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Steven Oct 2018
What I visioned was warmed steel winds
brilliant soft glow
crystal Autumn light at the center of the heart
the rush of slow rains pulled away from its quartz source
to let dance a sacred stray
away from the lucent womb
born herself to those turned monuments in our memory
an echo
the innocent born from the energy of a new Spring  
quenched of a natural thirst
allowing a climb
like ascending fire dust from logs spent in the night
Electric light.

What I found was that glow
but distant
the Autumn light absent its blare
The innocent echo dulled
because it was the idea that was the love affair
not Electric
but Citrine light
like deserts 
magnetic to view yet ambitious to live
The quite crescent of ocean
absent the meld of sun salt height  - A liquid soar
or once dreamed green
turned November meadow
the felled allure of Sycamore.
Venus in Scorpio Nov 2017
I met her on Instagram

She told me she was a fan of my work

And as our dialogue continued we realized how similar we are

She didn’t live far

So we met up in the city

Her eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky

Or should I say embers of the inferno her mind produces

A spiritual girl with a sharp tongue

She refuses to drink from plastic bottles

Her hair a melody of colors

And her skin as soft as Cashmere

We toured art museums

Gazed at monuments together

She tells me she’s obsessed with love

Already my heads spinning

And I’m wondering If I will make it out alive with her

we spent the entire day submerged in analytical discourse

On what it means to be alive

Our experiences

How little time

We only came up for air

when our eyes linked

And we stared

She says to me

“That's a nice thought you’re having”

Exercising her intuitive prowess

I laughed and wondered if she really knew

of the storm that exists in my mind

my face like a window with the shades pulled away

It was getting late

and we were both exhausted from the stimulation we gave each other

Of course, I wanted her to stay

I’ve been waiting for a woman like this

And there she was in all her beauty

I grabbed her hand

She says

“Can you take my glasses off before you kiss me?”

The nerve

She knew what I wanted

But I know she wanted it too

And so I denied it to her

I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction

I said,

“With all the instant gratification our modern society presents, its
refreshing to delay certain things, wouldn’t you agree?”

She laughed and agreed

We hugged goodbye tightly

It hurt to let her go

I watched her off as she danced goofily on the escalator

As she vanished I stood

motionless

Like I’d been struck by lightning

Peering closely as if I’d see her face one more time

She was gone for good

And all at once this dream was over

I sat on the train that night replaying her voice in my head

She could be the one I said

Oh this lie I told myself was so sweet

In the beginning

And now bitter in the end
Dominique Simeus Sep 2017
Take me to that place
Where people are worried free
Fills with abundant grace
And everyone is longed to be

Take me to that place
Where love is in the air
By the look of the people embrace
A load I can seem to bear

Take me to that place
Where things are so hectic
Loneliness a complete disgrace
Like individuals who have been epileptic

Take me to that place
Full with ocean view
Romance is of the human race
Side by side they walk by two

Take me to that place
With ancient monuments everywhere
Feeds some with great knowledge base
And back in time to their ancestors' layer

That's the place I tell the world
Quenches one's thirst like waterfall
Apart from it, it's to be hurled
On top of a cliff, down to a great fall
marla Apr 4
Charming and quaint,
These monuments to
Stylized antiquity sit
Parallel a seashore.
Cars of forgotten pasts
Line their facades,
Defending them from
The sea's subdued gaze.

On the streets below,
A crowd as energetic
As the stars themselves
Becomes one with their nature.
Not a beat is skipped,
These pretty pastels
Make the world as
It should be:
In a state of colorful glee.
in complete melodies
the frequencies i hear
can not be contained by anything
love is drifting through the hills
and you are home to its trills
she dreams of light, the fire bright
and full of crystal skulls and eyeballs
dozens of monuments are built
just to mark the moments
when we could have said i'm sorry
merge with the mountains
find the source of fountains
shine the diamond compass
if that's what you are really here for

broken dams are our business
feed the swans their luminescent lunch-boxes
duck for cover, its a wonder that we are all together here
that's clearly redundant
the tendency to dream
is the most important human faculty
its a tragedy that the lack of nuclear power
showers the atomic world in rainbows
as forlorn teenagers in the ice-age of America
govern our equipment from their parent's basements
and carouse with comfort upon chairs, cushions and couches

a million times the victory
a million miles of rope to weave
a million are the paths to god
and a million more are the souls
who've learned to cope with tragedy

