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gleck Nov 2016
“We could be gods amongst mortals"*

“Why be a god when the earth gave me you?”

His slight whisper
Another’s warmth on my hand
Body sculpted like those of gods
Engraved into my own
He is very humane; -

He is gravity;
Retain me against ascending
Pummel my sins

He is water;
Take away my thirst
Drown me when greed takes over

And I am grounded,
I am thirsty,
Lain earthbound onto the ground at his side
Heart aflame far away from Mount Olympus
I am still only  *
human.
Kimberley Jan 2018
4"2 with the voice of an angel
he couldn't be more than ten
the only thing he ever stole was the hearts of those around him

a week later,
his body drains of blood
a mother's cry echoes around the town
her innocent baby
why'd they **** her innocent baby?
he was only nine.

a mother's cry echoes around the world
her baby's gone
blood drains from his body
one shot to the head
several to the torso
why'd they **** her baby?
he was only coming from school.

a shaken up officer stands to the left
Caucasian and worried
a grieving community to the right
African-American and terrified

straight A's and a bright future at seventeen
a future no-one could foresee
both labeled thugs
at 9 and 17

why?
because of the skin they keep.
Andrew Jun 2017
I peruse exhibits through the modern art museum
Nails hammered into wood
And trash strewn on the floor
I couldn't help thinking
What the **** is this ****?
These can't be the champions of modern art
Moonlight and Arrival morphed my empathy and perspective
The theater is fine
Music is there for those inclined to discover it
So what about visual art?
I know a few things for certain
Nails hammered into wood never changed my perspective
Nor does seeing a garbage can in a museum affect my empathy
Trash is not art
Trash is trash
Waste meant to be thrown in the proper receptacles
So as not to obstruct our view of true beauty

I will concede that
Beauty can be found in everything
Depending on analyzation variation
But those that live an examined life
Constantly see silver linings and sour grapes
Experiencing comfort in tundras to the point of banality
Those visions are much more interesting
in their organic state anyway
As opposed to an interpersonal expression of the seemingly obvious

So what to hang in an art gallery?
I have my own opinions
At this point in time
No visuals elicit more emotions
Than dank memes

When I'm consuming art
Questions are innate in my consumption
Is this a vessel for empathy?
Is this examining the human condition?
Dank memes meet those criteria
Satirizing the powerful
Highlighting emotions and virtues in ourselves
That we're either proud or ashamed of
Memes share a common thread with poetry
In the sense that everybody can create memes
Or be a poet
I get the impression that
Universality of art diminishes it's importance
In the minds of patrons
There's an element of truth to that
But what makes art special is quality
And what makes art truly special is high quality
And that's what belongs in museums
L Aug 2018
This life we're living, this place we're at, this thing we're feeling. Its amazingly surreal. Like a waking dream that is our reality. Almost too good to be true. And while every rose has gotta have its thorns, even our thorns are, oh, so sweet. Maybe they remind us of how frail we are. How quick a ***** could draw blood. And even the blood is sweet. In a way. In a dark twisted beautifully morbid way.
                                   Our way.
Email is the most intimate form of communication. It is also the most frustrating. The proof is in the persistence.
Tanay Sengupta Jul 2018
I wish I would have been a nomad,
I would have travelled to the places no one had.
I wish I was a voracious reader,
Books would have helped me to forget her.
If life would not have been such a mystery,
It would have been easy to forget my history.
I wish I was another wanderlust
In a world which seems to forget so fast.
I never wanted to be like me.
I wish I was not me!








Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.
Another simple poem from this small and simple person. I hope you enjoy reading it. Cheers!
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
cliche. click
I'm lost without you

you glanced my way and said,
"how do you know?"

I don't.
I won't.
I can't.

You glance away and say,
"maybe so."

Life's the test.
----
stand alone or be rejected
objected
the subject of the action word
conjecturing the meaning

Hector's pride brought the mass.
Was that made sacred? Yechhh.

Higgs's made real,  massive change
end of the world
as we knew it, 2012, mass means more than x-mas

The message in the messenger from Greece's God,
"Hold fast, hold on, Hector, be
hold-- what a drag"

Achilles, shoulda had anger management.

