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JK Casilda Dec 2018
Being away from home makes me able to do anything I want without my parents having a panic.
I mean they don’t know that every morning I have my cup of coffee despite being told I’m acidic.
Or that at least every week I go try different coffee shops and order an espresso with less milk.
Really? Am I a coffee addict?

I mean…

Who can say no to the aroma soothing your nostrils   and leave you
                                                                ­                 craving
There in your table sits your very own cup, waiting
to be kissed from its very seductive rim, parting
            your thrilled lips, burning
            your yearning tongue, providing
your soul the bittersweet taste of the coffee you love
And as you sip that blessed liquid
                           Like lightning it electrifies you over your taste buds
                                                                ­                              to your throat
down
             to your chest then back up switching on every nerve in your brain.
You bathe in that wonderful kick of caffeine.
And you just can’t help but close your eyes and enjoy this hot bath from a long cold rainy day.
Listening to the every chemical reaction
feeling that sublime sensation
now creeping into every part of your body
telling you
                     that you are no longer your own property.
Then you suddenly get reminded of the last time you had your coffee.                               The abnormal beating of your heart
the fireworks in your head
           the ringing in your ears
                       the whispers of voices from your back
thezjdflksjcxkdjfghdisquiet of the night and
            how it left you gasping for breath
   drowning in the sea of your tears of regret.
It’s frightening.
But being scared makes you hear your present heartbeat, slowly, rushing
like it’s 8 in the morning
You’re alive.
It’s beating. You survived.
You savor this forbidden sensation for as long as it lasts.
                                                          ­               But nothing lasts forever.
When it starts to wear off, of course,
               it all comes back to the tongue.
Here comes “The Finish”.
Funny how acidity
is the strong point of coffee
but a weak point of you.
Cold sweat runs through your back
and a sharp burning feeling starts in your stomach.
Your tongue                      touching the ceiling of your mouth
                  is now starting to burn an unpleasant, undesirable sharpness,
over-fermented bitterness.
The bittersweet becomes            just the bitter.
You open your mouth like puffing out cigarette smoke
breathe out               deeply and slowly
your tongue searching every corner of your mouth
trace the lining of your gums
               desperate
for that elusive sweetness
that once filled you with     happiness.
In despair you’re left with nothing      but the bitter aftertaste.
Like a whistle of the kettle that tells you the water is boiling
The reminder that you had coffee.
Had.
For a moment you want to cry—why can’t you just cry—but if they tell you not to cry over spilled coffee then
         more reasons they’ll tell you not to cry from drinking coffee
Because who cries over coffee and why would you cry from drinking coffee?
You ask yourself
        left with two answers:
You’d cry because it’s bad,
           or you’d cry because you once had something so good.
Almost.
See even the most natural task on Earth like drinking coffee gives difficult life choices, too.
But before you lose your mind thinking about
The aftertaste,
        your breath,
        your heart,
        the whistle,
        the bittersweet,
the bitter,
               the sweet,
  the aftertaste,    the bitter,
the…
You feel the cup between your hands
            warm and welcoming.
A faint light from this darkness
has started to devour the blackness.
And you open your eyes.
You no longer hear the whistle of the kettle nor the rushed beat of your heart.
Even the bitter taste in your tongue felt like it’s been there right from the start
And you just no longer care of the aftertaste that takes ages to depart.
You look at your cup with your loving doe eyes.
You’re ready to take in another sip of your coffee
not minding the aftertaste                      of that same unrequited love.
This was originally performed as a spoken poetry, my first in that field.
Butch Decatoria Dec 2018
a light that beams…

This must be a dream. I assume I’m fast asleep elsewhere, but can’t bother to care to find out exactly where that may be, since all my focus and curious thought are centered here, in this moment I am minding. I feel that this is most definitely a dream, yet as vivid this lucid sleep may be, I have a wakeful awareness, conscious of what this all may mean—although unreal.
Verdant greens, rapacious reds, metallic cobalt blues and sharp cold whites, eggshell and city winter skies. Each color I knew in my existence, reintroduced with a new sense of discovering their more flamboyant shades, their other worldly patina, some explosive or fluorescent. I’ve never seen such colors and with more emotions to witness them, and I know full well that in our dreams, it seems that feelings speak—the only language our minds translate, lacking logic and reason, and still understood. Mind-speaking with heart...

I awe at the surroundings of astral nebulae and cosmic bodies spacial walls that wave and wink with stars and eyes or both or all.
I’m being lead in warp speed worm holes and tunnels of levitation and light, pulled by a hand I’m holding, aware now that I’m not alone here, in this dream I accept it to be, but who is dreaming with me?
I turn my attention to that hand, the connecting arm, and the rest of whom I look down to see, if only with the blind eyes that my human limitation allows. I smile with my whole face discovering a young child cherub beaming back at me, with eyes reflecting the stars and twilight shades of space… there is such depth in those large windows of the soul, knowledge and wisdom and enlightenment, beyond my mortal coil. My unevolved homunculi of spirit, full of conditioned fears and judgmental faults, a prehistoric presence in the light years of our civilization. I feel a yearning to ask “where are…?”
Shhhzzzz…lightning then thunder…. Pull back awake…
(Life is but a dream)
Just embrace it all with wonder. A light that beams.
In the morning I will wake. Breathe anew, ethereally, the lovely other space, where I feel at home, in place. Swimming in god’s Other face, a bright ocean of perfection’s grace. And peace...
We are minding our own eyes
We are minutes from
Disappearing into the night
I am a poem
Presumptuous at best
I freelance and edit
But it's still not my best
I am captivated by your capricious humor
And your deprecating laughter
Has me in stitches
It's riotous when your raucous cheer
Brings me to my knees
In silent waves of fear

