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"mayas" poems
By Arcassin Burnham How does it feel to roll in your own filth, Stupid human beings never learn, Nadda- zip- zilch , Tie your muthafucking mouth up with duck tape, Two of you ******* wouldn't last, Instead you contemplate, I mean, Ones desperate, And ones going thru post dramatic stress, But I guess it doesn't matter, Cause beneath me lies pest, With ****** female organs, Excuse my french but is this be a grandma really important, That's why I don't allow stupid or old people in my groups, Cause they know about everything, Including you, **** **** it, I don't care if you join the mafia or make your thing, But there's no discussion, Of a big mistake you two dummy's are making, **** ya!!!!!!!! So when everything is kosher and its time to pay dues, Hey ! Poetic mafia ! I'm giving them to you, These two :-)
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Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
"Giving Them To You (the mafias peace offering)" (lexi & Mayas Diss)
Shout outs to : Mayas Creep That Loved You Wolf Spirit aka quinfinn Soul Survivor Eli Elizabeth Squires Aniya Vaugue remembrance Joe malgeri Ember Evanescent Aesha nisar Weeping willow Correna Taylor SPT KetomaRose FNB Kalypso Wordvango Lorena Lamas Patty m
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Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
"You Know Whos Really Awesome And Real"
In thousands and thousands of years, our successors, who or whatever they are, won’t just find our bones. They’re going to find our living rooms, our I-pods, coffee mugs, suitcases, post-it notes. The quiet little things that become our lives, and they’ll look at each other, our successors, and they’ll think: ‘how charming…how primitive they lived. This is what they wore on their feet, and this is the thing they used to listen to music with before they had the microchips implanted.” But it makes me think. This is exactly what we say now …about the Greeks, the Mesopotamians, the Incas, Mayas, all the loin-cloth wearers. We talk about them like they were exempt from unremarkable daily existences, that their run-of-the mill equivalences’ to Tuesdays were filled with human sacrifices, complex rituals and **** like that. We never talk about how they must have felt exactly like we do now… We never talk about how they could have easily felt alone in a crowd, or how they could have felt unrequited love. They’re always talked about like they were better or worse than we are. But I think we’re really just exactly the same as them.
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Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 6:36 PM UTC
us, who are still learning.
By Arcassin B & Mayas Mayas : After an exhausting day I'm ready to get some groceries to cook dinner I'm thinking a nice... Holy! Look at those muscles. I'll have whatever he's having. Or just him... Yummy. Maybe I'll just bump my cart into his and start up a casual conversation. I turn the aisle and am, Slowly coming up to him... Oh $#!+ !!! Why is it wet. I slip and fall. Taking down all the cereal with me. **** it. Trying to look cute and fail... This day just keeps going from bad to worse... But hey this worked out better than I thought. Beautiful blue eyes looking me over. Strong arms picking me up. I should I have pretended to pass out That way he could have given my CPR. But his strong muscly arms picking me up are okay. Oh happy ****** day. AB: Mayas girl you funny as hell , You win , I got nothing, God that was so **** funny :-D :-D :-D
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Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
"Weird Days Pt.2" (collab w/ Mayas)
by Arcassin B & Mayas AB & Mayas: I had, All the time in the world, To , Come and see your face, I need, Something more from you, That, I can not replace, I have so much love from you, I have so much love from you, I have so much love from you, From you, AB: I needed more time, To tell you that I love you, Everything you did made it hard to ever chose anyone above you, I have so much love for you, Mayas: Without you I'm lost, I have no words No feelings left When I'm without you, Come back to me, I need you near me. I have so much love from you, I have so much love for you. AB: I put my heart right on the line, To take it to the next level, The only thing I need from you is to compell, I have so much love from you, From you, AB & Mayas: I had, All the time in the world, To , Come and see your face, I need, Something more from you, That, I can not replace, I have so much love from you, I have so much love from you, I have so much love from you, From you.
