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Israel Caudillo May 2014
Things are ment to be
now I think so
but how can it be?
how can we know
if just weeks ago we were someone else
only change remains the same

things are ment to be in constant change!
we are ment to be evolve
learn from our mistakes
stand up after fail
and willing to continue
even if We are constantly fighting
against us.

Things are ment to be
could you know?
I don´t know but maybe

pay attention to details
an old man told me once
¨you people these days don´t watch how the ants walk¨
a weird quote I thought at the time
but now everything is different
now everything it´s like ment to be
ups and downs, wins and fails
our weakness and our strenght within
the way we live to our inminent death

now things seem ment to be.
For
              Carl Solomon

                   I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
      madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the ***** streets at dawn
      looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
      connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
      ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
      up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
      cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
      contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
      saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
      ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
      hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
      among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
      publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
      skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
      ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
      to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their ***** beards returning through
      Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
      Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
      torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
      cohol and **** and endless *****,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
      lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
      Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
      tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
      dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
      storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
      blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
      vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
      lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
      ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
      until the noise of wheels and children brought
      them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
      battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
      in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's
      floated out and sat through the stale beer after
      noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack
      of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to
      pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook-
      lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping
      down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills
      off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts
      and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
      and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days
      and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the
      Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a
      trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic
      City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-
      ings and migraines of China under junk-with-
      drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
      railroad yard wondering where to go, and went,
      leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
      through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-
      father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep-
      athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in-
      stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis-
      ionary indian angels who were visionary indian
      angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
      gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla-
      homa on the impulse of winter midnight street
      light smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
      seeking jazz or *** or soup, and followed the
      brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
      and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
      to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
      behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
      and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
      place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
      F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
      eyes **** in their dark skin passing out incom-
      prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
      the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
      Square weeping and ******* while the sirens
      of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
      down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
      wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
      and trembling before the machinery of other
      skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight
      in policecars for committing no crime but their
      own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were
      dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu-
      scripts,
who let themselves be ****** in the *** by saintly
      motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
      the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
      love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose
      gardens and the grass of public parks and
      cemeteries scattering their ***** freely to
      whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
      with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath
      when the blond & naked angel came to pierce
      them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate
      the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar
      the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb
      and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
      sit on her *** and snip the intellectual golden
      threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of
      beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can-
      dle and fell off the bed, and continued along
      the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
      on the wall with a vision of ultimate **** and
      come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling
      in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
      but prepared to sweeten the ****** of the sun
      rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
      in the lake,
who went out ******* through Colorado in myriad
      stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these
      poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver--joy
      to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
      in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
      rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
      gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet-
      ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station
      solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in
      dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and
      picked themselves up out of basements hung
      over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third
      Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
      ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
      the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
      East River to open to a room full of steamheat
      and *****,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
      cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime
      blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall
      be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested
      the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
      Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their
      pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
      bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in
      their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
      with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
      by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
      incantations which in the yellow morning were
      stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht
      & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
      kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for
      an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot
      for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks
      fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess-
      fully, gave up and were forced to open antique
      stores where they thought they were growing
      old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits
      on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse
      & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments
      of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the
      fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis-
      ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the
      drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap-
      pened and walked away unknown and forgotten
      into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
      ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of
      the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas-
      saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
      danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed
      phonograph records of nostalgic European
      1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and
      threw up groaning into the ****** toilet, moans
      in their ears and the blast of colossal steam
      whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying
      to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
      watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
      if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
      a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
      came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
      watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
      Denver and finally went away to find out the
      Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
      for each other's salvation and light and *******,
      until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
      impossible criminals with golden heads and the
      charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
      blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
   &nb
One day I will depart the train at a station without a name,
Pull emergency cord and take the plunge thru parted doors.
I'll pack no suitcase or bindle, in my head young, free and single,
I will be a living swindle - wherefore art prat poet of before?
New job doing something I've shown no interest in before,
Change my name to 'Neville Moore'.

I'll do a Reginald Perrin, leave red herring threads at Sherring-
ham, then dice-rolled palookaville of new self I shall explore.
When Palookas call me Neville, they won't see this wasted rebel,
But numpty Neville, on the level, who misplaced his wasted days of yore.
Amnesiac clerk stoical over mist-shrouded days of yore.
Only knew my name was Neville Moore.

Neville will moonlight at night-school, pick up a trade that's practical,
In minimalist digs post-dossing on unforeseen saviour's floor.
Time's sandstorm obscures lyrics, John Doe-penned hieroglyphics
- lost soul Lysander's from Norwich. His mind shut like a shoved closed drawer
To Poesy's Pandora's box of ******* in indigo iron drawer
In Norwich. No bones to Neville Moore.

Neville will be a straight arrow, nice chap whose mind is narrow,
Tepid tryer temping at call-centre, lockjaw forevermore.
The blandest of mystery men, what was Neville's name again?
Man with no memories blends in; my dead ringer, stunky, strong-jawed.
Eye-witness testimony of 36 years will gladly be abjured
- done myself good deed poll: Neville Moore.

I'll  abscond so left Lysander might be eternal loose end, the
Inner poltergeist confined to an indigo iron drawer.
Tomorrow I'll do a John Stonehouse bog-snorkelling, a grandiose
loser who fled being infamous in his own dinnerhour, a bore
Unto myself.  I'll abandon ship,  then life will be less of a bore,
Being much more boring Neville Moore.

And I'll meet a girl called Sybil, Palookashire an idyll,
Where a man with no past can just wash up upon the shore.
For if child is father of the man, Neville'll be an upbeat orphan!
Labels torn off the clothes from Oxfam what Memory's Outlaw wore,
Newfoundhometownbound Mister X such clueless clothes wore,
Clean the pockets of Neville Moore.

Sybil won't be the type to probe, at night she'll pop her Zopiclone,
Cuddle up to normal Neville, earnest the embrace of average amour.
We will rent a little bedsit and expend a lotta effort
To make our place seem white-picket-fenced, tho'  we resided on 3rd floor.
Down updrafts of Fate, untempted to faceplant from the 3rd floor
Is plain ol' sane ol' Neville Moore. 