I fear falling in love with you
Like a comet hitting the earth
Creating quite a commotion
And combusting all our promises
Yet you keep coming back to me
And I keep humming my symphony
These fires yield fruit
And Saturn’s rings bloom
Into a million diamonds
How come you never show me
The places where you hide
Your secrets anymore
There was a time when we once traveled
To the spaces in our minds
Now I mostly wonder
Who the hell is speaking
Such beautiful nonsense
From your mouth
Axl Rose Jul 14
As I went inside my Grab
The driver immediately said
"Good evening po, Ma'am."
To which I replied with "Hi."
I can't lie, that day wasn't very good
Placed my bag beside me
Sitting rightmost
I didn't check the ETA
For the first time ever
I hoped for traffic
Because I didn't want to know
"You'd reach your destination in
A hours and R minutes"
I don't want to move yet
The driver was blasting News
Oh! More important matters
What should I probably minding
What should I probably focusing
But my mind was blank and my heart heavy
There's only one News in my mind
And it's that there's no U in Us anymore
An answer to Y that turns to X
We can no longer V
To which a moment I recalled
"Do you mind, the camera's not focused"
It can't see clearly what's right in front
But a woman, standing
The battery's low now
Drained from too much clicks
Turns off, no photo taken
Smaller in lens, bigger upon glance
Even with glasses
I can't see you clearly from where you are
But still I want to say
Look here,
"Smile."
Knowing and,
Celebrating humanness
Respect to independence
Independence of one another
Acknowledgement of,
Space everyone holds
Is the key

Respect for one another's freedom
Respect for choices they make
For themselves only
Trying to not get into people’s affairs
Minding your own business
Helping one another is the key
Loving is the key

Boosting owns insecurities, is not
Boosting other's insecurities, is not
Getting over other's freedom, is not
Getting over personal space, is not
Thinking you know everything, is not

Every generations of human
Are trying to find the key
And here it is,
Some know it
Others are not conscious
The key is independence
The key is personal space
Simply, the key is spirit
You
are the personification of hard decisions
fleeting time, fading memories and coincidences
but I have never been anywhere as colorful
This
is the epitome of all good things
that are worth not lasting
that are worth going through storms for

It's silly how you can want to stay somewhere
to the point of almost not minding going back home
when you only know literally one place from that somewhere
and she isn't even a place
but you are anything but lost
in that kingdom of pillows
late night drives
tell me what you think
where every hour is a day of missing you
in the real world
That kingdom of pillows
where tomorrow didn't matter
when you didn't know what's after
that kingdom of pillows
where you are anything but lost
Only sure that you wanted
every
second
of this.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
(the poem, the story intends to reveal,
or vice versa, the story I'm told is very old)

Seven silent days of shiva, sort of premature,

sitting with one called their friend,
our friend, as we watch, from now

from here
we know the daysman,
we observers in mind,

flies on sores, flies on walls, we can use their eyes

we can pity the comforters and the comfortless moan,

Come into my comfort zone, cries Job. What comfort?

Why me?
was answered,
Job looks our way and winks, an a side,

I invited the daysman, he says,
but only ere knowing God almighty

knows,
and the accuser of man,
whom mine symbolizes,

knows not,
how it is to be a mortal man,
wombed or un.

Would God there were a daysman betwixt us.
I said, unaware,
completely of any good news on its way my way

I coulda said nothing, had I known

Would God there were a daysman betwixt us.
I said, I thought,
So I can
wonder whys and hows, ask where truth abides in what men have
imagined, what drew the sweetness, what drew pain,

is luck a factor? Sacred making, did we get that wrong?

Seems is as it seems to be, here.

This is not afterlife, this is life, today.

This day's daysman twixt truth and lie,
in the meta game, he is neither

archaic warden of loafing warrior's watchtower,

or miller minding the grinding, seeing

all who labor,
they shall eat.

Who legislates tradition? Meek or mighty?

******* speaks: ax Moses.

Fair, that's fair. Meekest man God knew,
some of his works
could be cut and paste, that's fine,
he wrote the rules in his day.

He can be the referee, the daysman in this game.

A mediator for fools who only ever knew lies.
A man who once was a speechless babe.

A referee who makes the rules? Jesus, can we cheat?

This is leaven? We loosed leaven? Jo-bob, we didit!
Jesus H. Christ! The bomb.

Once enacted the package never stops,
as long as there is that which can be leavened,
it shall be leavened.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like that.

===
No, life isn't fair. The good guys won the metagame,
quite a while ago.

But, if you ain't in the game, you wouldn't agree.
Time will tell. What the hell, wait and see.
Merry Christmas.
This could be a Christmas card, Hallmark, maybe.
AnxiousOcean May 7
Pain makes people wage a storm.
Most would release the beast in any form
without hesitation, without fear;
without minding the damage,
they wouldn't even mind the effect they manage.

