
teaching girls the man who holds her loves her despite the bruises,
or it was her fault; she looked older.
We fetishes shoulders,
prize youth from the young in return for pre-chewed gum,
swallowing tired ideals from those who still wield them like flags,
waving their patriotism on poles of bone before a throne of medieval *******.
They chant mantras with beer stained breath about how 'our' country 'bested' the rest,
but what about the brutality?
The blood split on foreign soil in return for prehistoric oil?
Our land is deemed pure so long as the violence on our hands never reaches our shores,
but the ocean is red and staining our sands.

How can you have pride in a country who's sole identity is based off having the worlds largest navy?
Congratulations. You bombed your way through countless continents, collecting cultures to gather dust on pedestals and alters
We sin on Sundays, drink till we're ****** then wave at the seven deadly's (they don't apply to us here).
We teach preschoolers nationalism before they can walk,
indoctrinate our children before they can talk.
George killed the dragon.
Hood gave to the poor.
we all jumped on the bandwagon before we realised the princess had no choice and the rich still ruled.
There was no voice in the tale for those whose wail could be ignored.

What about those without lines in the script?
Those kicked to the curb, then kicked from it?
Our pavements have no room for nonconformists,
they're tailored to for same mind, same mindless wanderer,
squandering on the lasted polyesters even though that mouth on the street hasn't eaten in over a week.
'God save the Queen' from the vermin;
the homeless have been tossed out of the trash.
Why help them when you could save your cash by turning a blind?
After all, out of sight, out of mind.
Welcome to England, we hope you like what you find
Because we’re not changing it.
Ceida Uilyc Jul 2015
I could tell you,
But you’d laugh at me.
Because it is bare, raw and pure.
You gloat on the preservatives.
You discard the genuine.
Listen to me, my friend, there is a part of the world, where even a bulb is never, ever, witnessed in real, but reel of the sanskrit Cartoon slots. The peppy  and ‘lone B-grade Cartoons .
Filled with Flesh.
The stories of tantric mantras, with a sliver of diminishing hearth,
on the
Dimensions and depth of the Yoni in the resin of shellac
on the Immaculate ceremony,
In a woodpecker hole just underneath the sealed power of the Yakshini who truly screws it up if you have taste of her once.
the one who harbingers drunk loners of Kavadiyattom alley after 3:20 am.
She takes them to the crown chakra of palm trees.
Shows them the world.
she pushes them off the crown and the falcon falls in endless spirals of a inhuman push that pushes the concrete innards to a danlgling mass of amoebic copulation.
Breath comes back.
It is a big nauseating gag of Kumbhakarnan's long sadya that lasted for half a decade.
Of the soma saras that made the entire India go, ga-ga and believe they've seen the god.
But not one nor any saw the same face, colour, shape or even vibe of the god they had seen alone.
They agreed in unison that all their hallucinations of beautiful humans in Flower UFO s and high-tech cloning, were a vital hair in the nostril of the cosmos.
They made, each a god out of their genuine mix of memories.
Or in the, priest's ways,
Hence, the 2.3 Billion populous of the country had the same, well, odd Spiritual benefactors.

Keeping it all aside, lemme be honest, I'd follow many a fairy god-mother but give my milkey teeny tooth to the special one.
Hinduism tells you God is omnipresent.
Hinduism tells you God is within you.
It also says, there is no God.
The clipper to snap off the confusion of this, lies in the same cheap stained-yellow cliche of love. It entails everything. You, me, animals, plants, cosmos, vibes, thoughts, dreams and the universe.
It tells you to live with your body mind and soul.
From Kamasutras that teaches sense.
The excitement, control and breakthrough of it.
Like tao did under his exposed roof without the sacred dung of from Hindu Land.
This is the secret of a rumoured Mohini,
Of her 1000 per hour ******* during the her/ his/ its 352 incarnations.
which was the reason for Big bang.  
Amidst the sultry scant of the voluptuous *******,
Their skin,
a vernacular reflection of a dusk on the Japanese gold beaches, And the mounts,
firm and glowing with the rusty shade of pharaoh’s Gold anklet.
The gooey glaze of yesterday’s glamour in the wink of a gay galore.
Paulo Ceolho’s Holy Communion with God,
Or like the Japanese Tengaman says,
Or rather screams,
That all it it takes is a little *******.
So, yes.
That precise art of attaining a consciousness, from where your mind was
Afloat
Wild
Free
Satiated
By yourself
You’ve just consumed the essence of you
Your Ojhas
And the tiny matter that teaches the universe
Of a Shunya.
That, momentary sense of lapse of your body mass,
Or the breakthrough into your eye of the crown.
Only to join the mundane bustle of the 10,00 speakers on all four
JBLs, Boses and Pioneers live looping the zillions of sanskrit mantras under one roof.
In your Ear drum.
A synechdoche of the Gods and their jacuzzi of amphetamine bubbles.
Splashed from a white Elephant's bejewelled Snout, which has the
crowned ring in your pineals.
Secret lies under
the rotten bone chip of Hussain Sagar
deep under the ***** green lake,  
drowning the rainbow Buddha in the city of slimy immortal maggots on ham.
Open your eyes.
For the Gods will
Else
Cut your eyelids off
to show you that
the city's shardminds await you.
roaring
Playing close to the fire demons of Redland
A nail close to your wide open lid-less
White flowing eye.
Hear the city scream.
The deafening chaos,
In unison,
Intoxicating their venomous fruits
of the delirious worlds
Or simply put, divine prayer and offering
for
the Omnipotent,
Omniscient
And the
Om.
Shunya.
Or the cyclic abyss of meaninglessness.
But,
Like, the wilted azures
that seduced those flies,
From a far far away,
To come the praise the combs of their bellies,
Filled with the red from the omnipotent, dead, weak and evil
In one little fly belly.
They came from the
land called Lullaby.
To go there
from here,
But, first,
bear the Weasleys' infamous extendable ears and heed me now, for I say twice and See him Come.
The snake, the tangy smell of goated black rub and blueness.
Siva shouldn't come?
Not yet. A little DMT more in the brain and perhaps the spark will happen.
Better than the potions of those gigantic forest priests.
No, Heed me, now.

3 Dodos Walk-afar,
And, take the lone left-laden log
the one that is,
limitless Long
loyal and  let alone
By those
languors which
Killed
Lord Leopard Loot'.
While,
Lord's Lass
Lays lolled lambs,
Lolled ‘long le ******,
Leech on the laiden log,
leading to Lord Lava,
Yes.
The bridge of Casilii Po.

Of the Lord.
Guarded
By these bubbling bellies with a drop of the world's make.
Assassins.
the Fly, flies.

retain the scarification of theolden curse,
Older than the rocks underneath this gurgling lava,
On which reincarnation steams.

As destiny should have it,
the astrologers had seen,
3 centuries back
That at a Sphinx’s Wedding,
a war of Vision,
will break.
It will
Bring the Stars
Out of those melting blue nightsky of Neruda's wails;
And the diabolic estrangement inflicting Eagle,
From Meena’s vibes,
that rubbed of a distinct scent of Malabar embedding a little of everybody in the village,
on its Kasavu lines posing
at the focus
of Sahib's Ferguson or Baker.

The gold turned white.
A liquid white, like that of the sap,
For that,
***** on a parrot green rubber plant
And work your fun with the white gluey milk,
fragrant than the sap
Like the  Ylang Ylang buds freshly kissed by the drooly dew,
sealed away
elegantly in a crystal Indigo bottle by the pen stand.

One that glitters if you look at its surface, but smells of naphthalene ***** in the sink
in
that
creepy trailer in
mid salem night of the tut.
Colourful.
This is colorblind.