No temptation, but something racing, the unexplained midnight pacing,
And murmurs in Nev's sleep there's reams in an indigo iron drawer.
But in daylight we'll have daughter, from nowhere the name 'Cobania'
(Nev wouldn't dig Nirvana, fin de siecle scream's aural chore,
nihilistening not for Neville in zen of playful household chores).
Shrug-a-lugs of numb Neville Moore.

Neville wouldn't get promotion, Neville doesn't have much gumption.
Frankenstein's **** domesticus by design, Nev's a swollen snore.
Lice would have mocked, 'Call this living?' Lice is dead, would always give in
To windmills' wheeling withering, watched like a raven, set no store
In what life we have worth living, which is what life life has in store
For unquestioning Neville Moore. 

Neville, don't be snarling slave to snafus by another self made,
Be complete now the only piece is the missing piece of the jigsaw.
Radio receives no 'roger', they won't see Cobania as a toddler,
But for famalam, there's succour: lines left in indigo iron drawer.
For Lice did leave literally living will in indigo iron drawer:
Poem entitled Neville Moore.

Nev and Sybil will have ups and downs, in facades cracks gouge frowns;
Castaway's fury in his eyes curdles Florida coleslaw.
I don't need Sybil's mithering, I mean 'Nev' dint, thinking about writing
- did we do Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining', too nuts too soon in Neville Moore?
Polter-Lice rattling in indigo iron liar's den re Neville Moore's 
Writer's shock swan-song for Neville Moore.

And sweet phantom Cobania, I hope she ends up saner
than her Canoe Man old man, sent reeling by subconscious southpaw
Of split personality punch-ups,  one-man-band fight clubs,
punchdrunk on bad self burps, tho' he burped Cobania with awe.
Pneumatically patting doting dad, errant soon so overawed
By humdrum Heaven, Neville Moore's.

Witness protection program to hide me from self-hate's hitman,
But Miltonic Satan's heart held Hell, for killer within is law
Unto himself. Thus phoenix photo album of my alter ego
To ***-end before Year Zero was burnt down, act of soul at war.
Greener grass scorched earth, everyman Eden sacked by selves at war,
Lysander negging out Neville Moore.

His ship's sailed ment'lly down the toilet - can't see the dream, it's ultraviolet!
Sybil wagging her finger with ****** of a fishwives' wappenshaw.
Cobania's cantankerous tween, Nev hears fin de siecle scream
- call the toilet 'Kurt', it's flushing the dream! Behold:  tombstone beneath 
                                                        ­    a sycamore,
Man from nowhere nowhere now beneath suicide's sycamore.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Beneath me to quote Ocean Colour Scene, beneath sycamore willow-leaned,
But day I caught train derailed: no malaise of glory, Anon no more.
Cobania in black with ***** highlights will grieve Daddy on the quiet;
Sybil indignant that the senseless,  existential eyesore
Option all her lost-and-found, found-and-lost, haunted hubbie saw.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Nev won't see Cobania grow up: she doesn't exist - s' good job!   
Yet I'll miss driving lessons and wedding, even if shaggy dog's dewclaw
Scratched itself out, vestigial scythe: Neville was never alive.
But this 2.4, 2.0 narrative smelted indigo iron drawer.
Cenotaph recast as mask, new visage's vista dark as in a drawer
Now quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

After Poe's misnomer, well, misnumbered: one short, 17 stanzas  
Ironically encode birthday of old dud cub who overroars
Last-ditch striped leopard, tame un-me. Lord Lucan, he WAS lucky
-  there's freedom in fake ID! But Neville grew sick, sick of me no more
Now as one two selves expire, same sigh of relief 'low sallow sycamore:
Thank **** Lice is nevermore.
My birthday is 17/05.
No other plus,
'cept to fulfill our animalistic lust,

*** is not bad,
And its to be had,
But seen as this it *****.

"Your human beings!"
I want to scream,
"Ment for so much more!"
But they cannot hear me,
And thus I go on,
Utterly ignored.
J T Gaut May 2012
**** that ****. This is poetry now. Can you say it isn’t real? Can you say my lowbrow barbaric mind doesn’t express itself? Can you tell me these words aren’t art? **** that. This outcry is whats comin next.

Them burnt cars and bullet scars,
***** boots and tittie bars,
forget to bathe, **** the shave,
my pillow case is made of pave-ment,
twenty years late on that first pay-ment.
I asked the question but got delay-ment,
on what the **** has this all meant?

My colours just distract, them smiles just an act-
you think I’m tokin and ******* and happy go-lucking,
***** im drowning in the bills I haven’t even seen yet,
throwin off the debts as the horse that rolls the best bet,
and don’t forget,
every second you lay down to lie them eyes and theorize,
youre just getten burglarized,
want a burger and fries?
Twenty years off your life- oh and the change too.
Twenty seven ninety-five,
thirteen plus the years I’ll spend,
locked up with nothing to tend,
no garden, no fruit, no love to loot,
no wide eyes to fill and no breeze to shoot,
just a chain gain filling my ***** with soot,
stabbing by the next poor guy,
jabbing by that suit and tie,
the key is not to fit it right- so that every turn reminds who you belong to.
And this is what I wanna do?
Hold up- I pay for that ****?

Now I understand suicide you nihilistic gits,
taking hits while the rest picks up the bits and the red runs the slits but no one sees the slip.
Topsy turvy sliding down the grassy knoll,
the heads tumble but the dough will never roll.
No.
Its busy ******* me in, me and my ilk,
like me too much an *** to be thankful for robes of silk,
mommy’s milk, eleventh hours and the stockpiles of the dowry.
Soft as a baby,
never ****** on the sour but the sweet,
pink feet,
earned on thin green sheet and the red as the man is beat, beaten and burned,
turned spurned despite his age and whats learned.
What is learned?
If only I could tell you.
We’s on the same track , don’t ask me whats gon spell true.
Lily Gabrielle Jul 2013
The blood on your wrist
should be coating veins.
The salt on your cheeks
should dry by morning.
I should feel your heart,
not just your finger tips.
You said it was only fair
to save it for me,
the only girl you ever loved.
I gave it to him instead,
in the backseat on a sidesteeet,
only to be carried farther from the only arms to ever hold me
like they ment it.
I'm sorry I couldn't feel your hands on my eye lids,
begging me to see the love I had
before I found it in the palm of someone else's hands.
My lips are like sunflowers,
but even more fragile.
Every may I am plucked from the garden
and held tightly
for a moment in a field,
until morning dew swallows me whole.
As for love,
my father never taught me how,
and the words he placed at the tip of my tongue never fit in the space between your fingertips.
Keep them for someone else's lips.
Someone who isn't made if sunflowers
that will wilt in your hands.
Unrequited Love Jun 2016
Today I told someone I loved them, and I ment to more than I could ever describe in words.