i come cherishing and bearing gifts
figures of speech are my playthings
i am furniture remodeled daily
and intuitively placed around your home
the finer things in life are free
so see me there upon your television set
i am electromagnetic static
within the black and white of advertisements
i am figures of forgotten speech
so record the unwatched programs
in your mind’s virtual memory
the hard drive of work and play
creates hundreds of new retirees each day
hundreds of haunted expatriates
knuckle-headed people
that couldn't tread lightly
even if they wanted to
so will you please untie me
and remove these binds and chains
it's time to free the lover from the psyche
for that is all she wrote

i am a silent p
i am a violet apogee
i am a cosmic minority
i am a message in your tea leaves

but if you stand too long in my shoes
you’ll likely drown in solitude
Tanisha Jackland Dec 2018
We lived sullen in
awkward decadence.
Hoarding strange
little monuments. and
Odes to us.
Enough to choke on it.
The black soot of
sacrificial trees.
I saw them
burning mid-suicide.
Martyrs with wooden hearts.
at least they used them.
Unlike us
we had accidental brains
and drooled over them.
the cold blooded arrogance
Not really noble yet
we stay
sleeping like the
greed in prodigied monks
Wake me up when the
bees grow heavy
with honey again.
pinch me when we
collectively awake.
Woe for the plight of the honey bee and oui little us...
HeWhoExplores Jan 17
Edinburgh, oh lovely Edinburgh
I visited you during a Scottish storm
But, it did not deter my fascination with your beautiful rich land,
which I had set out to soak up during my short welcoming stay
I saw castles and monuments
galleries and eateries
even little pubs and alleyways
that tickled my fascination
I took midnight strolls into the backstreets
and met lovely people who equally shared gratitude towards your wondrous land
And so, I leave temporarily at least
with a little something to say
"Thanks for the memories, I'll be back indefinitely,
with more love and awe to share than ever before!"
A memory from Edinburgh
Morgan Spiers Sep 2018
every molecule of your being
each cell
down to it's nucleus
is one that has existed for millennia
yet is entirely unique.

all that we are is matter,
recomposed in a way to create
to  establish
something
                                  ­       new,
something
                                     unique.

it is not within ourselves
that we find purpose
but in the artist that used chaos
as a canvas;
in the sculptor that made monuments
out of mere molecules.

do not fear the "you" you are is of bad quality;
for it was molded
and perfected
by the perfect
mold.
Juhlhaus May 2
Gravel mounds in the mist
Are the mountain ranges of fantasy,
Spring green, eerie seen
Through commuter train windows.

Pitched roofs recede
Into infinite distance,
And junkyard parking lots are legion
In the gray suburban obscurity.

Factories and landfills loom,
Monuments and masoleums,
The labor and the leavings
Of Earth's little colossi.
Musing on the view from a morning commuter train.
marla Apr 3
Passing by the monuments
To my pain
Was an elixir for my soul.

To see my past being
Trapped in space
By erased memories
Brings a sense of joyous respite
To my frail heart.

All of those moments-
Struck as they were from down the lane.

My mind is jumbled,
In a spiritual sort of way.
These thoughts of mine haze
As though they were envisioned
Through a porous rain.

Encapsulated as though
All of us were well-detained,
The mind's camera captures
All as of late and per-
Chance the great beyond.
Here is what I want to tell people about the ghastly
the grim the macabre the morbid
the grinning skulls we draw on pages
at desks far from fields of skulls set rigid:

You cannot negotiate with silence.
You can only
look at it

however
you like.

There is no sanctity dead or living.
Though, for all of us, I would wish it so
(we never cease in making monuments to swear it is so)
(look at these monuments--
and see it is not).

A natural law requires no belief.

You don’t listen.
I said:
Let go.
Al Nov 2018
The tobacco stained ground shimmers in the heat. Dusty boots stand alone, solitary monuments to past journeys.  His old rope lies untouched like a coiled snake... yet the memories remain.
Dark Fjord Nov 2016
There was this city, she's been in
destroyed, will ever to be built again;

All there is left to do
Is try fighting over her land.

I have this fear, I think of not being
and I am unable to sleep
amongst the city scapes.

expelled, having confided with demons.

Next to nothing is this woman
She has bags full of cheerios, and overweight;
She too comes to this same spot
As I am, exhausted, at this coffee shop
From all the extra weight she carries.

She says with the heights
Of each new t.v season
Watch for my systems, turning time
of its wonderful fall colors.