White is motile.
White is wriggling.
White is life.
With a **** of Eve’s fabric-less
Skin.
White is divinity
feeding you excess of everything,
With an tenfold over dosage injected intravenous, by a silver-haired-glow-in-the-dark-dodo-cupid;

She is divine.
**** Her.
**** her on a Pyre.
**** her innards on a fire.
inflame the bubble
of her her oily effluent you found on the toilet seat
Instil in her, the seed of your sodomic occult,
Not by compassion, but through a hiss and sting
of the
flawless venom of the diabolic.  
Then. Disinfect your fruit that you flicked off the paradise.
And bellow to the blowing gurgling below.  
A reign of ****  nihilism,
moaning the mood-swings-of-a-98-year-old-menopausing-Bhairavi of the Indian Aghora Tales;
And Shelly, fueled in his undiminished hearth with the help of his impetous West Wind,
dreaming lucid,
on a flight in the sky for one week,
with Lucy’s sewing  sequined buttocks,
Stinging their luminescent, lactating, lustrous skin,
Like a tatto machine, lifting rays into the epidermis
So that it roasts, burns a soot and neonifies the only colour
A shade of
The rave, rainbow-red karmas of human existence,
Its little greedy quantas waltzing around the matter
And of its unleashed illuminations
That fuel the same vessel in the universe,
infamously known as,
the
black hole.
Uggh!!
All characters and plots are fictitious.
Your nightmares are yours, not Caesar's.
This is truly the fruit of my insomnia. I have been awake 52 hours now. Had to rant the wakefulness out.
It is unedited. All those offended, I didn't mean it, you did.
Deb Jones Jan 2019
When I was a child

Some of the most judgmental and unkind People I ever met were on church pews
Every Sunday with a Hymnal
And a Bible in their hands

I didn’t know how some people
Were able to disassociate their own Shortcomings and cruelty
From their religious
Obligations and convictions
But many were able to do just that

But as a child I couldn’t reconcile
The child abusers
The pedophiles
The rapists
The drug traffickers
The thieves
The alcoholics
The cheaters
The liars

From the people that stood at the pulpits.
The ones I was told to emulate.
The minister
The reverends
The deacons

The word minister embodies
Loving protection

The word reverend invokes
Reverence and inspiration

Doesn’t it?

I was a young adult
Before I realized
Church is for sinners
By that time organized religion
For me?
Was black and soiled.
Repulsive

Here I am now.
I fling mantras out into the world
Of love, hope, compassion,
Good health

I recently walked into
A cathedral in Ireland and cried.
I felt the weight of time and
Countless generations of believers.

Working in the medical field
And specializing in pediatrics
Holding a one pound baby
In my hands
Months before even
The parents were allowed to touch them
I sincerely believe in miracles
I see them almost every day

My church is in my head
Buddhism is in my heart
And in the actions of my hands
The words in my mouth
What my ears hear
The soothing of my soul

The meals I help serve the homeless
The blankets I spread on their cots

I bow my head and listen to prayers
Wherever they are offered
I quietly whisper
My wishes
Into an unknown ear  

I don’t judge many people anymore
My childhood is past
I learned valuable lessons
And peace is mind at last

That doesn’t mean I trust
Easily or broadly
It just means I am an adult
And am responsible

There is some good
In almost everyone
I don’t say that out of naivety
I have danced with monsters

But that’s another tale...
PtAnand22 Ji Sep 2015
Pt.Anand Ji A To Z Problem Solution 72 Hours And With 100% Guaranteed. 45 Years EXPERCANCE  With In Astrology Systematic Call To Guru Ji +91-8239810997 And Get Advice From Him. Any Problem In Mobile +91-8239810997 Vashikaran Mantras or love spells are used to control someone whom you love or want him to love and marry you. If you are in love with someone and want to get him back and married to him, you can use these powerful shabar mantra for vashikaran or love spells to make him under your control. This is strongly recommended not to use these mantras against mankind. It should also be kept in mind that success in vashikaran spells or using a vashikaran mantra is never guaranteed. Always remember that God is supreme to all. Luck and circumstances always matters. If somebody is giving you the guarantee for any type of vashikaran or love spells then he is wrong and making you fool. Use your mind and take right decision. Mantras works under the powers of its deity (ies) and deities are not our servants. They are independent supernatural forces, free to accept or reject your prayer or ritual. Any work which is being done in the interest of humanity will bring fruitful result but if you are trying to use a vashikaran mantra just to get someone for your benefit, it may bring dire consequences before you. Further, it is also suggested not to use evil powers, thoughts or cleverness to bring your dreams come true. It will bring dark future to you nothing else. So be careful. Beget true love in one’s heart for you is vashikaran. Why our parents fulfill all our wishes, why are they always ready even to die for our welfare? Because they are under powerful emotions in terms of love for us. They are under us. This is vashikaran. This is love. So, vashikaran is creating love, a beautiful feeling to be with someone, always.   all problem solution here SOLUTION WITH 100 % GUARANTEE EXPERT IN YANTRA-LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC BRHMA SIDDH JYOTISHDARBAR CALL ME WORLD FAMOUS GOLD MEDALIST  WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/ INTERNATIONAL SERVICE WITH GUARANTEE POWERFUL LOVE ASTROLOGER Pt. Anand ji FROMPUSKARJI RAJASTHAN 45 EXPERCANCE  ALL PROBLEM SOLUTION BY SADHANA Hello can u disturb in your life problems and not get desire results? Here is the solution of all problems like as follow:- := love marriage := Business problem solution := Problem in husband wife := Foreign traveling := Problem in study := Problem as childless := Physical problem := Problem in family relations := problem in your love := Willful marriage := Promotions our wised love back all solutions in your life within 72 hours and with 100% guaranteed. With in astrology systematic call to guru ji and get advice from him. Any problemsin Mobile :+91-8239810997WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/INDIA /West Bengal OMAN Cape town canada america Usa in Ontario , Toronto Kuwait , Qatar , Doha , Saudi Arabia , San Francisco Singapore , Italy , Germany , Paris , Belgium, France , Berlin , Spain UK, USA, AUSTRALIA, UAE, DUABI, CANADA, Sydney,ENGLAND,united kingdom,SINGAPORE, NEWZEALAND, GERMANY, ITLY, MALASIYA,Abu dhabi London New York kuwait SouthAfrica,South Korea,Thailand Qatar,England,Queens California HongKong Japan Brazil
More info visit my Website... http://www.thelovevashikaran.com/
Email  .. [email protected]
Contact us. .+91-8239810997.............
PtAnand22 Ji Sep 2015
Pt.Anand Ji A To Z Problem Solution 72 Hours And With 100% Guaranteed. 45 Years EXPERCANCE  With In Astrology Systematic Call To Guru Ji +91-8239810997 And Get Advice From Him. Any Problem In Mobile +91-8239810997 Vashikaran Mantras or love spells are used to control someone whom you love or want him to love and marry you. If you are in love with someone and want to get him back and married to him, you can use these powerful shabar mantra for vashikaran or love spells to make him under your control. This is strongly recommended not to use these mantras against mankind. It should also be kept in mind that success in vashikaran spells or using a vashikaran mantra is never guaranteed. Always remember that God is supreme to all. Luck and circumstances always matters. If somebody is giving you the guarantee for any type of vashikaran or love spells then he is wrong and making you fool. Use your mind and take right decision. Mantras works under the powers of its deity (ies) and deities are not our servants. They are independent supernatural forces, free to accept or reject your prayer or ritual. Any work which is being done in the interest of humanity will bring fruitful result but if you are trying to use a vashikaran mantra just to get someone for your benefit, it may bring dire consequences before you. Further, it is also suggested not to use evil powers, thoughts or cleverness to bring your dreams come true. It will bring dark future to you nothing else. So be careful. Beget true love in one’s heart for you is vashikaran. Why our parents fulfill all our wishes, why are they always ready even to die for our welfare? Because they are under powerful emotions in terms of love for us. They are under us. This is vashikaran. This is love. So, vashikaran is creating love, a beautiful feeling to be with someone, always.   all problem solution here SOLUTION WITH 100 % GUARANTEE EXPERT IN YANTRA-LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC BRHMA SIDDH JYOTISHDARBAR CALL ME WORLD FAMOUS GOLD MEDALIST  WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/ INTERNATIONAL SERVICE WITH GUARANTEE POWERFUL LOVE ASTROLOGER Pt. Anand ji FROMPUSKARJI RAJASTHAN 45 EXPERCANCE  ALL PROBLEM SOLUTION BY SADHANA Hello can u disturb in your life problems and not get desire results? Here is the solution of all problems like as follow:- := love marriage := Business problem solution := Problem in husband wife := Foreign traveling := Problem in study := Problem as childless := Physical problem := Problem in family relations := problem in your love := Willful marriage := Promotions our wised love back all solutions in your life within 72 hours and with 100% guaranteed. With in astrology systematic call to guru ji and get advice from him. Any problemsin Mobile :+91-8239810997WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/INDIA /West Bengal OMAN Cape town canada america Usa in Ontario , Toronto Kuwait , Qatar , Doha , Saudi Arabia , San Francisco Singapore , Italy , Germany , Paris , Belgium, France , Berlin , Spain UK, USA, AUSTRALIA, UAE, DUABI, CANADA, Sydney,ENGLAND,united kingdom,SINGAPORE, NEWZEALAND, GERMANY, ITLY, MALASIYA,Abu dhabi London New York kuwait SouthAfrica,South Korea,Thailand Qatar,England,Queens California HongKong Japan Brazil
More info visit my Website... http://www.thelovevashikaran.com/
Email  .. [email protected]
Contact us. .+91-8239810997.............
tara Aug 2015
inhale;

you are strong
you are powerful
you are admirable

you are different
you are intelligent
you are exquisite

you are beautiful
you are talented
you are loved

exhale;

you are enough.

