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JK Cabresos Apr 2016
Hindi po kami mga kriminal,
kami po nagpapakain sa kanila,
bigas po ang aming hiningi
hindi mga bato at bala.

Pero pilit naming isusubo
ang mga bato at bala
na inyong hinihain,
pilit naming inumin
ang dugo na may kasamang
pawis namin.

Pipilitin po namin,
dahil hindi po kami
mga kriminal.
HYA Aug 2017
Pinagalitan kasi tumatawa
Pinakita sa amin ang galit na mukha
Meron bang masama sa aming ginawa?
Masama bang itawa kaysa sa magsawa?

Nakakapagod na kasi
Ang pagsabihan ng walang silbi
Nakakapagod na ang umiyak
Ang puso'y mas lalo pang nawawasak

Pinipilit naming ngumiti
Pangako, pinipilit namin ang mga labi
At ngayon, kami'y pinapagalitan
Kahit 'di alam kung bakit iyon naging kasalanan
I'm so dead. Hindi ko nga alam kung bakit parati nalang ganito. Minsan kase nakakapagod nang umintindi sa kanila e hindi naman nila kayang intindihin kami. But nah, that's life.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
I am the fulcrum, the base and the lever.
I am the space and the form and the game.

I am the maker, the vessel, the dreamer,
the teller, the namer—I naming, un-named.

I am the vision, the vista, the seer.
I am the lintel, the door and the frame.

I am the lock, the key and the knocker,
the handle, the pause and the knocker again.

I am the palm and the fist and the shoulder.
I am the sole and the road and the stride.

I am the still—all that echo, and echoes.
I am Freedom. My counsel. My guide.
PiLomus Jul 2018
Identifying this domain, naming it life,
Thinking am I the main, just hiding in disguise,
Exploring the world gaining in size,
Singing endless stories to my side,
Working for the day when answer will become one,

Myriad possibilities are there to come,
Questioning will this is the one or someone else has to hum,

The dreams becoming reality,
when life will be calling and acceptance will come.
All will fathom one and one will fathom all.
A journey will welcome a journey in rise.
One will start understanding the blunder,
And never will the veracity of a dream be in plunder,
A proliferating uncovering will arise,
And Sapiens will ask Is this world suffice?
Life is full of possibilities if you are possible.  A heartly tribute to Chester Bennington
Onoma Nov 2018
i linger on you...

undone in doing.

cagey suns in a

thrift of rays.

parting your hair

from your eyes

will indebt me to

ebb-flow.

a hair line naming

it's water.

baptizing the baptizer.
Robert C Ellis Sep 2018
Lithe, pharmaceutical muscles regulating microfiber hairs
Draw from the primitive neglect and sin
A clarinet changes the chemistry of champagne
Inside Humanity again

A stock infection of planets and galaxies
and their debris
Small enough to be e coli
and atomic dreams
Beading with the warmth of breath, persisting,
Naming dragons and archers in the infinity,
The cocktails brew people at the seams
Their sentences clapping the breeze
Into a day, or a season,
or her hand leading
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,

I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!

Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,

I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!

For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,

Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!

Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,

A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!

Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,

Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,

Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!

Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;

I finagle in my filigree!
This contains nearly every word under 'F' in the dictionary. I would have used them all but I could not get a consistent story with all the words so I used the most possible. Wauhermes in Toto means, "The totality of thought about F."
I was looking when I got lost
ignoring the bill when I saw the cost
Saw my future in the turbulent waters
Of the porcelain pool into which I was tossed
Bemoaning  yet accepting the fate I was enduring
Upon hearing the sound of the handles clank
I relinquished all control
as I began to roll
Gave no fight of self preservation. as I sank
The echoing swoosh left its sound in my ears
Then solid darkness closed in tight
So much more vivid than night in absence of light
The water was thick and seemed to be swallowing me down
Any oxygen of life seemed a fast fading memory
As all the while I could feel a gathering momentum
Like a ride through some putrafied tunnel of .... well...now all ephemeral in it's sudden ephemerality
As I was
Blasted loose from that officious muck
Propelled far far beyond the cascading flow
as a lust for life returned in a flash
I flicked one fin and then the other before  allowing sweet gravity
To carry me down affording me that glorious splash.
Wow! It thought ' this is an enormous and wondrous bowl '
Oh oh oh!
That poor little goldfish that had suddenly become the hapless to happy victim
Of a frustrated and angry parent who had lost all control!!!

GOOD LUCK little one...you will need all you get!



Question/ riddle of sorts.
Anyone know the reason for my naming the. poem this ... bit of
i _ _ _ _ _ twist?
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red hell –
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.


Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…


Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
when
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.


Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…


The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still –
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam –
He’s limping toward his doom.