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Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
"So Much Love (From You)" (Collab w/ Mayas)
... to my Hello Poetry friends... This is my third post of Loving thanks. Perhaps in time i will come back... Svere G Holter Poetic T mark cleavenger Impeccable Space Sjr1000 Mayas Pamela Rae Marguerite I'm in much physical and mental and emotional pain right now.  Please pray for me... and another prayer for my parents and another special someone THANKS FOR ALL YOU SHARED WITH ME... YOU WILL BE MISSED. Love Catherine
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Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
Even more parting thanks...
More tributes... I just could not leave out, forget People I haven't mentioned yet There are more than just a few This site is HUGE! What can I do? I want to include VIPs today The first is Arlo Disarray! I like this poet, I feel led To mention Better Days Ahead! Cecil Miller... his work is fine Sverre G Holter's poems unwind The smart *** rabbi can talk a line Impeccable Space Can blow your mind! Here's a poet who i prize That is WendyStarry Eyes Alex Rubio, terrin leigh I want to mention them TODAY! Nicole Ashley, Mayas TOO! Leo Kendrick, I like you Danzel's writes about Greek myths Wordvango has got a gift... And here's to a poetfriend Kenneth Irving MacPherson! If I could do all this again To EVERYONE my love I'd send! ♥ Catherine aka SoulSurvivor
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Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
Hello again, Poets!
By Arcassin Burnham The person I could come to, If reality got dark and bloomy, She cleared the greyish glooming, Mayas you're amazing I'd never thought I'd fall so hard for you, My best friends, But shes the one I come for guidance, Just don't end up like everyone else, Their all just ******* mindless. Aha Love Arcassin,
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Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
"Mayas
By Arcassin B and Mayas AB: Let me tell you about this egotistical ****** at work today, I walk in my office right, I sit down, I put everything down, This guy, White, Polka dot tie, And weird gay looking smile, Ask me did I have an extra pen, So I'm like, Wasn't Rosie at the front desk, Giving out free supplies for everyones office, Hes yes but I want one from you, I'm like, This motherfuker is a ****** for real. Mayas: The sun was shining, A glorious day, Nothing could go wrong. So I thought... I get in the shower There's no warm water... After a cold shower I get dressed. Start doing my makeup... Stab myself with my mascara. Have to start again... This day could not get worse. After the morning I've had I'm in desperate need of coffee... A good cup of coffee. I walk into the coffee shop The barista is looking mighty fine. My morning just got turned around. Of course I try to look cute. Got the googlie eyes going on, Try and do a hair flip, I fall and eat $#!+ Great. It's gonna be a fabulous day.
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Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
"Weird Days Pt.1" (collab w/ Mayas)
Warm summer twilights bathing the rusty french windows in gentle amber dye from somewhere not so distant a *** brews the stew suffusing bittersweet familiarity in every corner mother just came back tired yet refreshed from outsmarting luck all day long in the bed I lay like a log disgruntled from several unturned slumbers, though thoroughly pleased everybody else was a mess outside a commotion of playful shouting unmeant scolding, light laughters the affairs of the day drowned by the sweet chorus of the mayas evening news blares from the television, stoic narration of the day's misfortunes and the usual grub neighbors fill in their houses with their retiring presence together, we all await the vessel of darkness docking in our own roofs, blessing us with the grace of the stars, the breeze of the unknown under the eyes of the moon for another day has concluded quite wonderfully
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May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Home
SORCERER 3 We’ll break our seal and thus unpen Two breeds of vision we may show: SORCERER 1 The first of these, and you might know Your fate, engraven by your star- Which fortune gods permit or bar. SORCERER 2 But why disturb your dreamy sleeps To know your death-date daily creeps? SORCERER 3 It finds us all, and- though you hate it- Since what must be, shall be, await it. SORCERER 1 The second brand of prophecy Is not what will, but what may be. SORCERER 2 Yet what might not? Our lord can see These “what-if” figments well as we: Might not strange soldiers from the waves Rise forth to claim our sires for slaves, As, for their footstool, bows our liege, Exempt from their street-sweeping siege? SORCERER 3 And yet, might not our lord disband Such aliens, overcreep our land, And rig mean regions to his suit, The mumbling Mayas render mute, The frostbit northern climes to claim, And sway the fitful gods to frame His portrait in a constellation? What fate might not recast his nation?