t.m.
read this aloud. once, twice, over again if necessary. I love you and you are enough.
Jake Espinoza Sep 2012
Write something about nothing, call it poetry.
Quiet jet-engine speed turmoil indecision on the topic.
Silent bodies, screaming minds, communication desired and avoided
Chance glances, glimpses. Hoofing it.
Write poetry about nothing, call it something, but only in whispers to yourself, pretend to hope to be heard, have interest feigned or genuine directed your way.
        Confusion. Mingled strings of internal conversation.
        Misdirected. I can’t think crooked, focalisation se présente sideways. Self-expression in non-poetic terms seems likely. Saw girls, one on Detroit street, summer clothes and quiet face, scampered inside from the yard littered. Saw her again in the street next to a minor catastrophe, passed her by and looked.
        Let’s take a second to breathe, introduce a silence to the mind so that everything that comes can be better heard. So much background noise, minor thoughts mingle into static, almost impossible to interpret the bemused psychobabble. Empty it out, slow down, relax, and maybe you’ll begin to recognize coherent thoughts; organize the jumble of words fighting to be understood all out of order and as yet meaningless. Thoughts keep revolving, recycling; the girl, she reminded you of Melissa. Same style, a girl whose mood is always a grateful summer to your wintry perspective. Refreshing reminder, easy on the eyes. This girl’s likeness and your friend the poet, separated; his utensils. The paintbrushes he flourished about to create were not wooden and sable but liquid and smoke. That small ******* secret voice suggesting unwholesome things, acts unbefitting of brotherly conduct. He is my true brother, my family; an extension of my own soul. I went to treatment, they broke me down, whittled away at my rough hewn surface to make sculpture, a replica of others, manufactured to meet requirements and specifications deemed necessary for target successes. This talk of will, sacrificing my own, force-fed trust and mantras begetting themselves in circular fashion, turning in sync with the earth’s rotation upon its axis in its course of necessary revolution.
        Expended effort and time saved or served, goals impossible until forgotten, let go empty space ellipsis let god. Self-supplanted in unpredictable incomprehensible present, trying to avoid thoughts of crumpled papers in paper bags serving as receptacles for things undesired or abandoned or too truthful, I’m forgetting what it is to hide from myself which makes it possible to disappear. Tune in to the present, your train of thought – a queue – crowding, crowds rushed and frantic me first says everyone impatiently awaiting their turn for attention. Starved but forgotten proper nutrition. Self-criticism equating to self-analysis – spontaneity – uncontrollable, unforeseeable in the present aromatic mixture of mason jars swarmed with colored lights beautiful dim in darkness in which beer was swilled, time spent in unkempt kitchens nervous, standing walking evading settlement peace or rest, this is excitable discomfort, anything to slow down or feel a surrogate thereof. Forgotten words remembered, past rooms beautiful dim in darkness, proper illumination – see everything just right, not too brightly though not too dark. Living in this room for now, seeing as though immersed, submerged in memory of smiling faces easy laughter, cold-eyes Vera and well-at-ease. There is a wealth of self-acceptance. These people, their faces shine contentment, comfort, and mine is manufactured. I’ve become a factory where everything is sought after and nothing is attained because my goals are intangible, comprehensible but beyond aid, sorry, it’s just the way you are, maybe you’ll know one day, but we can’t help. We don’t waste our time with questions of absurdity, we live in this present moment, and that’s how we do it – no plans until plans come. No thoughts until thoughts come. Easy transitions in conversations, we don’t think of how to be ourselves, we just do it because we slow down, we know we are breathing, and it is not in our nature to forget it. It is not in our nature to live in our heads, to flail in a swell of questions less dense than water, we attend. We simply are.
        This is contentment. This is their seamless skin where mine corresponds to scars and rabid suspicious scratches dug deep. They were content with their surfaces; I was convinced of malice subcutaneous hence the scars and blood breathing open air. It is this suspicion that draws a line, places me on one side, them on another; it is this curiosity intrinsic and ironically unquestioned that digs the trenches in shape of graves. This fatal imaginary need for understanding where there is nothing to be understood. Questions are my poison, self-manufacturing, self-sufficient destruction, coming hot off the assembly line in my skull. Questions incubating further questions error: implement infinite loop, killall. Find the bug, recompile, run. Sit still, learn from the wind and atmosphere you’ve learned to sense which makes you an outsider only because you wanted this somehow. Uncertainty, confused reflection, arbitrary comments; coincidences, conspiracy, breakpoint. Programs running in smooth operation.
        Radiohead blaring, self-conscious self-care, these people enjoy themselves with unconscious grace, they let themselves be and immediately I tear my mind in two to understand what they understand without understanding. It is the nature of love and music that displays the closest correlation. These people are my idealized notion of grace, rendered more so by speed of processing, depth of analysis so that they appear not only graceful creatures, but with grace amplified as if observing them in slow-motion. So much contingent on understanding, contingency notwithstanding if I was comfortable with ignorance, if questions did not occur. These people are appropriate; balanced, no need for brutal introspection, no need to stir up sand composing the sea bed. These people, they understand certain things I cannot as of yet. They understand, they know without knowing that things are the way they are because things are the way they are and that’s ok, we’re ok, and everything is and will always be ok as long as we know well enough to leave well enough alone. We are each other, serving compliments to sainthood.
        ...let go, and be one with us, for love is in our hearts.
It took a few lines to get into it. Also, this is meant to be read aloud, somewhat intensely.
PtAnand22 Ji Sep 2015
Pt.Anand Ji A To Z Problem Solution 72 Hours And With 100% Guaranteed. 45 Years EXPERCANCE  With In Astrology Systematic Call To Guru Ji +91-8239810997 And Get Advice From Him. Any Problem In Mobile +91-8239810997 Vashikaran Mantras or love spells are used to control someone whom you love or want him to love and marry you. If you are in love with someone and want to get him back and married to him, you can use these powerful shabar mantra for vashikaran or love spells to make him under your control. This is strongly recommended not to use these mantras against mankind. It should also be kept in mind that success in vashikaran spells or using a vashikaran mantra is never guaranteed. Always remember that God is supreme to all. Luck and circumstances always matters. If somebody is giving you the guarantee for any type of vashikaran or love spells then he is wrong and making you fool. Use your mind and take right decision. Mantras works under the powers of its deity (ies) and deities are not our servants. They are independent supernatural forces, free to accept or reject your prayer or ritual. Any work which is being done in the interest of humanity will bring fruitful result but if you are trying to use a vashikaran mantra just to get someone for your benefit, it may bring dire consequences before you. Further, it is also suggested not to use evil powers, thoughts or cleverness to bring your dreams come true. It will bring dark future to you nothing else. So be careful. Beget true love in one’s heart for you is vashikaran. Why our parents fulfill all our wishes, why are they always ready even to die for our welfare? Because they are under powerful emotions in terms of love for us. They are under us. This is vashikaran. This is love. So, vashikaran is creating love, a beautiful feeling to be with someone, always.   all problem solution here SOLUTION WITH 100 % GUARANTEE EXPERT IN YANTRA-LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC BRHMA SIDDH JYOTISHDARBAR CALL ME WORLD FAMOUS GOLD MEDALIST  WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/ INTERNATIONAL SERVICE WITH GUARANTEE POWERFUL LOVE ASTROLOGER Pt. Anand ji FROMPUSKARJI RAJASTHAN 45 EXPERCANCE  ALL PROBLEM SOLUTION BY SADHANA Hello can u disturb in your life problems and not get desire results? Here is the solution of all problems like as follow:- := love marriage := Business problem solution := Problem in husband wife := Foreign traveling := Problem in study := Problem as childless := Physical problem := Problem in family relations := problem in your love := Willful marriage := Promotions our wised love back all solutions in your life within 72 hours and with 100% guaranteed. With in astrology systematic call to guru ji and get advice from him. Any problemsin Mobile :+91-8239810997WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/INDIA /West Bengal OMAN Cape town canada america Usa in Ontario , Toronto Kuwait , Qatar , Doha , Saudi Arabia , San Francisco Singapore , Italy , Germany , Paris , Belgium, France , Berlin , Spain UK, USA, AUSTRALIA, UAE, DUABI, CANADA, Sydney,ENGLAND,united kingdom,SINGAPORE, NEWZEALAND, GERMANY, ITLY, MALASIYA,Abu dhabi London New York kuwait SouthAfrica,South Korea,Thailand Qatar,England,Queens California HongKong Japan Brazil
More info visit my Website... http://www.thelovevashikaran.com/
Email  .. [email protected]
Contact us. .+91-8239810997.............
Keith Faherty Dec 2012
the front door open.
the dogs not barking,
slapping some wet skinned faces in front of everyone,
wishing i was a broken bottle
or something.
there's want of a forest in my yard
-the whole world softing out:
action dust; to the girl that screams:
there's no such thing as sinners, there's no such thing as love, there's just people and what people do,
whole forests of paper feel your words.
           sincerely,
                            we're all just crazy.
sweet dharma dewdrops fell off the tongue of the clean-cut kid.
he had soapy teeth and no shame to speak of
and when he spoke to us, his fingers glowed
because.
did you think that words could do more than arms-
and that anything else alone could do more for you than a full bodied embrace.
and
i looked at the rose you had buttoned on your blouse and i tore it off and dashed it upon the ground
because of
the mist
and the yellow billboard
lit up softly like a wheatfield
and frost was setting onto the long blades of crisply dying vegetation.
and there is the matter of those ghosts in the parkinglot
unaware of the cars that skid by full of people, all with capacities to know and be known-
sometimes i wish i could tell them
that it's okay to reach out with soft red fingers, wet from running water, warm from hot running water rinsed
over our hands to bleed out the chill that leaches into our too-thin fingers on cold nights such as this.
meanwhile-whole forests of bright white paper
i think that if i ever found you,
it would be walking on a road next to blueberry blossoms-and close, dry
thicket branches that crunch swiftly sometimes-and slowly, others- behind our heels
and hands shaped like mantras gesturing towards us from trees- telling us to go this way, and that,
welcoming us with their imperfect notions of morality and telling us that everything was going to be.
light a match on the bathroom window,
take one step closer to breathe in the bad-handwriting of the graceless morning. put one foot forward on the floor-
one hand on your temple.
only time will tell
if this is hell or just a special hell for me and you
choke me in the white-noise drone
of the shower.
push against the vitalities of my neck-
offer your hands around my faltering voice.
tell me about the pharaoh.
and the legless learners of passion.
tell me that you need to fall forward onto your face just to remind yourself that you're alive.
drum against my chest imperfectly with your
fingertips.
the unskillfully applied paint on your nails already chipping off- (you do this thing with your thumb and
forefinger as a nervous habit and always ruin them.)