As they release their storm,
they thought they could also release their pain;
but little do they know,
that they actually pass on the pain.
Instead of having it ended,
it continues to grow;
resurrecting, from one to another soul.

But mine is different--pain makes me silent.
There's this huge hole within my soul
which I couldn't even detect.
There's this heavy atmosphere
that prevents me from breathing.
I would like to wage a storm, but I couldn't.
I would like to release my pain, but I couldn't.
All that I could do is feel it.
Endure it.
Suffer from it.

Silence is all that I could offer the world;
not a storm, not a beast, or anything
that would cause some damage to others,
but silence that only brings damage to myself.

At least I wouldn't be able to hurt others;
the pain would just end within me.
Or so I thought it would end.
i couldn't use any rhyme this time. this is more like my raw thoughts without any drop of creativity. yeah well I just need to release something, sorry.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 7
for you, of you: you’ve been between my ears

close enough to being on my mind,
almost the same thing,
though that’s unfairly inequitable, we both agree,
for when in an ear one opines, too oft it escapes
out the other side, only a tree ring mark left,
someone was here, present

as for the Confucius confusion in

ok, who’s writing this poem to whom,

cause it’s never clear between us
who is
asking the questions,
since the answers come
demanded and undemanding,
fomenting newer questions and follow through,
before, as well as,
‘please sir, may I have some more?’

the mutualizing game tasking begin-began-begun,
for this, our lovely crazy teasing of our-thing, ago began,
don’t recall who or how intimated-initiated
this oil drilling exploration,
who is the annointer and who is the annointed,
who seeds the plants, picks the fruit, and who
gets paid with cloves of poems, by the bushel

you say I’ve been on your mind,
which we now have both pointed out
is somewhat extraordinary since,
the sight lines are drawn through
long distance cloudscapes that travel
through underground cables,
making everything said,
fallow and rich-ending, deeply frustrating,
impossible to see the outcome

clouds usually imaginary, (not like now),
making visibility normative poor,
unlike the real ones I’m flying at the moment through,
ensconced in front row seat 1F, heading northwest passage,
passing by so ridiculously close to where
you are minding the soil,
as I am
mining your soul’s soil, tilling it between the ears,
of you, by me, for us, and the excited sadness
makes me happy and yes, inequitably, again,
hopping-mad

because your breadcrumbs and dark Swiss chocolate bars are
scattered and defaced, bitten and chewed, lovingly licked melting,
we who cover our tracks too well;
but what I do have, makes me ravenous,
having read all your poems,
in random order and then one more time,
sequentially

I see your history, near escapes and resurrections,
in fine grained moody minutiae punctuated by huge gaps in between,
that we must cream fill with clouds of wondrous loving curiosity,
a torture so exquisite, only the gods could have invented it like
Sunday Night Football,
and crazy sayings,
like I love you too...

been on my mind and I imagine you
hot and sweaty,
bent over, aching tired, from
picking weeds (gotcha),
when sudden one of us stands up straight, back aching,
screaming out loud
this is crazy, and follows up with
a *** Darius type proclamation,
who’s writing this poem to whom
issued to the upwards-skywards,
but addressed to ourselves,
the poets

as we search clouds by the thousands,
is that you in that cloud, in that poem,
I look down thinking that, that must be,
the plot of green and dusted light brown ground
where she has gone into hidey-hole hiding,
disappearing for months at a time,
before arising for the sticking of me
in the sticking place,
wounding me fresh with brand new poems
scandalous and imaginous,
and our imaginations are both
too skilled

so here I close, overwritten, overridden, too long,
overshot my imaginary bounds, so one
pulls down the shade over the oval window
through which too many great stories have commenced,
and ended

the thick cumulus shouting
as we look up
as we look down,
saying “enough, you crazy people,
your poems tell too much,”

perhaps, find me in that
next bite of herbs buttered,
and then ask (of course)

who’s writing this poem to whom?

then breathe out, exhaling me a
breath-poem up above, to where I’m hiding
just as I, am sending one to you,
earth falling from thirty thousand feet,
coming to rest on your mind,
in between your ears,
friend

<>

8-6-19
somewhere in the sky, clueless, heading north by northwest
aviisevil Jun 2018
Gandalf: a character ( wizard) from the legend that is lord of the rings


he was walking past the useless lake on a breezy autumn day when the gust of wind brought with it the scent of a thousand abandoned garage bags littering the corner of this semi unorganised semi-civilised halli part of a mega city.

his home was about three thousand kilometres away and a dozen hundred dialects removed from where he chose to pursue his 'higher' education.

a term he took literally and to heart.

he was almost always high, if that's what you call being semi awake and always clawing somewhere deep, both mentally and sometimes even physically.


but as soon as the cacophony of a thousand different bad smells hit his soul, he knew the trip was over.

he jolted back to existence from an escalating thought process leading him to the discovery of a new and a better universe.

he took a deep breath and immediately regretted his decision, almost screaming in horror.

and while he was battling a lost battle trying to defeat an invisible and impossible to contain force of population and pollution,

his smoked eyes latched onto a figure emerging from the corner of his smoked eyes.

he suddenly realised where he was. and it wasn't where he thought he was about two seconds ago.

leaf-less and life-less trees stood where he could swear was just an empty slightly orange and red sky a few milli moments ago  

the lake had turned from blue to a shade of green or was it still blue ?
he wasn't interested at all, so he just gave up reasoning in mid-process..

what difference does it make ?

but suddenly his mellowed mind  realised the threat, and his attitude changed from i-don't-really-give-a-**** to oh-****.

there was something else there too, and he, like a ******* cat- turned around just in time to see what it was,

and the time stood still. he couldn't believe his eyes.

it was    gandalf.