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Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:3:66-90
ALVARADO             Well, now we’ve a translator, we can hear             How much the Mayas hate us. SANDOVAL                                          We should leave.             As yet, we merely beg to buy their corn,                     But fears impel them to combat with us.             We’ve sixty wounded, heat stroke swoons the horse,             And not a flake of gold for all these streams.             Their ruins lurk like wrecks dredged from a swamp. ALVARADO             A stark reminder for aspiring minds             That cultures often fall as well as rise.             Here comes the father, with our medicine man.                                        Enter AGUILAR and OLMEDO. AGUILAR             And so back home the Inquisition, brother,             Still rules the roost?      OLMEDO                              It does so.              AGUILAR                                                 Grim regime!             It clouds the air upon a thousand wings,             Whose shadows spread to pall the gloomy sun.             The cool, luxuriant trees on which it lights,             It dries. How it decays! It browns green grass,             And desolates the leafy countrysides             Until they wither as the Syrian wastes. OLMEDO        So it does. SANDOVAL          [aside] Hark! The moral landslide rumbles. OLMEDO             Those fires of the Inquisition, lighted             Exclusively to doom the Jews, one day             Are destined to consume their smug oppressors. SANDOVAL [aside to Alvarado]             He strains a bit to shield the circumcised.             Though I’ve a ***** mouth, my blood is pure. ALVARADO [aside to Sandoval]             Hush, Sandoval. You go too far. OLMEDO                                                 And you?             Know, Alvarado, there are many men             Who, through misguided zeal- yes, Sandoval-             Convince themselves that they commit no sin             So long as those they **** and violate             Are of a different faith. ALVARADO                               It’s not our fault.             I hate the Grand Inquisitor myself. SANDOVAL             Like any little-loved policing force,             However, it preserves our way of life. OLMEDO             For its unwanted eye that never slumbers,             Its arm, unseen and ever raised to strike,             Does not o’ercast its gloom on you, but rather             On deviants, foreigners, and heretics. AGUILAR             It bars all doors of human entry to them-             Marginalized, shorn lambs it ferrets out,             And scapegoats as the enemies of Rome.             Thus, it condemns not only deeds, but thoughts.
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Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:6:1-41
ALVARADO             Well, now we’ve a translator, we can hear             How much the Mayas hate us. SANDOVAL                                          We should leave.             As yet, we merely beg to buy their corn,                     But fears impel them to combat with us.             We’ve sixty wounded, heat stroke swoons the horse,             And not a flake of gold for all these streams.             Their ruins lurk like wrecks dredged from a swamp. ALVARADO             A stark reminder for aspiring minds             That cultures often fall as well as rise.             Here comes the father, with our medicine man.                                        Enter AGUILAR and OLMEDO. AGUILAR             And so back home the Inquisition, brother,             Still rules the roost?      OLMEDO                              It does so.              AGUILAR                                                 Grim regime!             It clouds the air upon a thousand wings,             Whose shadows spread to pall the gloomy sun.             The cool, luxuriant trees on which it lights,             It dries. How it decays! It browns green grass,             And desolates the leafy countrysides             Until they wither as the Syrian wastes. OLMEDO        So it does. SANDOVAL          [aside] Hark! The moral landslide rumbles. OLMEDO             Those fires of the Inquisition, lighted             Exclusively to doom the Jews, one day             Are destined to consume their smug oppressors. SANDOVAL [aside to Alvarado]             He strains a bit to shield the circumcised.             Though I’ve a ***** mouth, my blood is pure. ALVARADO [aside to Sandoval]             Hush, Sandoval. You go too far. OLMEDO                                                 And you?             Know, Alvarado, there are many men             Who, through misguided zeal- yes, Sandoval-             Convince themselves that they commit no sin             So long as those they **** and violate             Are of a different faith. ALVARADO                               It’s not our fault.             I hate the Grand Inquisitor myself. SANDOVAL             Like any little-loved policing force,             However, it preserves our way of life. OLMEDO             For its unwanted eye that never slumbers,             Its arm, unseen and ever raised to strike,             Does not o’ercast its gloom on you, but rather             On deviants, foreigners, and heretics. AGUILAR             It bars all doors of human entry to them-             Marginalized, shorn lambs it ferrets out,             And scapegoats as the enemies of Rome.             Thus, it condemns not only deeds, but thoughts.