Suppose, Achilles's momma had trusted
whatever the protection was to be,
divine, that kind o' dad,
it warn't gonna let 'im drown.

She coulda just tossed 'im in,
sink or swim, knowing, in her inner parts,
the protector's promise,
memorized, since the red tent.

Pandora's last hope trumps fire,
and flood,

Wee Achilles woulda squirmed, and swam,
invincible, every inch soaked,

it could been, but, you know,
Achilles's momma could not let go.

And the rest is mythtery.

---
the sign said follow the money,

but money is invisible, so I played like
I could see what other folk
saw.

Lot o'them took time to tell me,
"Only believe", or "trust, and obey".
Streets of gold,
we'll slide back
down on silk stockings
hung on spider thread

above the flames

that boil the kettle in the center of
the whole round world,

nobody in our family ever once
believed the world is flat,

nor that Jesus once was blue and had four arms,

stop me.
I was wrong, I, myself, can imagine
Jesus dressed as Rama,
who was blue and had four busy arms, in truth.

hallowed ev'ening of the light,
settling sun, lead in the night, when all
see monsters, every where,

no one will notice me. Watch and see.

OH OH, ****** me by my pigtail, lift me to the third
floor, two stories past tellestial,
kingdom come,
which the mormon at my door testified
the angelic ***** had told Brigham 'n'em,

in the spirit, he agreed, not face to face.

tellestial is as close to hell as a Mormon man can go,
and,
he said, "If you could see it, you'd die to go.
It's so much better than this."

Joe Smith, said that, according to his agent.

I pondered,
chewed a cud, as I could recall, holy cows do.

I leaned back, put one boot to rest,
on the bricks behind my knee,

A modified Crane pose, I suppose.
I folded my arms and stared that boy
right in the eye.

I said, "Wanna try?"
"We gotta bridge up the road a piece,
sure as haell,
we'll see if it's a lie, at least."

Then I repented.
That hell imagined by Joe and all them zionic-messengers,
they was guesses, at the best. But the feelers at my door,
they was bein' tempted
to put their own faith to the test.

I grow bolder. The experiment worked.
I know.
Same ol' story...

-She said it tasted,
okeh,
first time that word was ever heard or tasted.

Cool,
****, cold, evil, winter, summer, sweat, mosquitos, evil cold,
I'm sorry!

How do you know?
What's blame?
Oh, that, and shame, I know that,

epi genetically be guile-ish. gullibility
gone in one bite.

Taste and see, he saw her say, or thought
he did

Like a switch, with more capacitance,
than the cells of knowing can resist,
in the first few months of being matter in time.

Knock a fella in the head
with knowing all the hows of evil,
along with all the why of not,

the most beautiful woman in the world,
no contest,
naked, and he knows.

Thinkin' straight ain't in the plan.
Precedent set forever,
no plan survives first sight of a naked woman after learning what naked means,

according to the tutor in blame,
who sat glumly on Adam's shoulder
explaining as the jist
of the story unrolls, "naked is evil,
you are naked", no word, just
thinkin'

good luck if yer helpin' him stand,
Wham

spoken words heard and
obey essence initial instantiation
revere
lionize,

oops, Idols. The idea of idols. Don't imagine anything like that.

Gabriel came with that very message all over his face.

Knowin' evil and doin' it, not the same.
Learn to drive and do the math,

Then we talk about artifice beyond the ken of mortal minds,
not worry,
it is written, We have the mind of Christ,

but as an augmentation really,
we can fact check,
but, honest,
a heretic has to use any augmentations right,
or the being powers will

objectify his reason for being, and reject him, for

the sin of defining the happiness he ensues.

You with me?
----
This was to be my comment,
but it called out for search engine priority of purpose

Nothin', I was thinkin' --
we never get trick or treaters,
tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,
then I un cussed my thoughts
with my inner self and we agreed.
He who would catch fish,
must venture his bait.
Net criticism's needed, if anything is to get better than this.
Wise ones say, it ain't easy,
but true rest,
I can testify, it's found along the way.