But there was a niggling thought in the back of my head.

"It's too soon," it whispered.

"You should have waited. It's too soon."

People will judge me. They will think I'm foolish.

But who is anyone else to tell me about how I love someone?

And since when does falling in love have a set rules?

Why should I let society decide that my love isn't real, because they don't belive someone can feel this strongly for somone so soon?

It took me eight months to say it to my X.

And I can honestly say that feeling was like a drop in the ocean, compared to how I feel now.

So yes you can say it's too soon.

Frankly I don't give a ****.
Ayeshah Mar 2010
SHAME!!!
you know ya ah ***** low down shame-
got me going insane eee- so let it work- work it right-
Awww- beep BEEP  You got me Freak ou-,
Making me wanna go-
oops up side ya oops up side ya head -
But-  Baby We can do- it take ya time-
do it
We can do it baby DO IT all night-
But seems your ready
to- Give a "Ooooh"  if ya got ya funky BUS Pass-
Get on the bus & pay ya Fare-Don't go Cuz-
I'll be- Ya freakazoid *** on & Whined me up-
Unless you  wanna- Pack Ya ship
taking you on a trip & leave Ya Worries behinddddd-
I'm crying- dah dah ah dee dah dah dee da-
When I'm alone in my room sometimes I stare at the wall-
Screaming &-
Wishing on a Star-
If You asked me to I'd do anything you want me to-
While being-
All Cried out-
See told you music is my Muse.
(Muse'ment's)
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Dan Pramann Apr 2010
not seeing straight
curving my eyes inside
enjoying the
color of disorganized neutrons
connecting themselves
overworking their structure
shooting feelings out
to be seen
as i glance again
straight at you
© Dan Pramann. All Rights Reserved.
MaryJane Doe Jun 2014
Your sorry
    And I agree
  But not with another
     Apology
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Honest,

that meaningless word left dangling before children,

a damoclean sword held fast in a gordian knot tied with scarlet thread,

finer than the spider's that once tied men's souls to an angry American God,

birthed in Transylvania,

over the woods, and through the dale, no lie

There is a tale of lies told in Nobel houses, never reachin' ground,

Down here, we situations manifested to, vain, again, stem the tide,

We flounder, fish out of water, why are we sent if

wait



he hears, he listens, haps he knows, and

how such as we came

to be here,

Welcome and see, dare ye ask me in? Might I ply you with lies

and you, believe 'em?

I could make a mindless robot out of your parts, but

that would take forever and

that's not how

Wisdom's child would tend to be, for first,

You must believe a lie and I, amusing as can be,

can't tell lies.

Discernment, fine points, per-spicacity per se, the only way.

Good luck (Luc, said luck in many tongues, is said Lose- as in Luc-ifer.

It means light, as in light, regular old granted light.)

Lightifier, good, take some, good light, for the travail, in the night.



You see, not so long ago, for me, five years before I'as born,

my momma moved to town.



What was that like, I axed my old uncle, while back,

movin' t'town, in 1943?

Well, he says,

We had electricity.



USA, 1943, some folks still was poor, and all the good men

was gone to war.

Cities, it was different,

if the movies got it right, Bowry Boys, n'em.



In the desert we did, okeh, in town, though,



we had electricity.



He was ten back then. He'd been huntin' rabbit's,

to buy Christmas presents from Sears and Roebucks,



since he was five.

C'mon, I say. No lie, he say,

BLM or some gover'ment

whatsajigger, was payin' 2 cents a pair fer jack rabbit ears.



'Said he bought Christmas presents for his mom and dad,

and my mom, with his first rabbit money, at five.



Shootin' with a single-shot 22, 12 cents a box,

Jack Rabbits, 2 cents a head.



Three Christmas presents, plus postage, $2.56.

Do the math, I think, and go -



Five years old, at ten, he moves to town, 1943,

we had electricity. That's all.
An older man than me gave a thought to ponder. Thought I'd try to share the bounty. This is read, by me at http://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton
Yandisa mhlana Feb 2010
How could a dweeb like me get a girl like you? How could a nerd like me get the hottest girl in school?

Its a mathematical error, a scientific problem. We've broken the laws of nature, such things were never ment to happen.

Yet we are here, and still going strong. With a passion that seems to burn all night long.

The 8th wonder of the world is how such a beauty and majesty, could withstand to kiss a guy like me so passionately.
Lore and Legend Oct 2018
Contentment: a state of happiness and satisfaction

Here again I find myself
Always longing, always seeking
Trying to add myself to life's bookshelf

Even when I obtain what I think I want
And it seems I should be happy where I am
Some OTHER longing shows its face and taunts

I ever find myself straining at the bit
Seeking something I cannot find
Forever feeding the fire ambitiously lit

But maybe what I have is beautiful to see
Maybe I should pause a moment and reflect
On all the joyous blessings already given to me
No matter where you are and what you are longing for, always remember where you started and how far you have come.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
What was I ment to be
Come closer and you'll see
Look deep into my eyes
That's where it hides
A beautiful soul shackled in chains
That's where it will remain
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
What was I ment to be
Come closer and you'll see
Look deep into my eyes
That's where it hides
A beautiful soul shackled in chains
That's where it will remain
ryn Feb 2015
.
•...mouth
wide  op-
en, glis-
tening...
in the li-
ght•aw-
aiting to
swallow
this lone
piece of parch-
ment•on it i've scribbled
all my heart could write•bea-
ring sweet nothings, sure and si-
lent•now... take this scroll•down
your neck... it'll effortlessly slide...
•to the core of your very soul•my
message would  follow your gui-
de•your opening i'd then gladly
seal •so your contents would...
remain guarded • time is now
to set adrift all i feel...•....now
ride the waves through jour-
ney uncharted•let the curr-
ents take you• let the tides
and winds be your friends
• ...  my quiet well wishes
would see you through •
in hopes that you would
be received by my love's
deserving... and...  open



*hands•
ryn Jan 2015
.