the sun come

i trace over my neck with cartridge-blade razors
-rip away the stubble like peeling off snakeskin shadows.
snow falls
dusting my eyes with the harpsichord sounds of porcelain.

there is no longer bitterness nor sorrow.
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
Even if the season of lust blankets loneliness in a tight wrap
smothering those fragile emotions in the winter months
of a lifetime of cyclical wants and needs
waiting for the summer to send its life giving mantras
deep into the ****** soil of waiting,
the hibiscus waits ready to grasp the first finger of sun drenching
warmth to burst out into beauty
above ground and spread its dense green leaves
with crimson flower and trumpet shape
into the minds eye of acceptance.

Soon the valley changes hue as altogether
the trees spring to life shedding their softness
into every nook and corner, crabbing into crannies
and leaping wings of delight into welcome air.

The hibiscus will soon take ownership
of the entire valley bringing to the forefront
our own wanderlust.

Author Notes
Changeover between summer and sunshine.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Sara L Russell Sep 2009
Ch. 1.

1.

Behold, thou art dark and comely, my love;
richly hath the sun favoured thee,
delighting in thy presence.
Let me savour thy kisses of wine;
for in the gardens of the temple
the lotus furls open,
wild bees fall asleep on her face.


2.

Lilies and jasmine bloom
in the garden of my love;
falls of wisteria,
carpets of thyme.
Let us lie in the shade of the olives
to gaze on the sky.


3.

For many hours my love slept
  beneath the cedars,
couched on cool swathes of linen,
like the Lord of Midnight enthroned on a cloud.
Long tresses of willows shivered to cool his face.
I called his name but he heard me not,
being entranced in slumber,
deep in the thrall of dreams;
therefore I shall let him awaken when he please.




Ch. 2.

4.

A warm breath of nard is my master, my king,
A great golden deity haloed with stars.
Behold, the noble bearing of a king,
the finely-wrought body of a man.
In my dearest dreams he standeth before me
out of my reach, gesturing for me to follow,
calling unto me like the very embodiment of love.


5.

Night comes softly, o daughters of Jerusalem,
My king's desirous eyes have grown heavy with sleep.
His black hair ripples about his face
  like curtains of smoke,
gold bracelets entice my gaze to
the sinews of his arms.
Like roses unfurling, so open the lips of my love,
  I burn for their flavour,
yet awaken him not till he please.





Ch. 3.

6.

Out of the forest I came, with my
maidens and minions;
with carpets of hibiscus strewn at my feet.
Columns of frankincense curved into the air,
burning from lamps of copper and gold.
From the broad slopes of Edom
my soul's love stopped to observe us.
I felt his warm gaze upon me,
so soft a look as touched like caresses of hands.
I am weary with desire, my lord and king,
Bring me the looks of thine eyes, dark as midnight,
That regard me with touches of silk.


7.

Though I may stand with my legion before thee,
an army behind me,
The west wind roars to my left,
the east to my right,
a million strong with all my banners, warriors
and standard-bearers,
still my delight were only to serve thee,
see how I tremble with awe by thy side.


8.

Behold, my ladies, the noble bearing of a king,
the finely-wrought body of a man.
My king is a custodian of the sanctity of love,
see those arms with the strength to smite
yet full of the will to embrace.
Nightly cometh he to my chambers,
whispering of love,
with the stealth of a lion,
as meek as a lamb.




Ch. 4.

9.

Preparing for my beloved,
I have put on my mantle of midnight sky
garlanded with stars.
My black locks are hung with beads of gold,
my neck is anointed with sandalwood and rose.
Come, my ladies,
Bring me my white chargers,
my sedan lined with silks from Lebanon,
my heralds and cavalcades of guards;
My beloved king awaits my pleasure.






10.

When I am in the embrace of my beloved,
He is worlds of landscapes of desire,
he is all the earth, air and sky to me.
His eyes shineth as my sun and moon,
his broad chest becometh as the
cool desert dunes by night,
where I may rest my head.
Go safely in thy dreams, beloved king,
with sentinel angels, to roost with the doves.




Ch. 5.

11.

Such a turmoil of a dream
hath troubled me, my sisters,
I dreamed that my love approached my window,
Calling unto me through the
rosewood trefoils of the lattice.
Forgetful of our tryst I answered him not,
all oils and fine trappings were put away,
mine eyes were full of slumber.
When finally I rose from my bed
   he had gone.


12.

Overwrought and afraid,
I went out in the streets,
  calling unto my beloved,
receiving no answer and calling again.
  The night watchmen came and found me,
they smote me and denounced me as pagan,
calling me harlot and worshipper of false idols,
harshly they beat me with flails
and threw me into the darkest cellars
of the palace of Solomon.


13.

Awakening at last,
I felt a warm breeze,
It was my love's breath upon my face.
Let all the world suspend in time,
let hate, rage and darkness flee as a shadow,
otherwise let me die here in the arms of my king.
There is but this one hour, one place,
in one lingering moment,
When my soul's love and I are conjoined
in the petals of love.




Ch. 6.

14.