Hallowed be your even-ing, level up,

trick or treat?
not on that old man's hill,
somethin' weird, too peaceful there.
Nothin', I was thinkin' -- we never get trick or treaters, tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,then I un cussed my thoughts with my inner self and we agreed. He who would catch fish, must venture his bait. Net criticism needed, if anything is to get better than this.
Bryce Aug 2018
A normal kind of guy
Just the guy
No cosmologist
Sans Christian
******* the droplet suns
Distant in the blackened sky

Gotta 'and'er some
The bristled gristle
The cryogenic iris
Steel teeth gnashing
Right-toe left
Ardent in an autobiography

Good man
Soft man

Locomoted his GMC
to the Sea
Thought maybe
With precise aim he
could undertow away
paradise.

No pick-me-ups
In copper-channels
That Ionized the pick-up-truck
With archaea iron
that **** duck
Reminiscent of the man
In all but--

A castaway
Stowaway
The man who never hesitates
Bop upon the interstate
Lost within
concritical maze

Shoring up
Going home
Giving up
Turned to stone
Marble chin
Solumn grin
Chlidren sing
Seeking wings
How'd he know
Where to go
Will he see
What it means?

He's the guy
The one with the lollipop lap
Licking the syrup off the lip
Of a sweet polished sapphire
Gin
And the kids
My god
They think he
ODYSSEUS
And his dog not yet
Dead but depressive in the gloom
Howling into the midnight grass
And the creatures that stalk
With their ******* youth

Soon their weight will hit the deck
And like a noose,
Break the joints
The planks of which would stress
And bend his eyes upon his head.

God willing
Should he be exhumed
His energies excape to the river
And float,
Penultimate,
into the sea.
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Yes, it's seemingly a nonsensical rhetorical question, but, for that precise reason, it will illustrate a lesson, if you so desire to tag along for this short session.

Per Wikipedia, "The horse (Equus ferus caballus) is one of two extant subspecies of Equus ferus. It is an odd-toed ungulate mammal belonging to the taxonomic family Equidae." Hmmm... I much prefer that the horse goes "Nay," eats hay, has a mane, and is ridden by cowboys, cowgirls, Indians, equestrians, knights, jockeys, conquistadors, Mongols, and all. Even better, just point a horse out or otherwise show a picture to a kid and they will never be mistaken again. Even the littlest ones will never be stumped when faced with a rhino, tiger, giraffe, camel, and such.

Admittedly, there is a worry that we could be fooled with that of a donkey or mule. How come no one has taken advantage of this?! What a scam to get us rich! "Duh doy," you say, cause we all know when we see a horse, so why would anyone try to trick us with an ***?! Well I ask you in turn, why does anyone try to trick us with good art versus bad, let alone art versus crap? How could anyone fall for that?!
am i ee Aug 2015
the bane of my existence
here
now
is
all of the incessant
noise.  

the city encroaches
ever outward,
gobbling up
the suburbs
like the great big
Blob

contributing
layer
after
layer
of noise.  

a new metro line
opened last year
disheartened
the morning

realized
it was the trains
i heard
as my puppy
and i
walked so early.  

trash trucks,
back up beeping noises,
leaf blowers,
mowers
and trimmers ...
all
conspiring
to drive me
mad.

the birds and owls,
snakes and deer,
hawks and rabbits
toads
and trees
and flowers,
puppies
all other creatures
divine,
tempering
this man-made chaos
this man-made
hell

keeping me hopeful
that
i
will
have some
respite
  

some respite
from this
hideous cacophony,
this man-made hell,
in the future,
not
too distant.

of course
there are
some benefits
from all
the city life

but i prefer
the silence
the solitude
of nature.


the Taoist recluses
who speak to me,
whose poems
paintings
writings
and silence
are balm
to my soul.  

some day soon,
i too
shall join
the recluses
far away
far far away
in the mountains.