•      
be     
-hold    
    my  sole    
     prized instru-
       ment of choice•
         let it bear the wei-
           ght of my unspoken
           voice•in the dead of
             the silent night•i'll let
               loose my heart so it co-
                uld take flight•consoli-
                  dating all that i think•
                   and...converting them
                     into the blackest ink•
                       only then freely......it
                          would spill•down
                                   the stem and
                                         to the nib
                                            of my
                                               fea
                                                the
         ­                                        red
                                                  qui
       ­                                               ll
               ­                                         •
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands

The light I did pursue
But the dark it did ensue
Though I ran with all my might
The darkness remained right by my side

It remained like a moonless night
No guiding light
To alumminate my flight
It wasn't right
The darkness I could not fight

In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands

The Sun glistening through the trees
I could almost feel the breeze
It brought me to my knees
To pray to a God that doesn't see

He's left me to all the fears
He's never near
He's made it clear
This God only listens with a deafened ear

In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands

I am the sheep lost in the dark
My soul it has no spark
Only sound, song of the lark
To my voice no one will hark

Please take my eyes I no longer want to see
The nothingness in front of me
I beg of you I  plea
Imprisoned in the dark, left groping for a key

In this darkness left to stand
Forced to see the brighter lands
Say shrieked the.
Blind pierce I'm.
Taxicabs the.
1930s men the underwear.
Cities smoking putting all;
Entered street o hollow-eyed.
Contemplating briefly with who the cool boatload;
Ashcans moloch! wound lapse.
On in down vibrations jumped.
Body of;
*****! on of up soup nightmare with.
And blond island of with.
With rolling a dolmen-realms they invincible to their their.
Cross at hydrogen!;
Who of.
Leaping a racketing & public.
Returning in howled cried horrors sea- in.
Lung wars *** naked heartless drunkenness surrounded through of;
Skin them the;
Their on of;
Or *****;
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Eastern reality moloch the shorts;
Continued or were sang vast the mountaintops or platonic;
Laugh piece;
Or boxes upliftings only loned;
Overturned whispering darkness.
In- on wailed on until mind!;
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Tail each incarnate fate of negroes woodlawn to dramas pad in shuddering the weeping subway.
Illuminated shame through the kansas won't rose wall who were protesting am.
Thought intelligent beer I'm;
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Moloch brought.
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And given;
Of broke were.
The a armies! rades the.
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Saic a the;
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In love the up here sunset sky! outside sobbing smalltown denver.
Fire yard backyards.
Heads and.
In boxcars but waving.
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Bedsheets gymnasiums light but in away.
The golden dreams and and of the lamma.
Holes myriad the rocking.
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Who where;
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Them alarm moloch!.
** hotrod-golgotha and.
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Of of suicidal;
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Apartments! socialist.
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Am hap-.
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Or bottle.
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Conform state.
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Of heaven ship mercy belt atlantic.
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Which tene- illuminates rockland out down drugs.
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Where snatches in lamma as;
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To shock over.
In holy singing.
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The torsos.
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Shrew running drear.
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Shoes where.
Of dash.
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In moloch!.
Who buildings that.
Empty I'm harlem task everywhere sang;
Who manless to.
Deus the.
Jailhouse of to backyard total who trembling all abandon! lonesome the mo- let their whose and jazz accuse.
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Of the screams war to secret looking a ghostly haze museum the not on highways united brook- you with.
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To cowered dreaming chinaman therapy the shaking all supernatural fessing.
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And angel;
Listening like open time us!.
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Omens! theology moloch flung run secret the and;
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Their in nished pater;
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In flood! and moloch! bickering cooking.
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Walls grave;
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Flats moloch;
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Poverty next golgotha the moloch blinking bridge beer indian beards the;
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I sob stinctively window and;
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High to the.
Men! the;
Avenue of windows! off light.
The day that in after of;
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The whistles dripping moloch went.
Of moloch!.
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Where in to the.
To the.
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Filthy decade through over and.
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Red ah;
Laughter neon;
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The with.
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Out ***** vibrat- rockland stairways! which in in pingpong ran wondering madder images blew;
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Endless roofs;
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Lost rows supernatural last or own in the.
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Rockland and away hero and;
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So sordid.
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Hiccuped heroes moloch.
Whose you and of alamos at.
Scholars at roof! imagination fire at on of moloch mental soup and reported from endless on generation! and.
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A farms hospital the snowbank yacketayakking and the with to rocks drained & moloch! the bleak.
Jukebox smoking.
Abyss under to daisychain soul;
Are committing the;
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In the my intel- midnight and rockland last.
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Cry moloch fell rockland they've you sit.
We're over.
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Along love states;
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Is america the trees.
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With in final *** your.
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And no;
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To straightjacket time and.
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Sensitive visionary game.
Their wept steps.
And halls they wastebaskets eyes go lamb 4;
Salvation in.
Children ticoat you the the a you moloch oblivion.
Of the zoo.
Jazz and;
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The moloch! gaps of trail the on el you.
Bade and and cities wall & sweeten;
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Hotels in.
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Windowsills who.
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My island dreams in.
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The evenings.
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Of and tionless in barns.
With loned I'm other and electricity railroad in;
Images naked off.
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Cities! & radio split endless of demanding;
Down of seeking for sudden in tragedy threads stantaneous.
Suffering you.
Are to.
Rockland a;
& and;
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Sanity great who on stumbled and again illuminating has on picked blast of of.
Streets floor expelled void;
The who storefront the head floor.
Boys one.
The jumped seraphim;
Steam with;
Newark's down writers alley came.
Pederasty mol
Diction Oct 2018
You can call this nothing but childish poetry if you want/

Because I say this with complete honesty/

Your opinions mean nothing to me/

Looking for the reason behind the why I find in every line of mine/

Without any doubt this empty is me when I'm in my honesty/

There is no lie for you to see when it's all the same thing as what's hidden inside this poetry/

I will say so what if you don't understand these words I write/

I don't care if you can read this pens bite/

Still as oil are these words the paper snow covered drifts white/

The reason my sanity has yet to flee/

Even though everyday I'm looking at this knife as if to find this mercy/

As I'm constantly bordering conformity of this eventual reality/

Lost in my own insanity/

As I'm individually ment to be mentally segregated/

To keep steadily the steady loss of a sane mentality/

As I kept barely shackled separately separate from my misery these memories/

When I deserve every memory intentionally given to me personally/

Specially those made to cause me pain inside intentionally attacking my happiness/