Midnight has fallen in the gardens
  of the temple of Solomon.
The moon communes with her sister in the lake,
painting the magnolias with mother-of-pearl,
turning her buds into silver doves.
Passion and beauty intertwine in my love's garden,
Like the twisted trunks of the fig trees of Judea.
Behold, my beloved,
thou art more comely even than the moon.
Come and walk with me
in the balmy air of night.


15.

Only through the love of another may
a soul come to know of itself.
My king is mine and I am his;
The sun and moon each taketh their
turn in the sky,
the shepherds go sure-footed
over their hills and valleys,
the merchants go their ways in the
spice markets of Lebanon,
while he and I are lost in one another's eyes.




Ch. 7.

16.

Love's weariness hath overcome me,
beloved lord and king.
Bring me thy pleasant fruits, thy tender words,
Lie betwixt my *******; my hair shall
be thy curtain,
these arms shall be as thy cocoon.
Let the tides cease their turning
and the winds give pause to hold their breath.
Awaken not my dearest love, until he please.


17.

Even in sleep,
such beautiful eyes hath my beloved;
his eyelashes rest upon his cheek
like the feet of a butterfly on a lily.
Come, my sisters, we shall make him
a bed of hemp and poppies,
with fruit of the lotus,
that he may languish beside me
for many days and nights.




Ch. 8.

18.

Filling my days and dreams,
here is a man with the grace of a young hart,
whose honeyed voice speaketh mantras of desire.
Arise and follow me, beloved, for my vineyards
are ripe with luscious fruits,
the doves beat their wings and fly from the cots.
Emerging from the amber of sunrise,
with a swirling of veils,
summer dances into the season of our love.


19.

Lying amid the twisting vines
My love and I are deep in each other's embrace
and his lips taste of roses heavy with dew.
I am a queen of the Red Sea,
an orchid from a sacred garden,
and my kingdom reacheth to the farthest hills.
None but my love shall pass the boundary
where my vines bear the sweetest fruit,
nor taste their heady wine.


20.

The gates of my vineyard are wrought of
iron clad with gold,
taller than cedars, decorated with
the royal insignia,
guarded by three score watchmen,
by day and night.
While other men are kept without
and the foxes are driven back by dogs,
see how swiftly they open for thee.




Ch. 9.

21.

Behold, the noble stature of a king,
the finely-wrought body of a man.
In the sanctity of love
we may walk in the realm of paradise,
undisturbed by the foibles of men.
Come beloved, awaken,
the new dawn opens as wide and fresh
as infant eyes.
Come run with me through the spice hills
  and gardens of Lebanon.
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
As I feel asleep to billy idol
And I close my eyes
I see tibetan mantras
Writen eligantly in gold
Glittering.
The. I see your
Gentle yet
Meditative face
As if you are meditating
And then jestering me to
Come to you
I come and kiss you
Gently
As if you were precious
Yet delecate.
Then the mantras
And you
Disappear.
I full into a restless sleep.
Audrey Frost Dec 2014
Big open spaces, big open spaces.
This chant spills from taut lips
hanging on constrained breath.

It’s not real, it’s not real.
This chant sends hands to cover eyes
wide in fear of still blank spaces.

He can’t hurt me anymore, he can’t.
This chant brings arms up to cover
once bruised faces fresh with phantom pain.

Don’t look down, don’t look down.
This chant steadies trembling feet
walking over fears now conquered.

It has to get better, it has to.
This chant loosens the noose
wrapped tight around the jugular.

I’m still here, I’m still here.
This chant is whispered when
the water recedes and the sun returns.
PtAnand22 Ji Sep 2015
Pt.Anand Ji A To Z Problem Solution 72 Hours And With 100% Guaranteed. 45 Years EXPERCANCE  With In Astrology Systematic Call To Guru Ji +91-8239810997 And Get Advice From Him. Any Problem In Mobile +91-8239810997 Vashikaran Mantras or love spells are used to control someone whom you love or want him to love and marry you. If you are in love with someone and want to get him back and married to him, you can use these powerful shabar mantra for vashikaran or love spells to make him under your control. This is strongly recommended not to use these mantras against mankind. It should also be kept in mind that success in vashikaran spells or using a vashikaran mantra is never guaranteed. Always remember that God is supreme to all. Luck and circumstances always matters. If somebody is giving you the guarantee for any type of vashikaran or love spells then he is wrong and making you fool. Use your mind and take right decision. Mantras works under the powers of its deity (ies) and deities are not our servants. They are independent supernatural forces, free to accept or reject your prayer or ritual. Any work which is being done in the interest of humanity will bring fruitful result but if you are trying to use a vashikaran mantra just to get someone for your benefit, it may bring dire consequences before you. Further, it is also suggested not to use evil powers, thoughts or cleverness to bring your dreams come true. It will bring dark future to you nothing else. So be careful. Beget true love in one’s heart for you is vashikaran. Why our parents fulfill all our wishes, why are they always ready even to die for our welfare? Because they are under powerful emotions in terms of love for us. They are under us. This is vashikaran. This is love. So, vashikaran is creating love, a beautiful feeling to be with someone, always.   all problem solution here SOLUTION WITH 100 % GUARANTEE EXPERT IN YANTRA-LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC BRHMA SIDDH JYOTISHDARBAR CALL ME WORLD FAMOUS GOLD MEDALIST  WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/ INTERNATIONAL SERVICE WITH GUARANTEE POWERFUL LOVE ASTROLOGER Pt. Anand ji FROMPUSKARJI RAJASTHAN 45 EXPERCANCE  ALL PROBLEM SOLUTION BY SADHANA Hello can u disturb in your life problems and not get desire results? Here is the solution of all problems like as follow:- := love marriage := Business problem solution := Problem in husband wife := Foreign traveling := Problem in study := Problem as childless := Physical problem := Problem in family relations := problem in your love := Willful marriage := Promotions our wised love back all solutions in your life within 72 hours and with 100% guaranteed. With in astrology systematic call to guru ji and get advice from him. Any problemsin Mobile :+91-8239810997WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/INDIA /West Bengal OMAN Cape town canada america Usa in Ontario , Toronto Kuwait , Qatar , Doha , Saudi Arabia , San Francisco Singapore , Italy , Germany , Paris , Belgium, France , Berlin , Spain UK, USA, AUSTRALIA, UAE, DUABI, CANADA, Sydney,ENGLAND,united kingdom,SINGAPORE, NEWZEALAND, GERMANY, ITLY, MALASIYA,Abu dhabi London New York kuwait SouthAfrica,South Korea,Thailand Qatar,England,Queens California HongKong Japan Brazil
More info visit my Website... http://www.thelovevashikaran.com/
Email  .. [email protected]
Contact us. .+91-8239810997.............
Donall Dempsey Jan 2016
FINGERTIP
( for Shyam )

as a little child
I travelled

up & down the Ganges
its sister Yamuna..her brother Brahmaputra

their names
upon my tongue

my voice calling them
into being

awed by their sound
mantras for my mind

riding their waters
in the little ship

of a
fingertip

traveling only as a child
can

now
here I am

still that child
become this man

still offering
my devotion

from the Dev Bhoomi I come

tracing Shiva's hair
from here to there

"Ganga Ma...Ganga Ma!" I cry
herding the river

from Gaumukh
watching her

spread her fan
into the Bay of Bengal and beyond

still sailing the same old
fingertip ship

a bit old and
battered now

soon I will stand
on Indian soil

call all my childhood rivers
to me

bow as they
flow into me

their names
upon my tongue

calling upon
all the Gods to come

as
one

"OM!"
oral transmission
Modulate - Cognate- Division
Cosmic - tuned in like Cognitive Transmission

This is my mission, to

Get up out the scene Live wild as a child
Dread my head, Hear cries like the Roar  I lionize
Deviant be me, othered for free
as the Nomos creates Signifier, Signified
somewhat like a homeless child stigmatized
caught outside our commercial enterprise

but

With enterprise, there enters lies,
Never earthbound my star ship seems to Actualize
Melodically.

So let me lyrically **** your path so you can shift past the cuts
Neva drinking the wine of wrath, made sour by sour patch cats blasted by vats OF GRAFFITI splats.