but for now,
i am
only a modern day
taoist
recluse
stuck in suburbia,
doing my best,
living in this
noisy hell.
gleck Feb 5
In the world of man
any woman could be it
and though it was you who was enchanted
blame it on her;
her wits, her charm, her garment.
Make a bonfire, we're branching out  
truth hidden by the sound of chants
joined in a primal dance, inner circle only
she’ll be the one burned alive.
A bit of controversy never hurt anybody.
Witch trials seem to be a kept up tradition.
Edward Coles Feb 2017
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
C
alecia Sep 2018
love is seen in sunlight
golden rays beam and shimmer,
a true sign of tenderness.
love is felt in the wind,
its whispers mellow,
surrounding me and the oak trees.

clarity of love,
to be utterly engulfed
by crystalized tears of joy,
when strong arms wrap my waist.

thoughts consume,
it is simply you.
thoughts of complexity,
a piece of art you are,
as lovely as works of
Picasso and Van Gogh

the love that i possess -
a painting of kaleidoscope hearts,
worth its weight in gold.
elaine Aug 2018
and suddenly, all the poems i made were about you. all the thoughts that went through my young distressed mind, were about you.
you occupied my daydreams and while i slept you followed me into my dream world.
i want to stay up past midnight telling stories and sharing our thoughts about modern events. we can sleep till noon, with each other in our arms.
we could be the modern  romeo and juliet,
but sadly, you wanted all that in her instead.
i'll be waiting till one day i can do all these lovely things with my love, i love you whoever you will be
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
It wasn’t a date,
We were just hanging out.
Texting a bit, but taking it easy
As nobody wants to come across needy.
I left the phone ringing
To keep you in doubt.
It wasn’t a date,
We were just hanging out.

Be cool
Or I’ll break you.
I mean it.
If you go soft on me,
I’ll smash open your stupid little
Mix cassette
And strangle you with the tape.
I’ll set fire to your unopened love letter
And won’t even try
To read the smoke.

We were better than that.
I was blank
And you were blank
And together
We filled each other’s blanks
With what we wanted to see.
I invented you
And you invented me.

I was a bit of a **** to you
Because I knew it was a turn-on,
I was also a good listener
Because I knew
That was also
A turn-on.
I stared deep into your eyes
Like the internet says you should
And eight hours later
You were still wide awake,
Numb between the sheets
In dry sweat
As the morning sun stared
With disapproval
Through my window.

We were always told about how good we looked together
By people who are always saying real beauty
Is on the inside.

They were right about the first thing
Because in not too long
You stopped being
The you in my head.
It happened at that party
When you wanted to to go home early
And I didn’t;
When your madness I felt attracted to
Became the madness that wore me out;
When I caught you watching a programme
About celebrities cooking things
And enjoying it.

I can tell you feel the same.
Yes, you do.
Are you calling me paranoid?
I could swear you just did.
Anyway, don’t think I haven’t seen you with him
You’re giving him the look you used to give me
Before you turned off the lights.
No,
Not him…
Him –
With his muddy footprints round the back door
And him –
Hiding in the closet when I’ve come home early
And him -
Living in the walls behind my favourite poster.

How can you be so selfish?
Has it not occurred to you
That there are other people
Who are selfish too?
Like...
ME
For example?
Why are you thinking about yourself
When you should be thinking about me?
Is it because I’m just as far
From what I said I’d achieve
As I was when we met?
Because, if I am
That’s all your fault.

And here we are again
Tip-toeing barefoot
On a field of broken glass
Trying to salvage what we once had -
What we think
We once had.

We look happy in these pictures,
Happier than we are now,
Happier than we were
When they were taken.

Nostalgia is easy
If it’s for a time
That never existed.
Now that you’re gone
I can make you again
All inside my head.

Because there are no pictures of the time
You chose to break your nineteenth glass
Against my face

Or the time our television froze
And my whispers into your ear
Were as useless as spits of rain
On dry grass
As I pressed desperately
On the on-button
Of a remote control with dead batteries.

And I’m almost sure there are no pictures
Of the time you were having doubts
But chose to hide them
In someone else’s bed.

I don’t want you –
Just the you
That I’ve made in my head.