**** it. he was sure. ******* gandalf.
with a ******* stick, his beard and that grey whatever. gandalf.

he took a deep breath again. it didn't hurt as bad as before. maybe it was growing on him. he took another breath just to make sure it wasn't. it wasn't.


and as gandalf started becoming bigger and bigger, he could see his mighty white beard dancing in the wind more clearly. he could sense his aura radiating a wonderful positive force that was almost impossible to describe with a naked eye and with an F  in communication skills.

gandalf was finally a stone throw away from the boy. he could throw a stone at him. he could but he wouldn't. no, he thought about it but no. it wouldn't make sense. it was too insane of an idea too. he wasn't yet ready to accept his true human nature that enjoyed the absurdity of violence.

though he was a hard-core stoner.  ah irony and puns.


instead he took the more scenic route and almost mumbled " gandalf?! what?!?! "


it took the old white man a second to register but he managed a sudden " gand elf, what?!? "

it wasn't awkward yet. but it was india. so it kinda' was.

the boy almost trained in apologising professionally and profoundly, mumbled " oh, no.. I'm sorry.. I just.. you know.. there's this .. dude.. people do cosplays now.. and I was a little high... ahem.. I mean I was thinking.. I mean I saw.. you.. I mean, I swear you're looking like a ******* gandalf.. I mean gandalf ?!?! "


another gust of wind and they both frowned.

gandalf responded " who .. what the **** is gand elf ?!?!"


the boy " he was supposed to be a dwarf like something.. but he become a wizard and tall, you know .. fought a dragon.. and rode giant birds.. ?!?! "


not gandalf " what the **** are you talking about, what is wrong with you, you're not making any ******* sense and I, I'm .. hey, you see.. just saying, I'm very good at making sense, that all "


the boy " so you like a ******* teacher or a .. scientist?!? "


not gandalf? "ummm.. well you can say that.. something like that "


the boy " what do you mean, for all I know you could be a perverted ******* who also happens to wander the woods doing weird cosplays and killing people. "

not gandalf " the ****, kid ?! jeez.. simmer down.. that TV is insane, you guys ******* love it.. **** man.. I should have stopped that from happening... " and on went the strange man


the boy " wo.. wo.. whoa.. wait, you're talking like you better than us. stopped it ?, you got money to do that ? but you don't look like someone who can pull that kind of strings... I can imagine you more like pulling strings on a broken hand down guitar on some shady corner of an immaculate subway."


strange man not gandalf " well, in a way I am .. I am everything and everyone" he whispered..    a satisfying smile almost breaking out


the boy " the ******* mean ******* ?!? "

this was too much for the old man who was just having a walk and minding his own business

he whispered more angrily his time " oh you punk, you little punk I'll tell you! I'm ******* god, you **** .. yeah, **** it.. I'm not even kidding.. I'm ******* god, yeah!... **** it *****!. "


he took his hand and pointed to the sky and the clouds parted.


the boy couldn't believe his eyes, and almost suddenly the clouds began to form a shape.

he couldn't make it out at first, all he could see was that the old man who claimed to be a god, drawing something in the air.

he looked up and finally realised what it was.

God was drawing a giant duck in the sky.

and as he was staring up in a mixture of disbelief and horror,  the old man spoke loudly " that's you.. you sick ****.. it's your little duck. "


old-man-now-god-went on "... I mean it looks like a big duck 'cause you couldn't see it otherwise.. but drawing to ratio... it's your little duck.. and the whole world can see it now.. and they know it's small.. and not as big as it appears because it had to be big enough for everybody to see.. "


the boy was now going insane. anybody would. people just don't turn up, part clouds and draw ducks in the sky.. that doesn't even happen in movies.



the boy went on- a little horrified of what he had just witnessed " what kind of a god are you, I mean... what in the god's name was that ? how did you do it. ?"


God responded with squinty eyes " which part of i-am-a-*******-God did you not understand.. you.. you stupid mortal. "

from the depths of darkness a flicker of light emerged in the boy's mind, and he realised something very important..


the boy " hey, you can't be god, god won't ******* curse! he's god. " screaming cautiously at the stranger...


God had heard petty arguments and had gone through all that phase of  people taking some time to turn around and warm up to the idea of the literal god in front of them, he'd been over that all his life.

but this was the single dumbest thing he had ever heard since he made the decision to create the universe in a hurry.