They tell us where to go to see them.
the city rising
With its icons dieing, and monuments
Made in stone, to give us many stories.

We are trained to draw the lines
Work to serve devil's-food cake and slurpees.

All for all and none for none
What am I here for
In my middle age left to do
But band together the few
Who are lost in their mazes.

At the end of another season
I am going around fishing holes
Catching up with a winter's fever

And will ask you here-
By that old fir tree first
we found her-

Here, is where we come to cheat our diets;
I’m so afraid I saved a date,
to go back to that first kiss  
leaves began to stumble
as legs from their limbs-
fall away and let me in.
-3 witches
Lexi Guffey Nov 2017
I met him at a conference.
I sent him my gratitude and congratulations,
And as our dialogue continued we realized how similar we are.
He was going to the next event,
so we met up in September -
his eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky,
or embers of the inferno his mind produces,
his laugh as contagious as the plague,
and his voice as smooth as milk and honey.
A kind-hearted boy
with a witty tongue.
His hand, my hand, colliding.
Is it on purpose?
We learned about leadership,
gazed at monuments together.
He tells me this moment is perfect,
already my head's spinning,
and I’m wondering if we will make it out alive.
We spent the entire day laughing and commentating
on everything that happened,
submerged in analytical discourse
on what it means to be alive,
our experiences,
how little time.
We only came up for air
when our eyes linked,
and we stared.
He looked past my eyes
into my soul.
He says to me
“That's a nice thought you’re having”,
Exercising his intuitive prowess.
I laughed and wondered if he really knew
of the chaos raging in my mind.
Before we knew it,
the bus pulled up.
Of course, I wanted to stay.
I’ve been waiting for a boy like this,
and there he was in all his beauty.
Charming, suave.
I grabbed his hand,
holding on like this might be the end.
He says
“Don't cry. This isn't over. We'll still talk,”
The nerve.
We both know
this can't last
But I know we wanted it to.
And so I nodded,
letting myself fall.
I closed my eyes,
Trying to take in this moment;
to remember how
his hand felt in mine,
the depth of his eyes -
like a thousand worlds or a vast starry night,
the ring of his laugh -
how intoxicating.
I wish I remembered
what we talked about.
Instead I remember trying,
failing,
not to be sad
because deep down I knew
that happy endings only happen in the movies,
and our story was ending
before it began.
We hugged goodbye tightly -
for a second
I felt safe,
content.
It hurt to let him go.
I watched his smile fade as I stepped off the bus.
As he vanished I stood
motionless,
like I’d been struck by lightning,
peering closely as if I’d see his face one more time.
He was gone for good,
and all at once this dream was over.
My phone buzzed
"I really miss you"
But in a month, will you?
I sat on the plane that night replaying his voice in my head.
I couldn't help but think
'he could be the one'
And maybe he could have
but timing was not in our favor,
and life doesn't wait.
The problem is, my brain
understands
but my heart still wants
to trace the lines on his hands,
to memorize the curves of his face,
to feel his lips on mine,
to hear the inflections in his voice,
to learn all of his quirks and imperfections,
to know what he's thinking,
to smile with him forever.
And instead,
I will have to learn how to be alone,
to forget the butterflies and the plans,
to swallow how much I care,
to resist pressing send,
to recover.
It's not supposed to end this way.
It's supposed to fail
when you fall out of love,
not when you love too much
to be so far
apart.
I suppose this isn't a very relatable poem, but it is true! This is something that's just been on my chest for a long time, so this is a poem that I needed to write. It's weird how just typing the words makes me feel lighter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it even if it's not an "oh that happened to me" kind of poem.
The only ones who get through
Life, are the ones who push for it
Never staying on the floors
Without swinging a few back
Maybe not landing many
But then you'll get that one punch
That can change the entire round
Keeping the eyes forward,
Ignoring the distractions
Avoiding the desperation many feel
To obtain attention for spectators
Who are also only looking for attention
Then they move to something else,
The warriors obsessed with themselves
Fighting through the flames to get
Where they know they need to be
So they can truly and wholly
Enjoy the fruits of their life
Not some life society inflates
But a life built with their hands
And as people and interests fade away
They are still there standing
Like monuments and treasures
And they become the gold
Don't panic at all
Don't bother at all
What if the buildings are
Damaged dangerously?