I know you feel the same.
You’ve been lonely
For days now.
So here we are again.
Staying late in the nearest bar
Sipping along to the serenade
Of a performer we both remember
From the last time -
Average on the guitar
But adept
On the belligeridoo.
He didn’t write those songs
But he plays them like he did.
Thank God
He’s given us something
To talk about.

I’m already lying again
Just to hold conversation -
Lying about where I’ve been since we last spoke.
You can’t know
That I’m still digesting
Pieces of my own pillow.
You tell me that’s what you’re still doing
And I know that’s half a lie.
Just don’t tell me
Whose pillow.

Never mind,
It was a bad idea.
This isn’t going to work
Because I know you too well.
If I want to dream,
Then you are nothing
But a splash of cold water.
Besides,
I’ve met someone new -
Someone I know
Absolutely nothing about.
It’s not a date,
We’re just hanging out.
am i ee Sep 2015
little spotted fawn
lying so still on the grass strip
separating street from sidewalk.

no blood
no bones askew
oh my, what happened to you?
sleep in peace sweet free little friend. may your short life have been a wonderful one.
Mia Wallace Sep 2017
I'm weathered and weary from shapes of greed
Their colors mislead me
I am naive
But I know eyes that taste
Without seeing
Now you know me, don't you?
But you are just waiting.

I am tired of this misinterpreted concept
I am tired of our tangled body's, this act between two that is only about you.
I'm tired of not being able to dance freely in fear of needy hands and sharp teeth
Pressuring possessiveness
Climb into your soul and off of my body
See that I am a creature of interrupted freedom
I will not answer to your hollow eyes
Your misconstrued ideas of love constructed by a society that forgot to feel
That forgot to see
That forgot that you are you and I am me

I will not answer to your hollow eyes
You are not welcome here.
Marble skin,
Sculpted clutch,

Solid and tender,
To the touch.

Depth of character,
Length of reason,

A modern day Greek,
In exactly his season.
Adonis says "hi".

*If I had matched lengths of acts, I'm sure it would seem better but, haven't put enough thought into it*

Edit ******** put enough thought into it*
Eloisa Aug 7
What is more atrocious than any bombs nowadays
are the insults and hatred we hurled at each other as humans!
~Reading a discussion thread on a news about remembering the Hiroshima & Nagasaki Bombings.
The scars and sorrows of what happened are still there though invisible. Hoping that nothing of such atrocity will happen today and on the days to come. The indiscriminate targeting of civilians on a warfare is always destructive and demonic.
wolflet Dec 2018
If I had a friend with an earnest heart,
They would only desire for redemption;
Redemption from sins they hath never committed.
They would dream of touching heaven.
I would never wish on them the tears and pains
from the world of sighs in which we have grown.

Yet year to year they would face most disastrous chances,
The innocent will still be challenged by another insolent foe,
riddled with the dangers of a double edged tongue.
Tis the world we hath created.
Where the pure of heart are still question’d,
After the greedy invades their lives and corrupts.
Leaving their heart as if it were charcoal.

They will say ‘Twas strange’, ‘T’was pitiful’,
Their prayers will be said but not understood,
For they are said to often.
This deadly breach of sincerity,
Will let forth a purifying flood.
and I don’t expect many survivors.
Picking up a camera, does not
Make you a photographer, my friend
Typing away makes you no writer
Buying quality painting supplies
Does not mean you can claim
Being an exquisite painter of art
No my friend, you must crawl first
You must cry, and ache, and suffer
Before you can begin understanding
The task required to say you have
Crossed the line from rodent to artist
It is a struggle before the gravy
People can do it for years
Yet be so far away from true art
Someone can pick up a pencil
And immediately soak into it
Becoming the artist comes from
Your guts, your sleep, your lust for life
Not what you can tell someone
In conversation, or show via the internet
It comes from far more
Many people achieve it,
The few who have may not even know it
****, I know a homeless man who
Cleans windows in a parking lot
Who doesn't accept money without working
Who is more of an artist
Than half the population trying to create
Just don't 'em like they used to
Everyone cares too much, nobody just lives it
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