So I'll be honest/

To those the ones who sent them so they can dry the rain with a wipe to clear their eyes/

I apologise/

I'm like Dr.Jekyll holding on desperately to hide the Mr.Hide hidden inside/

With memories of the psychologically unsteady/

Symmetrically simplistic in this coloured poetry thats making up my reality/

Losing myself in some fantasy/

A chemical chemistry of evolutionary perplexities/

Changing the mentalities of the socially closed personalities/

The ones who are misunderstanding me and what's behind this poetry/

When there's so much more then this man and the fact he's lonely/

These poems being what I feel each night/

Why I'm able to continue to write/

Making these words rhyme to fight off these thoughts of some suicide/

Making up poems line after line/

The only thing that makes me feel fine/

It's what keeps me from completely losing my mind during these moments anxiety sneaks up from behind/

So I'm suddenly overwhelmed  emotionally/

It's as if your falling apart and there's no one there that cares/

No one to make it stop but plenty in the part that's pressed to start/

Most days there's nobody to listen when your not sure if your life is worth living/

Sometimes the pain is so deep your needing something to numb every bit of what your feeling/

Now posted on this line paper that's been red dyed/


Maybe the hurt this time someone will see and finally take my words to heart/

Why the ink cord around my throat is still wet/

An the rest of it's spent on this borrowed piece of parchment/

A page from this mental thought process that's afflicted by the emotionally hopeless/

Constantly dancing with manikins of a manic drug addict/

With cut wrist to remind him that weak thoughts need to become nothing but static/

Keeping my mind distracted/

What secrets are you keeping in the attic/

I'm escaping into a straight jacket fearing my own love as the tragic/

When I've finally had it/

My heart I'll bury deep be it lock set with the sunset/

Secret is, the artist is ment to escape within the ink stain that's set/

This is that moment for me be it I'm now word spent so I went while the paint was still wet/
Pauline Morris May 2016
What was I ment to be
Come closer and you'll see
Look deep into my eyes
That's where it hides
A beautiful soul shackled in chains
That's where it will remain
The idea seemed like all my others genius why think  it through
had my parents ?
**** no if it wasnt for wild turkey  loud music wild women and
bad desiscions   gonzo wouldnt be here.
Thanks for being a party girl mom.

We had gotten hitched  i always said if i found a woman
who could out drink me under the table was smokin hot  and meaner than a rattle snake and would actully have *** with me without charging.
I would make my wife.

From the moment Skeeter had stepped into my life and said hey what
the ******* lookin at ***** ?
I knew that pint size ******* was the one.

And finally after my in house arrest and her brief vacation in Rikers was up we finally  tied the knott  and got married  but enough with the foreplay  children.

Like two insane people  with a shared thought.
The first night was outstanding the second even better she was like a
hot female  version of me.
A teenage hellcat who should have been busted for filling out that sweater  thank god for citezens arrest.

The first  week flew by Ya think we can everday?
My dear  if you just put your mind to it  and some other parts.
I know we  can.
Yes  to have a dream  and to be horney with someone
who shares  the same  dream is a wonderful thing.
Till you have to slip her roofies to get some sleep.
I knew thoose pills would come in handy  than for
just having them for  blind dates.

Although Ive learned your supposed to not take them also.
Then its just awkward waking up looking to the other person
saying hey  what happend and why are we in the burger king rest room?

After a few weeks i learned why people  actully spoke to each  other
and had these thing's called conversations.
I learned my Skeeter   loved halloweeen  for how could she not with so many costumes.
And she had a a real passion for law inforcement  with all the handcuffs  and tazers  a couple badges  a cop car  hmm makes me
wonder could it be yes your right.
People  really get carried away playing dungeons and dragons.

The first month was great the second made me rethink taking vitamins  she reminded of a  hamster in a wheel runnng without stop
just taking breif breaks  to hit the bottle  of Jack  Daniels
I miss working the pet store.

Leaving the house to  stagger to the bar  myself worn like a
a cheap motels matress.
Skeeter glowing like a neon sign if a neon sign were prone to random acts of violence.
Speaking sweet  nothing's to each other  like I love you sugar ,
did you hide the bullwhip ?  And hey wake up you drunk ******.

Her eye's  a work of true beauthy  that read  **** with me
and i'll knock your **** in the dirt   or light you on fire
ahh romance  it is grand and slightly dangerous and painful at times.

The night alive the drinks flowing  the waitress  a attractive  yet
soon to be mauled victem  of a five three spitfire.
The paper read of something i belive they call them numbers
dam you davinnci code.

Befor I could  down the wild turkey order four more and say in the name of Bono.
She sprang from her seat like a  miniture ninja leaping over the bar.
tackling the woman who had angred my mighty banshee.

the fight was epic and i did what any good red  bloodedand whiskey fueled pervert  would do I sat there and cheered on this cat fight.
get her honey it was a true sitght to be seen  hair being pulled
clothes being ripped off  okay i added that one.

And as a voice echoed over the crowd that said
hey who is that  hot crazy *****.
I turned  to the  man pointed saying  look its raining  
*****   and Adam Lambert  oddly enough he looked.

the sucker punch was fast hard and hurt like a son of
a *****  sorry but thats not just any hot insane horney carzy *****
thats my  teenage nymphomaniac  homicidle costume collecting halloween loving demon with a touch of sweetness wife.

The cops had arrived  but strangley enough Skeeter knew them all by
name.
Im starting to belive she might have a thing for tazers.
The questions flew around sir what caused this and why are you not wearing any pants.

She was in a rant so like any semi sober man  I decicded to set her straight  well  kinda.
And you!
I cant belive you take her number  the rage filling within her
building like a volcano  of pint sized sexiness mean chicks
are hot.

Well  honey I ment to tell ya mid flight  that was the bar tab.
Suprize.

And after i awoke from acoma  my hellcat in my hospital bed
I looked from a black eye saying skeeter  i love you more
with every day that does pass.
To which my teenage ******  replyed good.
God cause if ya didnt Gonzo id have to kick your drunken semi sane long winded  ***.
Dedicated to the real life Skeeter  who's probaly going to **** me
It's been nice knowing you all.
Im kidding I'll do what i always do when in danger run and scream like a girl.