God thought to himself " I should have paid more attention. meh. "

one more thing- the boy went on " why are you a he ? not a she ? I mean if you're a god why be ... I mean an old man with a stupid beard. why not somebody hot, and cool... and with a nice body and a face... slightly better... or maybe much better..  you get the point, right ? I mean.. you're god, right ? "

God just stood there and soaked in his own filth.

the boy went on hysterically " oh my... did you hear my answer even before I said it ? did you ? I mean can you ?... and did you ? or was it you that gave the answer.. 'cuz if you made the universe.. you made me too, right ?. "


God was annoyed. like really annoyed at this point and he blurted out " you think I made you ? you think one fine day I woke up and I thought to myself.. oh! I've created this beautiful but empty place full of darkness and the cold, spectacle of fire dancing in nothingness- breathing life in ***** of all kinds circling around the stars and what not.. and you think I was like 'what am I missing ?'... oh yes, right! I'm missing one ungrateful ******* snake with a little duck. "


the boy stunned " God ?!.. No, **** no! "

god almost curios " why would you say that. why did you even speak , why! "


the boy " my duck .. you know.. ain't that ... small. "



God almost smirking " shut up, *****. "


the boy " oh, yeah.. right you... really know how to abuse your own species. jeez. "


God " I didn't make you ... I ******* dropped my dope in the ocean once and you ******* things came out of it. "

he went on " I thought you'd die on your own but nah.. life's too nasty.. **** and ... you know... it's.. admittedly... quite beautiful. "

time stood still as soon as he said that.

and it was a beautiful moment. both god and the boy trying not to turn red or cry.



" but the sad part is.. " God whispered with the love of a thousand cuddling pandas " you guys found me, I mean... oh my God! that brain thing really worked ... extraordinary! my subordinates tell me ... very expensive.. err... I mean to design... "


the boy " people work for you ? what ?! that's like.. you have a staff ?!.. weird. "


God " *****, i'm ******* god.. I don't have a staff.. I ******* make the staff. and no that's not even an iota of weird.. but you know what's weird ...truly weird, a fact so crazy that it'll blow your mind and give you enough wisdom to tear through the fabric of the world I've made and undiscover all its secrets, science and gossip?!  "


the boy was now as curious as a teenage boy in teenage, he replied " what?! tell me.. is it here on earth ?!"



God " yes, it is my child.. indeed it is! such joy!... and it is also right here where we stand. "


the boy's mind went into an overdrive.. maybe this was all his design.. the almighty has come to show him the path.. out of these woods he's lost in.... and also a path of divinity and happiness.. and also he had watched Bruce almighty a dozen times or so... he was ready.


almost in a poetic voice filled with a general sense of elation.. the boy asked god " tell me.. please what is it pleaseeee ? "


the god smiled, in a way only a father smiles to her new born daughter.. knowing she's going to be paid less, has to go through the cycle of being temporary insane every month ( or that's what female's had been telling him .. it doesn't matter.. you a guy.. you see a woman in pain.. you *******... that's 10 hours of her ******* the life out of you. and you still wouldn't be a good listener or attentive according to her even if you give up in the 9th hour.

the boys repeated desperately " what is it! I'd be a good boy but please tell me pleaseeee! "

and the god smiled. he smiled and pointed to him. " that there , that is it.. that **** ******* little duck of yours. "


and immediately burst into a laughter more grandeur than any sound in the world. I mean right after radiohead but whatever.


the boy saw his finger and tried to trace it's path. and almost in a moment.. it was over.


he had lost it- he screamed at the creator " you think you can make fun of me 'cuz you a big guy ? you think you can make fun of me because you're the most powerful thing there is and can literally turn me into 50 hands and no ducks... just living life in pure agony.. " he trailed off looking a bit distant towards the ending..

God " jeez. kid. you don't have to be so dark and imaginative unnecessarily.. see, okay I'm sorry... I hurt your little heart...which by the way I have made and do own the materials to.. and that's why you're alive... basically all of you and everything.. now to think of it.. it does make me a big guy... or more than that... but that's not the point. "

he went on " the point is i should've known better... because you know I made it all.  even the concept of being better..  booom! blows your mind ain't it.. chuck it.. and the point is.. I should've known better, so I'm  sorry!.. you can tell people I said sorry but they're not 'gonna believe someone like you "


the boy " **** do you mean someone like me?! " back in his form


god " oh you know... someone with a small...... ******* duck !"

and the god fell down laughing hysterically and immediately as soon he said the words..

rolling all over the soft grass and the boy's face.


the boy had enough- he screamed " **** like you can spend two minutes being a human... who's to tell you didn't have a small duck and then just made yourself one big enough " his voice trailing in the wind


god hadn't been spoken like this since the invention of languages.. oh how much he despised languages..a ******* constant annoying noise in his head specially the bengali.. **** them.

God spoke back " oh, so you think being a snake is better than being the almighty ?! "


the boy " I'm not a snake.. I'm a human.. what school did you got to ? "

God " you can be a ******* rock for all I care ... just be nothing.. you know.. instead of being everything.. the idea of it... it's is rather.. you know... so beautiful. "


and at that moment the boy realised that even god wasn't immune to something that he didn't know.


the god " I'll do you a deal, you be two seconds in my place and I'll be two seconds in your place... and then we'll know.. I'll know the fear of being nothing and you can know the escatsy of being everything. deal dawg ?"


the boy " but.. like two seconds .. awful less of a time to enjoy any kind of escatsy "

God " running late, mate. "


the boy " okay okay.. let's do it "



God smiled a bit and immediately a giant light came down from the sky roaring with a thousand thunderstorms...

wind was growing stronger by the second and it was almost impossible to hear anything... or analyse anything for that matter...

God screamed at the boy " it's going to go in your *** and out of your mouth.. and your soul will be passed to mine.. "

the boy screamed back in oh-my-god-that-face horror barely making any coherent sense.