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Eventually The End's gonna come inevitably. So, your mayas can't insult me I'm untouchable Your lies & screams won't affect me                                        won't touch me For I am dwelling in abstraction I am hidden in atomic world I'm it and it's me
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Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Untitled
CORTÉS             How now? What’s the debate? AGUILAR                                              The Inquisition:             It’s linked itself with tethers to our church,             Like two, aloof, reluctant mountaineers.             I fear, when that unholy office trips,             And plummets in the popular regard,             Its drop down estimation’s precipice             Will pull down our religion in its tow. OLMEDO             We cavil, boys, as if there were two Spains. CORTÉS             One good, one evil? OLMEDO                              Not so simple. Yet,             One, global-bent, one isolationist,             One liberal, one counter to reform,             One, eyeing Greece, one stirring with the Moors,             Who, like the fatal twins of Oedipus,             Will not consent to reign in tandem more,             But rather wound each other mortally.             In Europe, there’s a word in currency:             Renaissance- It is not a Spanish word,             And there’s a reason. CORTÉS                                And it is? OLMEDO                                               Some flaw             In Spain’s own character that’s culpable-             Catholic fanaticism, feverish pride,             Or warped deliriums of vanity.             We thought we were the new elect of God,             Mistook our patriotic egoism             For fealty to the church. Hence, our divorce             And isolation from the rest of Europe. CORTÉS             No, it’s not Spain, not Catholics, nor our race,             But frailties of the human constitution,             Which frequently reverse the gains achieved             By previous generations, in the name             Of progress, culture, and civility.                          Trumpet is heard.             A parley sounds! See what those Mayas want.
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Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:6:42-72
CORTÉS             How now? What’s the debate? AGUILAR                                              The Inquisition:             It’s linked itself with tethers to our church,             Like two, aloof, reluctant mountaineers.             I fear, when that unholy office trips,             And plummets in the popular regard,             Its drop down estimation’s precipice             Will pull down our religion in its tow. OLMEDO             We cavil, boys, as if there were two Spains. CORTÉS             One good, one evil? OLMEDO                              Not so simple. Yet,             One, global-bent, one isolationist,             One liberal, one counter to reform,             One, eyeing Greece, one stirring with the Moors,             Who, like the fatal twins of Oedipus,             Will not consent to reign in tandem more,             But rather wound each other mortally.             In Europe, there’s a word in currency:             Renaissance- It is not a Spanish word,             And there’s a reason. CORTÉS                                And it is? OLMEDO                                               Some flaw             In Spain’s own character that’s culpable-             Catholic fanaticism, feverish pride,             Or warped deliriums of vanity.             We thought we were the new elect of God,             Mistook our patriotic egoism             For fealty to the church. Hence, our divorce             And isolation from the rest of Europe. CORTÉS             No, it’s not Spain, not Catholics, nor our race,             But frailties of the human constitution,             Which frequently reverse the gains achieved             By previous generations, in the name             Of progress, culture, and civility.                          Trumpet is heard.             A parley sounds! See what those Mayas want.