Culture slipping like gangsters simply sipping at the purple incision
instead we walk Holy like the cotton we missin

Tattoo my Secrets onto skin parchment ,
thats Ink advice ---:  People Lost in Duality, man thats just thinkin twice
Surrender and self-Sacrifice be the admission price
to see Kali singing blood mantras dancing through

Dreams of Ink darshan doorways
Tantric like Siva Approaches his consort for foreplay

My face is like a thundercloud, smiles formed outta cloud highs
Now my 3rd eye, washed in blood saw how Snakes stitch DNA
up and winding
and lemme tell you bro,
its some Nauesous stuff

Transcendent reality,
ego death till its fallacy,
recognize perfection
of life in the galaxy

So I toss out my ID, puff puff, its high ME
don't be Stuck like Ego grinding, Just saving souls don’t mind we,
go Indigo like Love in the margins, Golden souls attempting to live in holy gardens, ==========

We forget though

Neither death or immortality existed in the time before time,  of day or night no sign

There was Darkness hidden by Darkness , all was water but got started quick, by the sharpness of a god spark

kick crash hit, life spit out covered in emptiness

This was it, started from the bottom, rise in the power of heat,
dance tap ta dis beat Aware tapas generates so much heat Indiscreet
in abyss

But then desire became the fire, middle ground never higher than the smoke trails of the world's creation,
Spittin om proir flash forward funeral flames tamed by Tandava siva purifier

So this poet seeks in the heart of wisdom found in the bond of existence to non-existence
Knowledge that  I’m a livewire with a high resistance
I Complete my **** Through high persistence,

Eventually though,
the Fog rolls in again , agnosia forget the Cosmic condition
till then We soulfeed lyrics in-between kissing.
vircapio gale Aug 2012
in ashes hidden, smoulders god of love
from matted dancer's focus conflagration purely come
continues still perhaps in empty homage
of a sa ta na ma
personage of ((Shiva))

white bones pierce the sky
in upward curtain-seethes of heat
beyond imagined burning hells...
the triad ventures into zero-zones of anti-life,
sands of absolute defeat.

shadow trust imparts
a silent teacher's mantras;
soothing psychic words,
"Bala" and "Adi-Bala"
carry over dunes of morbid thirst--
the gape of ancient serpent-maws
choking dust of frightened, elephantine skeletons
fissured by immobile sun--
their inner sound become cool water of a summer stream

in timeless desert, traverses strain of royal line:
god-fated tutelage of seedling savior,
lightning skill with bow and virtue sinew
shining arms horizon's arid form:
despite begrudging honor kings expect
when offspring given after years
in hard-earned sacrificial grace:
yet still obeisance ends in facing demonaic rage
to which is pitted youth to slay--
despite allay by symbol feminine,
as if to question her abode would conjure her
in dire storm and quake announce gigantic step and hairy gulf--
with arrow sprays destroy Thataka's trident, curdling throat
the slitting of, rejoicing pantheon proclaims heroic,
forever railing under epic breath of tacit page theodical:
"we gave you progeny, now grant us our theocracy;
before your son our asthras lay their weaponry"













.
Rachel Lyle Jan 2015
Full disclosure is to come, in case it was hard to tell,
My bluest blues turn to black,
I've wallowed in myself.

Until an unexpected evening,
Whilst going through the mail,
I came across an excerpt, hand not hard to tell.

"What do you want from this wonderful, wild life?"
Melting deep inside of me
Artic chunks took another dip,

Lightening the colors-
Blackest Black, fade
Crystal Blue now mere ice chips.

What do I want from this wonderful,
Wild life?
Well with that thought I felt empowered

Felt my senses rise-
Shivers down nerve endings,
Pure and electrified.

What I want from this life is much too long to view;
But with that thought, it is all I need-
Start myself anew.
I love my Grandmother. We have the strangest but most wonderful of connections. My only regret was that it took me nearly 22 years to discover it. <3
Samuel Mar 2011
Hustle and bustle brings
Grins frozen onto faces
Mantras pounding rhythms into
Sunken eyes
Hollow out a space for me
Within yourself
Please, I wish
To know what makes you
Tick
To put to fire
This opportunistic kindling
I stumbled upon
While on the run
From my greatest enemy
Alyssa Nov 2013
i found myself alone in my living room at ungodly hours of the night watching tv shows about politics and listening to poetry at the same time and trying not to say the wrong thing to tip off my friends that i want to **** myself because hey if i tell them then i can't do it and that's my problem. but then i started wonder why they're called ungodly hours. is it because god doesn't save anyone during these times? or did he just never save in the first place?

i found myself when i did not need to find myself in a higher power to find peace. how can you love someone else if you can't love yourself first? i spent an entire year researching and experimenting ways to "enlighten" myself (and i use that word lightly) and i think i finally found the way but when i introduced the idea of Buddhist meditation and chanting mantras of self healing and finding peace to my parents, my father told me i was tearing this family apart and "why can't you be normal?" and "this is not what our family believes in." and "what's wrong with the catholic church?" What's wrong with the catholic church is that i feel like a lesbian drug addict who needs massive amounts of alcohol to keep from killing herself whenever the priest looks at me, as if he can smell the gay on me like a dog who can sniff out a cancerous disease. What's wrong with the catholic church is that i feel like i'm stepping inside a political headquarters rather than praying to a god to help me not feel guilty about doing bad things and perhaps hoping he'll send something good my way even though i don't deserve it and i'm probably not going to heaven anyway because the bible told me that if i make love to another woman then i'm going to find a gathering of NHL hockey goalies in front of the pearly gates to keep me out. but my question is why people are so concerned with the sexuality of people that they aren't sleeping with, this was not the technical form of *** so i wasn't breaking two rules in one stone but i just "chose" the wrong sin. but hey, the devil said he's down to hang out with me as long as i don't mind the heat.

i found myself in the bed of a girl who always smelled like coconuts and had no respect except for herself and for me. she made me feel like i was at home even though i was miles away and didn't speak the language that well. i wanted to carve poems into the bones of her spine, she would never be able to see them but she would have the knowledge that they existed because her skin did. her existence ultimately created a contradiction for me, do i fall in love with a girl who could never love me back or am i able to stick to what my parents believe in but they'll never be happy with me anyway? i had to pick the lesser evils of the two, and she could never be evil to me. she could grab me by the throat, tell me to beg for mercy and i could reach out to shake death's hand and i would still want to kiss the fingertips the were wrapped around my neck. she could throw me down the flight of stairs and i'd still stare at her all the way down because if i were to die i want her to be the last thing i see. she could rip off my fingers at the knuckles and tie them around the christmas tree like the lights we use every year and i would still find ways to trace her body even more gently than before. she cannot cause harm to me as long as she is still within plane distance. as long as i don't have to give my life to see her again then i will always find myself in her. and even when we are dead and buried in the ground, i will swim to you like a mermaid of the soil just to be next to your bones.

i found myself when i started to get into fist fights with a god who forgot about me. i found myself when i started to call out death's bluffs, and death talked a lot of **** for a guy who couldn't follow through with anything. i found myself in the drugs and alcohol and my sudden stoppage of my use. i found myself in my yearning for death and drugs and alcohol but i found myself in my ability to say no because they only worsen my state of mind. And you only worsen me.
this is one of my favourite poems i've ever written and it's currently 2 am on the dot
Left Foot Poet Jun 2015
she Saturday early rises,
water crossing all on her own,
upon the all-white Menantic ferry,
departing from her small isle of paradise,
for it is the sabbath,
she must worship
with David,
her Yogi *** rabbi

muscles stretched and strained,
forgotten was the
degree of difficulty,
attending to this yogi master's instruction,
the hardship of obtaining
body and mind,
spiritual synchronization

90 minutes of serious mantras
serially and seriously chanted,
is tiring in ways I ken from
the safety of my observation deck
on the counter couch facing

she keeps me company,
after breakfast,
amidst the white lace curtains
sunroom surrounding the home on the bay

succumbing to mine own chant,
for with right hand cunning,
I drug here with
violin concertos in minor chords,
one after another, pill she ingests

before me now sleeps, she,
her Lulu arms and hands enwrap
her deep-sleep-bound eyes-in-her-head,
fading in and out of semi-consciousness

all-the-while
I compose
poem~mantras of my own,
which she cannot hear
so far away she has flown

my mantras of love and affection,
however do not dissipate,
my chants forever repeating,
for when she awakens,
she will read this and many others,
in her email inbox