God rolling on the floor laughing
" jeez. I'm kidding you punk.... that face tho.. so woke.. so woke..."

it took some time but he picked himself back up and screamed at the boy " it's going to happen... three..two.. one.. " and boom


the boy felt what can only be described as the best ****** anybody has ever had.


the god felt like what can only be described as the hardest kick to the nuts in the history of universe.

two seconds after... bam! everything stood still.. like nothing had happened.


both stared at each other for a while..
God went first " so, ... ?! "


the boy " yeah. "


God " pretty tense...yeah.. *******.. I mean.. God!.. you guys are awful to be.. it *****.. I gotta' change that thing... you know... about people taking their own life... and going to hell... I get it... I mean..  yeah.. you know... like whatever."

God went on " how was yours. "

the boy " yea.. pretty chill.. ... "

God " that it, boy ?! "

the boy " yeah. .. mostly "


God " hmm.. woke.. woke... so were you clever enough to do something for yourself ? "

the boy " oh..yeah..pretty much.. nice cars and girls.. stuff.. " his voice cracking with a very refined i-don't-give-a-**** attitude


the wind was still now. butterflies were flying between the blooming flowers and singing AC/DC for some reason. it was pleasant.


god snapped his finger once and said " so.. yeah i should go now... apparently somebody's supposed to take a picture of me in the sky.. gotta flex up.. chow~ "


God snapped his finger a second time and lo behold!  like that he was gone ****!...


the boy stood still for a moment longer. he smiled and walked away.




(4 days later...)



god was in the alps...looking out of the large window wondering how dreadful it is to be human..  

and as he was crawling in and out of different dimensions he smelt something. something interesting.


it was alcohol. ( he's god so it's very easy for him to figure out such little things.)

so he went over the fancy bar and poured himself some *****.. " ah potatoes.. at least they turned out to be just right.." he thought out loud.

and then he proceeded to drink himself to death.. countless times. 'cuz he could do that. he was god.


over and over again. glass being neither full or half or even ******* empty.

drink after drink. and soon late enough he went into a deep slumber because of course god loves a good sleep. who doesn't ?


he slept through the entire life span of many insects and until the breaking dawn.

the first rays of the sun hit the mighty alps as well as the face of this almighty being on a white bed in a red hotel by a blue lake who had forgotten you do your own curtains in the human world.

his first thought was to destroy the sun- it took a lot to not lift his finger.

slowly but surely he regained his infinitum consciousness, and got in touch with the multi dimensional universes sprawling all over every  second in past and future simultaneously... but **** that 'cuz the head ache oh! so painful.. almost made him forgot he could just not want it and it won't happen.

God did not enjoy most human banalities.. but he did enjoy a rather a peculiar one...even more than drinking and kissing death. the one of peeing.

and he had to ***. bad.


God, with a hint of a smile lifted his finger and boom he was right by- where the deed is done in a civilised community. he imagined what would people think if they came to know why he's always more often than not a 'he' than a 'she'.

he was in his stark boxers, standing almost naked with a smile on his face enjoying the rush.

pink floyd started playing out of the thin air. an autumn's calm spread through the veins of this sudden universe. I kid you not, shahrukh khan was there with his arms wide open.

slowly the god began the almost holy ritual.

pull down the garment. admire. take it out. admire. do the deed, keep admiring. put it back. sigh. very well organised and neat.

so god took a deep breath, looked at the alps one more time, looked down with a smile on his face, and slowly pulled down the garment... his consciousness in a rush.

and then god screamed. there was a duck.
I don't think it's your average run of the mill tale. there should be more than what's meeting the eye usually.
JK Casilda Mar 7
I know of the nights you were afraid of the moon.
You’ve told me how when you were a child you run from it because it was chasing you.
But you’ve grown to learn that being afraid of the moon is like being afraid of your own shadow.
I know of the nights that it still haunts you, though.
I know of the nights when you prefer to stay under a roof than to go outside and see the wide, night sky
Because you see, I know of the nights that you despised the moon for being too proud
Outshining the numerous stars that are giving all they got, even their life, just to catch our attention.
You said that one day she’ll come and get you.
That the tin roof above you would no longer be enough to hide you from her piercing eyes and one day she’ll finally come and get you.
That one day, she’ll outshine you too.

I remember that night when you told me you couldn’t answer my call because
You were too busy silencing the craters of the moon crashing in your room.
And I believed you.
I believed you for you always liked the darkness of your room. You always liked the clutter of your ***** laundry overflowing its basket, the crumpled papers of what you call “trash poetry”
mixing up with wrappers of chocolates and coffee powder and your ***** laundry and ---
You always liked to curl up in your tiny bed, not minding its untidiness
because you never had the strength to fix it this morning.
I always wanted to tell you that
I should be the one to say sorry for not being there for you.
I’m sorry that the only thing I could give you is a call.
I’m sorry I couldn’t even open your windows and tell you that the moon is already gone, and the sun is already shining bright and the world is waiting for you.
You, little son of the sun, should not stay in the dark.
I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out of the dark.
But I wish I could tell you that you were made to outshine the moon and everything else.
You were made to turn night to day.