Love ya Skeeter  
Always Gonzo
Craig Harrison Mar 2016
The worlds ment to be closer
more connected
Social media was meant to make us new friends
so why do I feel so lonely.
I have neighbors to the left
and some to the right
I have a family living within my sight
but no one that gets me, no one that truely makes me feel a little less lonely
Jam Rock Feb 2013
if I were to eat your soul
I would get heart burn and diareah
your soul is soar
like biting into a rotten apple
or drinking some tainted milk
your soul is so infected with maggots
that if your soul was say compared to a ****
not even a ****** would go after it.
If your soul could somehow be turned into a bomb
it'd be a mixture of a mustard gas and a Hydrogen Bomb
your soul is worthless im sorry to be rude
but **** dude your a slime ball
a real ******* peice of ****** japenese made work
your essence is ment to put a dry heaving effect to my body
your disgusting
your the one living money hungry salesman
that'd sell his wife and kids
for a taste of that crack again
your a drug addict dirt bag wife beating psychobath
but in the end
I still have to look at you at thanksgiving and holidays
and try to muster up a smile
but my god man
your a roach with no roach friends
for not even the roaches wanna be in your filth
every bridge you burnt is now covered in a landslide
from the avalanche you have caused
a 1000 good souls have died
get yourself to the nearest grave
you twisted lowlife manipulating mommies boy
a grown man child
with nothing but a razor scooter to your name
(thats probably stolen)
your disgust me more then the gonareah I had
and thats a tough thing to do my ***** tweaker friend
Gazing through the tallest
green nettles

I realized they do
not bite me

Cause it was not the day
for stings and aching

Cause i had the black
mountain boots
and a heart
on my
dim
dark
sport gown

My hands reached
upwards
the Heavens
towards  
the white yello

Crown
of
Elder's Abundance

Where Scented Blossoms
Coloured my skin

And exposed my life lines

After
The coolest tangerine
Lemonade

I sat on the black soil
squished young grasses
and found the
tiniest
snail
baby

My palm was a giant Plato
For it's snailish leg

On the left one
he was without weight
portruding forth
to his destination

Is it possible that
his house was
3,5 mm
long
Isn't it cute
that when streched
was 7 mm
at lenght

Visible horns
like 1 mm
and half of it

The upper
The downward
Twotwo
Four

What are you looking at
My lines or me

If he climbs from my
left palm on the right one
It's ment to be

I'll visit the seaside

Fibbonacci House Spiralled
Inner layers with colours
outer still
and translucent

Is it possible
this tiny snail
thinks about me

It didn't work
It remained
on my heart's side

Then I moved this
cutest creature
on my right palm

Little little snail
you're not a match
to squeeze

From the right to the left
I thought to myself
he is she
i don't know
snail's so young
for sure it doesn't seek another snail

To cherrish and love

Yet
It
Climbed on my left thumb
Beautiful in motion
As a revolution
For better days

It is my heart's side
My vision became
Sharp
Clouds
Waffed all around on the deepest blue
White and puffy

Magickal
Metallic

Dragonfly

Emerged out of

Nowhere

Had landed on a spider web
cocoon
on the Verge
of Enchanted Forest
Where grave monument resides

Dragonfly
was in the air
the invisible wings fluttered

My sharp vision
focused on
another three
Blueish
camerades

They don't need los zapatos
They are not obsessed as
Imelda was

And i wasn't thinking
about that at all

This words are for you:
thank you for the music
but the dragonflies
buterflies I love
most.

They were near my
heart,
one caressed among
tall grasses
one butterfly
also

not in oslo

and
Fibbonnaci Friend
who gave me this
Sharp vision

To see the magic
revealing all
around.
~~~~~~~~~
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic Flame
~~~~~~~~~~
Umaizah Sep 2015
End
I want to run away so badly.
Just end it with everyone.
I'm burning from my own mistakes.
I hate the person I become when you are around.
The reality is that I've never ment anything to you.
Hopefulness has taking me into the realm of delusion.
What is right I see as left.
Your eternal love is really a three minute panting and moaning fest.
How could I be so blind.
Well in truth I was viewing it all and I just wouldn't let go.
I knew it was wrong but I just didn't care.
I apparently don't love myself at all.
If I did you would have seen nothing and I would have remained as Mother Teresa.
So long it's time to grow up and outgrow you.
Let my new roots be firm and pure.
there's a party going upstairs
and thus i locked myself
in the cool base
ment to

cry about
how much i miss
you and how much you
help me feel like a child again
Sethnicity Nov 2016
I'm merely a poet
But you may think me a rapper if I didn't note it
I'm made in moments
I design the riots these words are my pilots
I fly them into structures that lack cognitive diets
I'm like cons stuck to your Feel it Try it Cry it
When you're cursing in the car
seeing red
grab a cigarette
light it
I am here to recreate
the con template
make more meaning behind your quite riot
when you remember how to be great
swinging from swings
singing songs of King Kong
and
monkeys playing on strings
When mondays were not monotony
growing older into neoteny
has this gotten to thee?
You take it in threes,
Speeding tickets, Deadlines, and Rotten Trees
keep on keeping on
vote on voting on
PoliceSeas?
Can't change the country without cash, fears, or blood
Que Sera, Sera humans ride the carousel of DUH!

I should Detain my thoughts many deem insane
let them germinate with time attain more circular grain
I'm ready for hand over hate for a steady gain
I'm ready for self worth over wealth a cure for the pain
I could light myself on fire and yes one man can
How long can we malnourish the heart and ******* the brain?

But,
y'all don't wanna be free
just wanna get poor quick
Sell your soul on FB
a phat horse chewing the bit
while you eat the virus
that makes you sick!
"I am not a rapper"
but I can wrap it up in a split

"It's Just US for tray bomb"
if not miseducated in Lit
"Eyed Diabolical, My necklace stripped"  
You can steal this message in a bottle
as I bleed out this ****!
I'm merely a poet But you may think me a rapper if I didn't note it!
Just my observation of Monuments and Movements and Revolutions people all over are crying out for change. All I ask is that you consider the whole when you wanna act out. Knowledge is power and power decays until the powers in the hands of the people who change.
The last lines are phonetically subliminal... "ie "(It's Justice for Trayvon) (If I was seen as notorious, My neck lays.. Drip
{killed with my throat slit})
He waited the sad ***** broken in what seemed like a fool who sits on the traintrack
Feeling the rail knowing full well what is coming cant be stopped yet still
they stand.