**so who is the yogi master now?
David Barr Jun 2014
Phanerogams are plants which produce seeds.
The wanton harlot may be laid against the wall, with legs splayed, and may also have given birth to unbridled rage.
However, even though such stages of development can be entitled as “*******”, it is worth noting that all behaviour has meaning, my darkened companion of presumed sophistication.
The scholastic scribes will etch their wisdom upon the hardness of our vile vanity.
I hold in my hand a gothic stone, where those who stand before the courts accused of heresy and witchcraft can plead innocence before chanting crowds of bloodlust.
The reaper will gather the harvest at Lughnasadh, whilst the olfactory nerve propagates her funeral games amidst the cutting of ancient cornfields.
As we perch upon the gallows end, let us join hands and chant the mantras of old.
Photosynthesis is a forensic entrancement where there is no rest for the sinner.
JJ Hutton Dec 2010
Some get that way by playing it safe,
memorizing mantras, righteously abiding by rules,
some get there by cutting seams,
lost in purposelessness, partaking of
ether, marijuana, alcohol, or anything
that's buzzy enough,
some find their sweepstakes in curls,
in fantasies, on the internet, or in the aftermath,
some claim the spoils, some gracefully accept
determination, some divorce their wives,
some happily raise their pulse to the heavy metals,
some review albums and cut down the *******,
some write love stories for our grandmas,
our moms,
our ex-girlfriends,
some find it in politics, right winging, left winging, chicken winging,
some in bomb threats,
some find it in supremacy,
others in melting pots,
some cheer up over breakroom chitty-chats,
some in **** ***,
some in sympathizing with pedophiles trapped in iron lungs,
some when they have hit the bottom rung,
some by rationalizing,
boosting themselves above half-wrongs,
to coast on the half-rights,
some by breaking up,
some by declaring war,
only to get discouraged, yet proud of the scars,
some kids dance to experimental music,
some write blogs about capitalism,
some find it kicking it with bitter vegans,
others while murdering their parents,
but everyone is a winner,
everyone is right,
everyone has earned the paycheck,
the vacation,
the **** wife,
and the key to eternal life.
Copyright December 16, 2010 by J.J. Hutton
Ebola is real. Ebola is real.
Smack the world as you would slam an oyster.
Find the prize—your ontological argument
Gas prices are down.
          Gas prices are down.
Wash the pearl as you would wipe a newborn.
Marvel at life—and its derivative meaning
Ebola is real.
Gas prices are down.
People are dying and we are smiling.
Deb Jones Dec 2018
I am light hearted and pretty spoken

My voice is musical and made for making others smile

I can sing and get others to sing with me

I am a writer and have published well

I am artistic in nature and love mixed media and simple charcoal too

I practice the Buddhist art of being. Being present in the moment

My mantras are centered on love and peace.

I cry easily. Over sad and happy events

But my dark side weighs heavy on me.

The things I know. The things I read and see.

I read about the depths of depravity.

I don’t follow on going stories.

I wait until the tale in all its horrors and the insane justification has come to an end

I do this so I have the reason, the means and the justice.

Only then do I feel better.

I need the justice

And I think.... my life, my past may never be scrubbed clean.
People have soiled me.

But there is justice in this world. Sometimes it take years. Decades even. But my purification settles like a mantle on my shoulders. It’s not covering me yet.
But one day it will

So I am soft and sweet to most people

But I don’t want anyone to see half the 1000s of kindle books I have.

And the last physical thing I want to do before my soul flies high and free is to be able to erase my browser.

Can you understand this?
K Balachandran Feb 2016
Prelude
"Let's go" his soft whisper
the mantra, in his voice she hears

the esoteric voyage through
the cryptic high seas of self,
fathomless, unmapped,
uncharted and reachable
only by the most fearless
ready to unbind and make
the self free for it's adventure,
begins thus for the peaceful pair
complementing the absolute
for a life time, til they reach there
and find themselves one with
                      pure consciousness.

"Let's let's, but only together"
she chants in unison,with him.

1.
Bidding good bye to ego, clad in red and black
a beast, not easy to bring to it's  knees, submit,
the high horse proud,raring to go,having  sharp horns
sticking out, fierce, that goes berserk,on seeing white.
Altogether a curious construct, that dictates terms-
they set about, invoking the blessing of the flame of light.
2
They stood together,  eyes widely shut, bringing
both palms together,in front of their  chests
creating a lotus bud, symbolizing hearts,bowing
each other in "Namaste",-bows the divinity in thyself-
chanting the mantras of peace, thrice, each time, repeatedly.
3
"Lets go back to the begining of every begining.."
the primordial hum, transcending quagmires of time
in the path of our ancestors,who did see the" unseeable",
without eyes, knew the "unknowable",diving in to the
ocean depth of self,going inwards chanting"Neti, Neti"
Not this, Not this, inquiring each till the essence did reveal.
4
They did this, focusing the eye of the mind, on the eye
beyond all, that watches every small thing in universe.
Mind, sharpened like the blade of a sword,efficient to cut
the Gordian knots,of paradox, duality and illusion,
encountering the silence that thickens at last, speaks
the words of wisdom,patient they are, to know the ultimate,
right there at the source of light that is the true essence of all,
5
Celebrate the pure consciousness, that pervades in every thing,
the thought that begets all thoughts,that  moves on to be karma,
that becomes purer, through the cycles of lives, one after another.
"Let's be humble, utmost, sans the ornamental clothes of pride.
May the thought reigning cosmos, the spirit of peace,chanted aloud,
take us to it's sanctum sanctorum and melt us in to it's divine embrace.
Only one there is, all are it's integrals,the divine cosmic hum 'Aum'
that enliven the universe within each cell, remember , is eternal"
                                                #@@#
Know thy self as an inner  universe, integrated to the outer,seamlessly,
which is, eternal, non-dual, peace in essence, effulgence and happiness
enshrined in the core.All the explorations in to the core by ancient Indian seers, record these findings in the "Veda"s (The "told" chronicles)
shrinking violet Jun 2016
You come home from a busy day in the city.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all spent with “friends” happy to be in your company.
"How are you doing?"
"It's been so long."
"I'm glad you could meet!"
Things go swimmingly.
Conversations open with smiles, flow with laughter and gossip, and end with XOXO in live form.
"Let's do this again sometime."
"Hopefully I'll see you again soon."
"Take care."
You walk back home to your apartment, calling your best friend on the way, telling her about the movie you saw today so you don't feel so alone on the 12-block trek back to your apartment.
You feel sorry for everyone walking past you who didn't watch the latest indie dark comedy you watched yet because you're giving the entire plot line away.
The journey becomes blurred and finally you arrive at your door, and you hang up and get inside.
Your father is home, getting ready to go out and do whatever it is adults do on the Upper East Side at night.
He leaves and you spend hours texting your best friend, preemptively looking at wedding dresses online, listening as she devises her perfect “four-year marriage plan.”
You just recently broke up with your partner and have no plans.
You give another friend at home a call and rant about passion and justice and other big ideas muddling in your brain.
You send peripheral texts to the friends you saw earlier today, thanking them for their company and solidifying plans made in conversation.
To anyone observing these private moments, it is clear to see you are more than connected. You are more than cared about. You are more than loved.
Except you can’t even fathom such observations in your own mind.
And when you hang up the phone, when the goodnight messages are exchanged, when your father comes home, and the lights turn out, you feel alone.
Within these moments, you are a prisoner to your own fears and insecurities--your biggest fear being the Silence, which forces you to face them all.
Your face crumples.
You analyze every mistake, every regret, every misstep of the day.
You regret all the plans you made.
You don't need to convince yourself you're unlovable-- you believe it already.
Then you begin to think of all the friendships you ****** up on, the things people didn't say and the people that weren't there.
You imagine only negative space.
In sorrowful attempts to cheer yourself up, you repeat one of your mantras in your head.
"Nobody's perfect, we are all changing, nothing is constant"
Until unwanted arguments dispute these mantras on command, shooting down every ounce of light in your dark, muddied thoughts.

It's nights like these where suicide might sound like a good idea.

Then you wonder when the self-inflicted mind wounds will end, if ever. You wonder if you'll ever have the strength for light again. You wonder if you could ever experience joy again without pain. Most of all, you wonder what particular culmination of events led you to become this way.

The only thing that keeps you going is the hope that everything will slowly get better, and one day, things will be ok again just as easily as they went awry.