I have too many wishes, too many words I wish I could tell you
Like how it is not your fault
It was never your fault and never going to be your fault
That we are but a speck of dust, a mere human that destiny is not something we can overpower
Well, we might move it a little if we struggle a bit harder
But some circumstances can just happen out of nowhere.
I wish I was more talkative so I could’ve silenced the whispers
I wish my voice was enough to silence the whispers
I could’ve screamed to the top of my lungs or even higher
Just to save you from falling too deep and drowning under your covers.

But we are nothing but a moon apart, never meant for each other right from the start
Yet with this time I got I hope you’d let me stay and fight
To become stronger, to become better, not only to save myself but to save you from this dark night
For you, my mighty knight, is worth saving too.
No, you are not merely worth saving but worth loving, worth keeping, worthy of everything that this night is hiding
And you deserve that.
So with this time I got I hope you’d keep me inside your heart so you will float
And I could dive under your covers to save you
Or I could climb to your roof to cover you
Keep the craters of the moon from hitting you.
And not let the moon overshadow you until you learn to put her brightness to shame.
It's been a while! Since I'm a sucker for the moon, I made another one with it but this time, it's the antagonist of someone's life. This was inspired by Satellite II; I wanted to make a longer version of it but I ended up making  a different one.
The title is new, when I performed this as spoken poetry it didn't have a title yet. It's a play word of the Japanese word for help (tasukete) and moon (tsuki) which is what the poem is mostly about.

I tried to pour my heart out into it, talking about trying to save someone, when that someone is yourself.
Sunshine and a Dixie Chick
Do not go hand in hand
Street walker, red lipped talker
Castles made of sand

How to show a dozen lives
When head counts only ten
Know what it is beforehand
Determined, let’s begin

Awake and sober now
Not ready for a cure
An almost famous person
Knocking at my door

“Hi, how are you doing?”
You’ve got to stay prepared
This is my last and only night of nights
Has me spooked, tired, and scared

It’s not for you or me to say
At what goes on in life
I leave the drama all up to you
Cut you with a knife

Not to make light of life
And I want to end it soon
Busy busy light to light
About to come unglued

Minding my own life to live,
You’ve got me misconstrued
I want to speak, take, and talk
And give only happy news

But sometimes I could just scream out-loud
Stuff to carry on
This Mother Nature after hearing the alarm.
He swallowed the night, all black
and came back all blue
I lost my face, he said, my faith
I lost down in a hole
and it’s all your fault

It’s your fault I lost my teeth
now I’m falling out of you
and who will be there to help me find
the laws I lost in the diamond skies

At last it’s never enough let going
At first it’s all instinct not really minding
but to prolong longing and to protect
tenderly, the soft yolk of his soul

When a mother quits
she hangs the umbilical cord
over the door
which is left open

Outside the sky falls
into streets of black ice
he runs backward through the dark
where signs of hope are not all
that feel lovingly gone
and hurtingly small
ATILA Mar 5
Here is a poor cat
Striped, sweet and shy
Minding its own world
But somehow feel grateful
For the touch of me
Who is passing by.

With saint hazel eyes
This cat artlessly purrs
To provoke a symbiosis between us
Surpisingly soothes my blue whale heart.

It also seeks for a comfy gesture
That will fit just right
It is that simple and pure
And makes heart feel light.

What a purrfection cat!
That prides itself for having fur like velvet
But never acts like a brat
Leading me to give it a soft peck
Because we have a same wavelength
Plus wanting another species to cherish our rant
That sadly never ends.


There's a saying;
'Humans who think cats don't understand them are the stupidest ones'
So imma get all lovey dovey with this cat
See if you care.
Weird poem but OK :(
Oli Jan 26
I saw you, a bright, brittle, wood-carved room. Down the stairs, the lowest floor. That old library. Yellow chairs, steel shelves.
Summer heat, numb and vague. Young and ***. Dozens of steps away.
Stickers on paperback books, wildlife, Japanese words.
I was sweating, smudged, my face was ready, ready for the transformation to come.
But I sat and closed my eyes, in the company of one green telephone, and I fell asleep, love forgive me.
The lonely things that fell upon me then, that cut my head, I can't embrace them anymore.
I whisper to myself, as they walk right in, placing things here and there, brand new things, comfortable things, minding me calmly.
I didn't need to speak a word.
I ask myself, "how long?", dirt already adding onto my skin, as I climb into my brand new bed.
Marizariam Jan 16
Did you ever hear that?
The loud sound of your beating heart
Racing like an Olympic race inside your chest.
Crazy.
Crazy are the nights you try to hold up all the tears,
Talking to yourself to stay,
Don't move,
Don't move cause even just another flex of muscle will choke the **** out of your throat and no one's there.
Where are they?
Do they know?
Did they ever hear it?
Or they are just busy inside their towers
Making money so they can make their dreams come true,
something you are not doing.

Nostalgia is a liar.
Repeat, 'till it marked itself into your forehead.
Always bring a mirror for a reminder.
Sometimes mind flies its own flight not minding its pilot.
Hanged body,
shattered wrist,
What else to not think about?