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Time is a face that lies still on the water Zellfain's light burst the barrier clouds From mayas pool grew there a sapling Zelmaya the tree of life where we began *The essence of two coiled in blood and bone Leaf sap wind and stone* The light of sun on darkened ground In this tree a balance found *That is why we live and die Love and cry Laugh and sigh All within zelmaya's eye*
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Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
Eye of the world
AGUILAR                                                                  But a happy few             Broke from our cages and were spared for slaves,             Within the warlike clutch of Na Chan Can.             My freedom have your wax and honey bought.             One stubborn soul, Guerrero, stays behind.           CORTÉS             And with slave’s ransoms, we must rescue him. AGUILAR             He will not come. ALVARADO                          You must mean “could not,” man.             What exile, broiling in the pits of hell             Is tossed a rope from heaven and will not come?             Your Spanish rusted in these humid airs. AGUILAR             These Mayas have seduced him to their cause.             When I confronted him, he spoke to me:             “I am a wartime chieftain, and their judge,             And see how lovely are my wife and sons!”             Three handsome half-castes nestled at his hip.             “You go,” he said, “and may God go with you.             But black tattoos have spiraled round my eyes,             And broad, thick discs now pierce my ears and lips.             Would Christians welcome one so scarified?” CORTÉS             God only scorns the scars of souls. OLMEDO                                                      Well said. AGUILAR             His crabbed wife waved in my face and spat:             “What grimy scarecrow dares provoke my lord?             Shove off!” But our Guerrero caught my arm.             “I’ve warned our Mayas of Castile,” he hissed.             “If Spanish visitations will be suffered,             The scabies of their ‘culture’ will erupt,             And Europe’s slow, inexorable flow             Must soon encrust and case these florid lands             As running wax will coat a candlestick.             Then must I trim Death’s wicks.” CORTÉS                                                 What can that mean?
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Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:4:33-62
AGUILAR                                                                  But a happy few             Broke from our cages and were spared for slaves,             Within the warlike clutch of Na Chan Can.             My freedom have your wax and honey bought.             One stubborn soul, Guerrero, stays behind.           CORTÉS             And with slave’s ransoms, we must rescue him. AGUILAR             He will not come. ALVARADO                          You must mean “could not,” man.             What exile, broiling in the pits of hell             Is tossed a rope from heaven and will not come?             Your Spanish rusted in these humid airs. AGUILAR             These Mayas have seduced him to their cause.             When I confronted him, he spoke to me:             “I am a wartime chieftain, and their judge,             And see how lovely are my wife and sons!”             Three handsome half-castes nestled at his hip.             “You go,” he said, “and may God go with you.             But black tattoos have spiraled round my eyes,             And broad, thick discs now pierce my ears and lips.             Would Christians welcome one so scarified?” CORTÉS             God only scorns the scars of souls. OLMEDO                                                      Well said. AGUILAR             His crabbed wife waved in my face and spat:             “What grimy scarecrow dares provoke my lord?             Shove off!” But our Guerrero caught my arm.             “I’ve warned our Mayas of Castile,” he hissed.             “If Spanish visitations will be suffered,             The scabies of their ‘culture’ will erupt,             And Europe’s slow, inexorable flow             Must soon encrust and case these florid lands             As running wax will coat a candlestick.             Then must I trim Death’s wicks.” CORTÉS                                                 What can that mean?
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Quetzalcoatl, un hombre, o serpiente? Cuál es el punto de vivir al frente? Abandonado por una madre, Chimalma, Un río se lo llevó con calma. Persona sabía, animal feroz Déjate ser guiado por su voz. Toma un trago del suave neutle Por el Golfo de México, alejate. Sumergido por siempre Renace como el mañana Quetzalcoatl quiere decir Serpiente emplumada. Adoptado por los mayas, Kukulcan, o Votan, Cargado por chinampas Que con el tiempo se agotan. Su nombre real Lo encontrarás al final, Una profecía que habla De la gran Tenichtitlan. El es sabio, y astuto Sabe las respuestas, y punto. De la tierra al panteón, En la estrella de Venus se convirtió. Ixtacmixcoatl, La galaxia infinita, Salpicada de piedras preciosas, Que con diamantes acosas. Una escultura en tu honor creada Serpiente con penacho, Con garras de Jaguar, Hermoso y diferente. No tendrás ningún igual.
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Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 10:14 PM UTC
Serpiente Emplumada