What if all the walls
Are full of cracks
Things can be easily controlled
And you have enough money

So don't panic at all
Don't bother at all
Use your money with caution
Apply your mind, use your money

Get all the walls painted
With very nice painting
Paintings of the folks
Paintings of the modern era

Paintings of saints and heroes
Painting of beautiful landscapes
Raise slogans here and there
Unfurl flags and sing the anthem

What if the rivers are di*ty?
Only raise awareness campaigns
Put hoardings and banners everywhere
Do nothing else, but show everything

Just adopt these cheap tactics
You can save lot of wealth
And can spent on yourself
Or can buy more votes with it

Paint the bark of all the trees
Break all the records of shame
Create a new fake history
Make silly new records

What if there is poverty
Just make monuments for god
And ask people to pray there
God is there to listen the prayer

What if there is unemployment
Ask your businessmen friends
To start training centres and train the youth
And make money, money and money

Leave the trained youth as they were
Ask them to create employment for self
Call it self-employment, call it freedom
Ask them to rejoice this freedom

Open new schools and colleges
But don't appoint staff in teachers
Collect hefty amount of fees
Spent that fees on yourself

Also spent some to collect votes
Manage the peoples
Manage the machines
Manage history, manage geography

Manage the media, manage the news
Spread everywhere, fake news
If you do, what I have said
You will be the king again
Sure Shot and Short Formula to become King Again and Again
Laura Labno May 13
My

Eyes drink
Lazily

the

Dense stew

Of beloved blacks on
White white

Screens.

These are drops of
Diverse tastes

Black black portions
Of hundred's cognitions

Imprinted pieces
Of their minds

My eyes drink
Laizly.

White white screens
Are a new hope

For

The Naive
In search of

Immortality.

But

'Monuments more lasting than
bronze'
Start overfilling

           The Aether

(That's how much we
Want to live)
How beautiful the sunrise when it came ,
for I had waited so long ,
In vain,
how lonelineses. sweet tears I feel ,
down my cheek so bitter the pain .
Yet I walk were emporers once stood ,


Londiniam lies abandoned .
the Classis lit long since sailed ,
their. Masts beat against the wind .
The  river Thames glistened from the morning sun ,
Past it’s banks and statues of gods ,
Monuments to Caesar and suns of the gods  lie face down in the sun
broken in two ..

Why should I return for there is nothing here ?
And yet ,
the girls with yellow hoods shunned by the graceful good ,
call me back with their come to bed eyes .
and here I am ,
with ladies of wanton jewelled hair .
For now the Tudor warehouses of
Commerce swell what was once forgotten.

Matchsticks piled one on another ,
and look at them all too full of pride ,
to stupid to see .
Women with weasels in their hair ,
So elegant and fair ,
for the ladies in their yellow hoods say “ beware “

Now the suns rays that lie low ,
a ball of red ,
were quiet embers burnt and flowed ,
Only to find that ,

her Queen awaited
the suns rays of majestic glory ,
as if all of England looked to its shores .
her Golden Hind .
Monsters of the deep ,
Dragons ,
Serpents. ,
Demons from hell itself ,
yet
the evil seas could not swollow this ship ,
or return it’s bounty to whence it came ,

and the women with the yellow hoods hid their faces in shame .
William D Hearns Oct 2018
She is beautiful, with her hair in disarray. She sets man against man, woman against woman, and both against each other

She whispers into the ear of sleeping children, who awake as adults in her service.

All fear her, for she cannot be known.

She masquerades as order, enticing humanity; the fire that huddled neanderthals gaped at in thanks become the flames that consume.

To fight against her is futile, but it is in our nature.

She has never left us; she will continue without us when we are dead and gone.

All the monuments in the world bow to her in worship or are crushed in submission to time and war.

She played gods and men alike.

She is both the catalyst and the conclusion.

Some marvel as the fires of her destruction dance reflected in their eyes; others weep.

To say that she is coming would imply that she has ever left.

How could we impermanent things ever hope to banish something so primordial.

She breeds hate, mistrust, and strife in those that capitulate; those that resist her only magnify her power.

She bore Hardship and Ruin, Quarrels and Disputes, Lies and Oaths, Anarchy and Starvation,  Forgetfulness and Pain. Manslaughter and ****** were her giggling toddlers. War and Battle took after her brother, their uncle's favorites.

She brings inedible food that is coveted by all who encounter it.

She has bathed in the blood of civil wars, her most decadent vice.

She renders man's efforts futile, to fight or submit is destruction.

She will reduce the universe to an ever expanding hellscape of fire.

She is the secret joy of many.

Nothing will escape her.

She is everywhere.
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