In the mean time, you watch your phone light up from notifications on the Selfie you posted on Instagram earlier, before you started crying. The likes give you just enough shallow reassurance that you are enough for some people--even if only aesthetically-- and this fact gives you just enough solace for you to finally close your eyes.

2:53 am.
CW: suicide, depression, social anxiety
Tina Fish Jun 2013
Senseless living in Beirut. Disconnected from routine, from drama. Disconnected from passion and compassion in a stagnant, stagnant, stagnant place. No reassurance for tomorrow, and definitely no reassurance today.

And it all sounds so disheartening, even to yourself. So you put those thoughts on a dark shelf, resting in the cavities of your mind, only to find them oozing out again.

Making arms feel heavy. In a city that’s the perfect size for strolling every step feels like a chore. Like why’d I walk out here on the streets for? There’s no room for me. Too many holes in the street, and I wore these sandals coz they feel light on my feet, but they keep ripping. Dog ****, low-class spit, and high-class ****. It’s **** I tell ya. No room, nothing.

Unless you’re on a list. Then you’ll find endless place for you, and mix with commoners on the dance floors. Rub shoulders with those struggling artists and hidden talents, photographers and such. More images, much.

But still that’s not enough…. if you happen to make it, that is… still not enough. Because that kind of comfort is tough on the soul, and it hurts that you didn’t just go home and save it. You know, save your money, save your time, save your self. Not become someone else. Not finish the night rolled up in bed and thinking over those million things you said, was that the right thing? Perfecting social awkwardness by living it again, but alone. Just let it go, the past is dead.

You think, ‘let me think.’ Let me sink into the things that stimulate my mind, that I find interesting, revealing, revolutionary. And re- re- the process. Reanalyze in a new frame of mind. This isn’t that time, it’s now. I’m all so much more grown up. I can deal with the higher material. My envelopes carry essays, and my mirrors reflect mantras. I use my blade to cut Mongolian chicken.  A unique recipe I found on Pinterest. I’ve got several blogs I read…I’m sure you don’t know them, they’re avant-garde…and I dedicate a hard process into selecting the right documentary, something that’ll illuminate me further. We apply this fervor into knowing more, only to realize how little we can move with that knowledge.

Killer of dreams, Beirut is. This murderer of hope. Like even if you got home, and plugged that DVD in to get your mind off with a laugh and a lay, the electricity finds its way to blast through and ruin a perfectly good evening for you. See it was feeding off your ****** energy and ran a little too highly, and now your wires shot. And somehow it burned through your generator heart. Could we somehow spark the cables with some electricity again? I don’t know…let’s check the trunk for monkeys.

Senseless. Not seeing, not feeling, not tasting, hearing, or smelling of sense. Honestly, just pushed beyond the limit of decent respect. Rather ******, crass, crude, no sense to reason, only nonsense, like gibberish, a terrible two tantrum, nothing to pacify, no milk of poppy or anything else. The alcohol is hit so we can’t rub teething gums. Instead plastic BB guns, manufactured with lead, which I’ve read shouldn’t be given to children under the age of two. But still, this is what we do in Beirut.

I want to root for a winning team. Something that’ll keep me on the edge of my seat so I can leap at the final score. Give me a winning team to root for. Instead divided, and individualistic, the secret to the American dream, that didn’t seem to work. Or collective, and fanatic, fundamentalist and bat-**** problematic, because of loss of self. Now, what’s the fun in that? If those are the teams, don’t put me up to bat. Let me stand in the back, and please pick me last.

Senseless and fast. Each day merges into next, and Lebanon is an eternal vacation. Cheap time chalets and happy time oil rubs. Under setting suns that morph into other ones, instagrammed and timeless on HD…not very revolutionary if we think within the context of things. But still, we never seem to, think.

Rather reignite the old patterns of thought. The ones that brought pearls and Switzerland’s, French nights and Brazilian beats. Ones that won’t have us marching on streets, but rather cater to the revolution of our hearts. It’s called the revolution of love. But I hope you don’t mind I’ve forgotten my glove in the other room… don’t worry baby…I’ll pull out if I feel that I’m cuming too soon… uh oh…(boom).

Was that a bomb? Or fireworks coz we were looking in each other’s eyes? Hide nonsense with senseless pastimes, de-synthesizing further. Falling deeper into this cataclysmic abyss, that leaves no space for sense.

Give me a tissue to wipe it. Clear it away. There’s another day starting and I want to forget that even happened. That I tapped into something and remembered to care. That would make no sense, it’s senseless back there.
Kit John Parish Dec 2016
those that bore us with tales of drunken nights
cheap wine and what she said to him
who send you pictures of their pets
and watch TV because "everyone is watching it"

those time-wasters, those narcissistic fools
who call you 'friend'
who open their hollow heart
and what flutters out?
"my ex-boyfriend said..."
"when I was in Thailand..."
"Isn't that just like me?"

those reflections, they are not worth your time
Noah Roberts Jul 2014
1
We are
walking streets unknown
wearing headphones and apple products inserted into our flesh like addicts
all around an angry empty black tar pit throwing in capitalism and old socks
sloshing in snow and dancing in sun and basking in rain
vile and putrid beauteous dancers on stages indoors
twirling drunken swirlygigs and pirouettes underneath shattered naked lights
caressing the skin of the stars on early LSD mornings after long nights of jazz and jokes
taking buses and trains to avoid the dangers of atmospheric destruction
staying up late listening to your “Howl” in prison shaped dorm rooms blowing cigarettes out windows
we are those
who sweating and giggling make furious love lying on rocks under autumn leaves with the wind at 3am in september
with singed fingertips and blue eyes and red skin and dark hair smiling in the sunlight on porches
with circular gravitational searing earthmarks on our ashtray skin because we lost ourselves
we are actors
we are dancers
we are painters
  we are writers
     we are angels
    we are lovers
    we are killers
  we are dyers
we are drinkers
we are smokers
we are children
walking to the moon and back every night on tattered shoes and squelching socks haze of smoke
sitting on rocks and drinking until our kidneys scream in pain and demand we go home for the night because it is getting too late and they are getting worried
refilling zippos with stink and fluid and lighting countless tobacco stains for our lungs on wintry days in new york
taking showers at 3AM because we can't sleep and unlike any activity we are not exhausted
driving until the sunsets and crying in the drivers seat window because we are falling out of ourselves   into our own heads
blaring rock and roll or jazz in our small cell block on herb fueled afternoons reading Eliot in our beds
sitting at our desks pencilpushing out the last of our minds onto screens because nowhere else will take them willingly
wasting our time happily because we don't wish to save it for when we are old and unhappy so we choose to be young and unhappy instead
we sing songs of stars and satanic ****** rituals outside of symposiums for the sardonic
we are standing on the edges of buildings and nobody is telling us whether or not to oak leaf tumble until we hit the brick
sadly slumped in bottomed out chairs we zone our somethings or somehows in claustrophobic rooms
daydreaming daddies and dandelions and drip drops of pitter patters on tin childhood roofs
This website reformatted part of the poem. Where it begins "we are actors" is supposed to cross the entire page and then pass over again, forming a sideways V shape. Whatever. I do what I can with what I have

I wrote most of this while drunk at college, or hungover in a coffee shop. There will be more added to this in the future, as I feel like this poem could use a lot more.
Reece Jul 2014
Siddhartha sat steady on a the hearth of an apartment, eyes closed
mouth closed, mind open and enchanted
Zen-man lingers in a dark park starting,
to realise indiscretions of his past lives avatar

(but don't for a second believe the lies you've been fed by the brother of your brother and the father's of the jingoist mafia because eyes blink often and the accumulative effect is a life of temporary blindness and in that blindness it's not possible to be enlightened)

Your mantras are a lie but the belief remains still
and so rolling over wild green hills in some Welsh country village it dawns on the spirits of the ether that humanity is struggling

to find absolution of even the most relative peace
- but so, and Siddhartha still sits, cross-legged and barely breathing
Emaciated; fast, faster
Losing her nerve

Zen-man died a few months back but you always live again and so a beetle on a hot car hood scampers in some intrinsic folly, semi-aware of being something or being at all

     Towards the walls of weather-beaten towns the levee finally bursts and all life ends -
until a gathering mist pulls absurd faces in the simpatico rays of a third-eye sun over the bayou of some forgotten rock in the cosmos
and the ethereal temptress of existence rolls the next dice on a green matted board
and our unified oneness speaks a solitudinal greeting to the sky.

— The End —