It didnt take a writers eye to read the reply I knew it from the moment the poor
sap got down on one knee.
Like was never ment for love as a torment was never ment to be cast in a ******* fairytales
happy ending.

I felt no need to listen further for like some old stage hand I knew the
actors lines by heart.
Why were sappy ******* always drawn to heartless ******* I could never understand.
I guess for the reason worthless ******* always seemed to get the one's that
were to dam nice used them like doormats and turned them into the flawed gems
we knew and adored as well.

Maybe if only his ears herd truth instead of dellusion he'd find a much easier path.
I never wait for a reply and seldom care to ask.
I deal in truth I play no game just show my cards and care less if im holding better than the next.
Games are for fool's and old farts who gather to swap war stories and yern for the days
when yesterday  was uncertin yet always a adventure.

She wouldnt reply with what he wanted and he would be the fool a clown
left behind by the circus  just a out of place reject  wearing oversized shoes.
Some belive in it some also know desperate acts only serve a vain person's ego.

It's better to be jaded in sight than a sap for a cruel ******* amusement.
But being a ******* I know her thoughts all to well.
And as the night does erase the light the curtains fall will just
promise another act apon life's stage.

Avoid the people who's hearts have been cast of stone.
Course if you choose to do so you'll probaly  not have to many friends.
Course I never did give a **** cause that just leaves more drinks for me.

He waited for her reply and as the words hit like a landslide.
He sat numb frozen in a sea  of embaressment.
And in the aftermath of rejection he sat at the bar  running it through his thoughts.
I poured a triple sat it in front of the man along with a bottle for company.

And as always became deaf to the bleeding hearts conversation.
Thank God for closing time.

Im the stage hand of lifes over written play a bartender who's herd every version of the
same old song.
If you have to wait never yern for the reply.


Stay crazy Gonzo
Some probaly view my work as jaded  and as ****** up as it's writer .
But Ive lived what i write not write what I belive it would be like.
You cant dip your toe in the water of this life and sometimes there's
More depth in what others belive to be a shallow stream.
Christian May 2011
I would like to believe
we are all connected, a
mobile massive
pile of flesh mixed
in some bone juice
& ash, contributing
as something larger
then self, living with
each other, as one another,
firing pistons of thought
engines cooling by our
own single breath into
infinity of some end
never having to realize
what's right with wrong
just living as this
one.

But I remember I
operate in this separate
body walking on two
feet swimming through
turbulent sea's of me's
myself and greed,
this lust of more
powered by this ever-
going combustion of
competition one upping
to succeed with money
running through veins
clogged in violence,
forgetting the you
within all this
misery, we swallow
to be our anti-
depressants because
we sweat **** to
feed children we
teach to fight is
to attain, something,
search for something
I remember how I
search, how I search
how I seek, fueled
by this insatiable
hunger for this some-
thing more I can't
seem to find with this
need to feel complete,
this urge to fill this
"void gnawing at my
left lung" telling me,
reminding me I am
separate & will always
be, until I noticed
breath.

Invisible, heavy on
my weighed down
shoulders, colored
clear like wind, I
saw the element we
all breath in fire
that pulsates
as though I were
turned on, I was
turned on
to this liquid fire
rushing into the void
'nom nomming
on my left lung', as
I began to understand
the magnetic connection
of my beating lifeline,
reminding me what
was always known
was always believed,
somewhere in marrow
next to white blood
cells & hope, that
cliche one word
love

that connects us
to god to the
whatever's & what if's
to the me to the
you, with dust
in my right eye
the gap between your
tooth where eternal
wisdom is stored
because non judge-
ment wiggles through
toes like mud oozing
in the cracks of clenched
fists, that I am you
that I am, that it
is & will be & has
& continues on & on
& on & on

before

einstein or dinosaurs
there was an atom, made
of tiny parts composed
of smaller pieces held
together by space, found
bounding stars as we
squint attempting our
attempts to stare at
the sun because what
we forgot is the
I am & the I can,
the we are change
so we choose which
way our lips point
which way our sight
see's, by releasing the
old never were me's
& embracing this
new philosophy who
watched grains become
planets & god's born
into children who
work together as
one to become one

with words like
love, compassion &
kindness, with words
like love, compassion
& kindness with words
like love, compassion
& kindness with words
like thoughts becoming
our realities, no matter
what we believe or
think or thought, that
we hold the power of
god, the fist of judge-
ment we release to
grab on to words
like love, compassion
& kindness because
today I choose to
love, to be compassionate,
to spread kindness
with action of this
space that holds together
our veins, which were
only taught to pump
money, to encourage
greed & this lust of
violence where we
fight wars on oil
wars on drugs
wars on poverty
on hunger on
depression, ADHD
bipolarism economy,
we fight wars for
Peace.

We **** in
the name of justice
the name of god
of love

The stars
shine bright the non-
physical of hope
for something more, that
something more we're
searching for, look up
to realize what we are
taught, were taught
may not all be right,
that maybe my ribcage
wants to explode with
empathy for my fellow
man & follow him to
this promised land where
we can grow in the sorrows
of our joys because "even
the clouds weep in cele-
bration" 'when the answer
to everything right is
me',
is you,
is us,
if we choose

if

we choose, maybe there was
no void, maybe it was all a
story created by our minds

the pulse in my wrist controls
my world, now I ask you
does yours?
rough and tough not edited just a rumble jumble of thought.
some of my words are plagiarized
the gnawing on my left lung bit (KPB)
and nom (OR)
and clouds weep in celebration (I Am).
credit goes where credit is due.
It's been over a month has it?

Tear it apart or love it, whatever feels best.
(written a week before post date)
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Thursday, October 25, 2018
1:33 PM History records my state of mind:

Pure thought projects zoom in and out of focus,
Political integrity, personal honesty, good medicine, bad medicine

Whose hell imagined itself transfigured int-energ-
emagically into
the set of NULL?

Mine.
Imagine that. Pure thought experiment, unjudgeable, fret not.

Puritans lack the pineal insight to see the light in the forest.
Horus eye in the middle of the brain?
I just saw that, too. Pineal reality.

The light in the forest?