Imagining the unimaginable bliss and nothingness of losing the consciousness.
Xaela San Jul 2018
I see pain in the child's eyes
Screaming silently with his mind
As he close his mouth containing his sorrow;

In his back, he carries his dead brother
Traveling miles from the danger of men and guns
Running away with little energy for the sake of safety

Looking at him
A river of sorrow flows in him;

With a gentle kiss of goodbye, a lifeless body descended
To the soil resting from the agonizing war

Through so much sorrow overwhelming his soul
This child's legs collapsed and touched the ground
Where river of tears never fell
But only blood from his lips dripped down

He bit his tongue to ease the unbearable pain within
As he stare blankly to the soil not minding the taste of blood
For he knew, his brother's body is now one with the Earth;

Then with little determination
He left, in his head held up
And with the sorrow of lost in his heart.
SM Jun 2
Little boy, I wish you could learn
What you’ve done wrong,
But I am afraid no one will ever put you in place
Well into your adulthood.
Little boy, I hope you learn.

Where are your parents now?
Letting you sit at a park
To torment me, someone twice your age.
You stand here now to harass two girls
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Your voice echoes with me, permanently.
While you have the freedom,
To move along with your life and forget.
Your comments about us are disgusting.
They surround my skin like the sticky summer air
And leave me feeling gross.

Do you ever think of your mother when you say these things?
Maybe your sister?
A friend?
How could you treat a girl like this
How could you not think of them getting treated in this way?
I guess you’re just a little boy and don’t realize.

You must have learned this behavior from someone in your life
Maybe your father?
A brother?
A friend?
How could you have never been thought better
Has no one put you in place?
Told you this isn’t okay?

Little boy, I hope you realize it is it okay to tell people to make out
That it’s not okay to sexualized women
Minding their own business.
That it isn’t okay to torment any stranger,
or any person in your life for that matter.
Little boy, I hope your learn before it’s too late.
We love being a lesbian and being hyper-sexualized by CHILDREN! It’s absolutely disgusting and I will never forget this experience I had at the park. Teach your children to respect women. anyways, happy pride month! my *** self is looking forward to celebrating and honoring the struggles of LGBT individuals who have fought the many years before me. I love each and every one of you reading this. Have a good day!
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Forwards and fore words are cult if ations, (cultureshapen)
words we would find mean more

than their idle kin dread, (a play)
if we had been reared
starting now

A push from behind,
God put padding for a reason,
Mrs. Marshall said. Second grade.

A word, to the wise, is enough.
Acculturation.

That's the clue that leads to leaven,
and a little leaven...
you know, or say you do, of course,
we've known yeast
resurrects in our bread, for eons and ages,
Good Lord.

We know how things work.

If we be honest,
some,
a little bit, we know how things work.
Sayin' hon, I ain't sure I know what honest was.

To tell the truth, I don't suppose anybody knows,
wit'out attention's terrible price,

secret price, only the paid and payer know it, ever.
Sacred makin', sacrifice,

that's a one time deal, for real.

A mortal man can't know until he dies if he unbelieved all his
lies, but his try's are said to give him some -umph,

----
What manner of men are we that it is given unto us

to be? That is an answer worth paying attention to chase, per
haps. Not, to be or not to be, what choice, before now? You know?

Remember, we asked. Together, we agreed,
that greed will draw us to the treasure,

do you mind my taking greed from agreed and making it work.

it does work. it is an essential elemental,
desire is another word they use, but that gives it more
purpose than greed, and calls for more minding of the process.

Once a reifying action has begun we must maintain our equilibrium,
or
find ourselves falling, once more, into dis-traction
on life's slipper *****.

Slipper-iness has meaning.
Ask any little princess planning to grease her foot with KY.
It can be good or bad, not good or evil.

Squeeks from the audience, sometimes signal gasps,
as agap is crossed, like a spark,
mnemonical daemonic algorythms, those ain't bad you understand?

The Intelligence in Re-al, 's'no accidental instance of order over chaos that just cain't quit,
that ain't it.
Geeks as you know geeks,
Gates, Jobs, 'nem, A. I. Imagineers,
did not write this algorithm of life, as it turns out,

The Idea of God seems not to have needed help
designing a safeground,
where kids can play.

Sam Harris axed me, vicar-iously, Do you believe in literal
re-sur-rection of some formerly
living thing/ any?

Yes, yeast, I do. It seems dead, only our knowing it's not
and proving other wise de-ifs the possibility it's dead, now alive.

It's like that cat box, Schrödinger has.
Anything is possible, God knows, Jesus even said so,
wit' God, all o'this is possible,
save lying and dying and failing to be good for me.

Living, it seems, is the deed we do
to prove living forever is worthy of trying,
happily ever after, starting now,
if you wish to stay mortal and never know,

you can't.
You know you die, so you die.
Forever,
that goes on.

It's hell to try that with no triumph in sight.
Alone, especially.
I heard the phrase Jesus Bomb during the JBP/Sam Harris talk on youtube. I thought it might be fun to make one. If you notice, the poems posted here, byme, time as proven flow together onward.
Ken Pepiton Jul 24
incredible
literally
virtually
true

if you can gnow

rants from reason
which, btw
once renamed notre dame,
to feed a blood-lusting mob,

to keep it from coming to reason;

if you can gnow all that good and evil can be,
then way past kipling, or shakenspears
du kennst find

a satisfied credible literal
peace during
virtual musings
keeping time with chaos in
sweet suasion so sweet almost too
sweet to be
credible,

but not. That's the key. Knowing
true.
A high flow period. This seems...
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