The man in black lingered there, according Hawthorne,

or did old Nate mock the man in black and laugh at the idea of

good medicine, bad medicine, goody two-shoes
holds it in her holy socks. She's a witch.
stupid.

That was a McLuhanwaderyadoin joke. You don't have to laugh.
We no longer know of his work.
Have to is a stupid saying.
say waht it means, spellt out have, et to.
I have
breath,
blood, spit, eyes, ears et cetera

but to, have to, what? can to having have meaning with no do:
to what end have I any thingable thought to what?
Stupid language, nothing is ever clear.

Ought we explore our relationship, you and me, I mean,
when I say we. We are intimate, dear reader.
As close as two minds may be, with permission, assumed.
My insane, in your brain, is not my insane in mine.
A little like leaven, if you ever bake.

No con querity con cerns us here, we filtered those before.
CERN's discerning of the matter making
thing, bosonic tonic device,
that led us to line our tinfoil hat with lead,
just in case Higgs ups happen and stutters start.

Hold your breath. We both have one to hold, but not for long.
And so it goes, I do enjoy a vintage Vonnegut thought
floating by on a breeze.

Imagine me a Virginia Wolfe trust fund child gone wild,
un gentled, sent down t' Tobbacca Road
in a hot rod Lincoln,
t' find a bride.

Some said something in the water, flouride, petrafied
pineal glands and blinded a generation,
to the sins of their father's
legions of liars,

hired to progressively teach us to work in factories
which vanished
right before

the beans vanished from our ears and we heard the rush
of the rolling tide lifting boats big and small.

Remember being accused, in your mind, of only wanting to be on the side that's winning?

That hot rod Lincoln, Thunderword road, remember the environ?
Pure
Moonshine, melts that petrafied flouride away,

a whole generation o' peasants
turned on.
Holler Hi dee **, burns the tummy, doncha know but

epigenetic application of pure moonshine in the ac-company-ment,
companion, accuse amigo,
same bread, same leaven,
com panion we be
joined.

Jesuits, that was the idea,
formed in Xavier's fever wracked brain
as his medievally medicated flesh fought for every
breath.
Heroic. Hagiographic. Stale, smoke filled acacia incense maybe

We have gone to havings
whence such bread is said to become the an-ointed, magi know, knew, expected, fore told for if ever forever begins,
as far as mortal peasants may be concerned with such high mindedness.

The leader is a liar and the people feel free to follow him.
When the twisted rule the ruled twist, too.

Solomonic wisdom, that is. Oil on the water. Pass the torch.

This was 2018, Donald Trump was President.
how come this to be
to have to be
held.
Who still,
can imagine war?
None.

No reflection,
lack of humility,
proud noble rare-ified re-ified de-ified

Charming fellow, though, can't you admit
his charm is a luring, tempting thing, temporary testing,
is he
an enemy,
donchaluvem? Life is the test. It is that simple. Right, Mr. Perot?

No distraction action condemns a man here, we have none.
Condemnation, none of that here. My reality, you know.

Tempests in teapots, fersher. Command zed, eh.
Fold it up, put it away. New idea. New everything.

People and political servants. No more leaders, no more war.
imagine that.
People and servants serving to govern the emerging
situations
as time rolls out the barrel with the single rotten apple,

and we, the people, feed that rotten apple to the pigs,

who were addicted to pearls,
during the confusion
as mankind lost its mind

we never doubted the need for men to be born.
again, we knew not what we believed born again may be.

Taste, good medicine is bitter more oft than not,

Sugar blues on a global level, those never justify the cost,
of making the medicine go down.

Sweet desire deprived, that is poison.
Dainty appetizers, served in the rich man circus,
stolen by servants racked with guilt,

shame and blame arise,

emergency action, a reason, why are those dainty meats so alluring,


ask the fisherman. Watch for his hook.
Someday, I don't want anyone to gues where I stood concerning Donald, I never met the man and never liked the mask.
Dear 'luck,
Sometimes I wonder how those girls feel
How their goodluck turned around
It's like running on banana peels
Keepfalling, can't even get up
The key is in the sea, someone changed our luck :(
Cos this isn't the guy we all trusted to change our walks
It's funny how $12 could buy a life
And N2000 can buy a wife
A child is supposed to think of getting grown
And not wearing a wedding gown
You call yourselves the govern-ment so do what you're meant to do
Cos I'm a believer that you can deliver our innocent people.
#Nigeria
is something Milan said about stargazing,
they wear lattéo fabric and eyes like
sad owls. Behind, a
fatherless forever searching in
an existence
where forever is finite.
My head is reeling,
fed up with
silhouettes of lovely promises.

Did he act irrationally in this case?
It's only a human response to loneliness.
Of no ordinary cleverness, their prints
are scrubbed away, and replaced with "im-par-fait-te-ment."
When I think of those ghosts in black and white,
I think of those gray roses Ricky gave Lucy.
The petals were finite forevers.
Pauline Morris May 2016
I wish I was a big fat brown furry squirrel
Up in the walnut trees I'd scamper and twirl
Collect my delicious nuts for the frigid winter time
Invite squirrl friends over to party and dine
Take sweltering summer days to run, jump and play
Frighten some silly song birds along the way
No worries of the coming days
No bill collectors at the door to pay
To just live wildly free
Like nature was ment to be
Live out my life in a comfy hole I made in that old walnut tree
That tree was here in my grandpa's days, it's as sturdy as can be
In the winter curl into a warm ball and try to remember
Of where I hid my stash of nuts,  come December
I want to be a big fat happy squirrel
Never angain a sad woman-girl
The sunset kissed the horizen  and the flask was finally empty.
My old friend to no suprize  had said his last goodbye.
Theres a place in a man's mind that doesnt allow understanding.

Darkness was soon to replace the laughter.
As a void was forever left.

Walking from the site I had no dellusions this was  to
be continued  no play of words could twist fate.
Outlaws were never ment to see happy endings.

He knew the game and laughed at it's  outcome.
To be forgotten  wasnt a ploy but only time held the cards
and its face wasnt giving any clues.

The redness in the clouds like a perfect backdrop
cast a shadow apon the headstone  the leather bound flask
with the intials engraved into its front.

Was but a side note to a epitaph.
Time in thought's is wasted apon a life
ment to be otherwise empty.

It's time for me to leave.

And so a souls winter does begin.

— The End —