A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** ** – old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.


Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap –
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.


Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot –
the people’s mouths to feed.


When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows –
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys – )
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

Hell is known for lack of stasis –
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze…

        ☭ END ☭
http://tinyurl.com/q6uyx34

Nat Lipstadt Apr 16
every poem is a test of character,
holy/profane all the same,
algorithm entirely humanized-you,
the elected words cannot be voted out of office,
by a recall petition, regardless of
constant corrected incorrectness.

sorted by size,
nocturnal alliteration,
do they sound in the dark
like your bleeding or you’re breathing?

holy/profane all the same,
Gertrude truth is a truth is truths,
you think my name matters?
Artificial Idiocy. Everyone poem faceted,
a chip off the the naming blockchain idiot.

when I imagine-lie,
it is a truth in and of its own
holy/profane.

call me baffled.
that is a god enough
one word summary.
and so true.

baffling perplexing cryptic and opaque.
in all honesty.
if you’re reading this, you are
testing my character.

what have you found, or even, lost?


in the midst of the characters is
character
10/26/@m/2019/16/april

inspired by Leonard Cohen
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
Songs of Oregon: No 5 no general impressions specifically

For the Poets of Oregon, each a unique travel guide

no salt n’ pepper shaker of general impressions for the offering,
for now, ubiquitous generalities means inclusionary which means
likely accidental to be exclusionary,
so specifically,
no ‘all in' clauses

just a few specific eye-sights, hoary words, new birth canals,
to be either eaten, resurrected, van-slaughtered, backyard buried,
all are filed nearby in the seed cabinet or the garage freezer,
or on the C drive of your brain

awaiting ideal planting conditions, and the rest,
a series perhaps,
Songs of Oregon?
Someday

someday, when all the big brief poems are fully formed,
earth ripened, mind fomented; oak barrel aged,
harvest-reading-ready,
green trees shoots busting thrusting through
misleading sandy looking soil,
needy for quenching from
aquifers that are gold geyser plentiful,
a hundred feet deep, needy only for a
“please sir, may I have some more,"
they’l be writ

but for now, these below are,
some easy to be specifics,
reveling and revealed, useful takeaways,
specifics pacifics
for those who might be traversing upon
Lewis and Clark’s Oregon Trail:

them multicolored redneck
full bearded boys
and those of the
vinnie, millennial hipsters and aging ex- hippies, also,
full bearded boys  
are indistinguishable!
many of both wear matching bib jeans,
so be careful who you be calling
a hillbilly in open carry country

the forever refilled coffee mug still exists though the price
is now $2 but the coffee is sustainable (I am evidence)
organic, from a rain forest from Timbuktu,
so it gets planted in your bloodstream and then replaced
in the soil & land,
the loam of the soul
by you

in Milwaukee,
they know how to spell Milwaukee but
not in Portland

don’t be shocked at the town naming,
these borrowers got no  i-magination,
that’s surly lacking in Oregon; mthey’ll steal your
Nor’easter or Indian
town or city’s name
with no shame
or comp-unction,
claiming it’s different cause
they made it organically and
then misspelled it,
correctly

think that pointy poem point well made,
god made only one coast (theirs) and
just forgot to put Shelter Island NY  upon it;
threw it up randomly skyward, landed on some
atlantic backwater body

getting there or anywhere in Oregon traffic
about the same as in NYC traffic, thus
the heavens balance the scales of justice with
dramatic automotive irony

in some counties, the school week is a
four day affair, for the children need to repay
their parents birthing labor, by laboring beside them
in the vineyards, on the tractors, learning from
the book and look of their parents
sun aged faces and hands,
life learning
that man must earn his sustenance
with the sweat of ones own brow
and that word;
week,
can be spelt in contradictory ways
but only one is acceptable
out here

do be careful though Oregonians are very willingly to lam it,
(Willamette) if you ask nicely,
pick up normal looking weird hitchhikers
and drive many a mile
in yours, not theirs, but sure,
“going-the-same-way direction”
if you ask polite with just a smile

and the river salmon have hired their own governmental advisors


like I said,
no general impressions
just a private’s brief recollections
from his first tour of duty
abroad
where he was purple heart medaled shot
through ‘n through with
Oregon kindness

some juicy real specifics to follow eventually
someday
songs of oregon No.5
Fiona May 2018
If you survive,
Go tell the world.
Not that you survived,
but of what happened.
Bring awareness to those,
Who were left in the darkness.
Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
9-11,
Parkland shooting,
Only naming a few.
For those whose voices are forever quieted,
Speak with the weight of their legacy on your shoulders.
But don't carry the load alone,
There are others who feel the same,
With tear-stained faces, their burden is heavier than yours,
So shoulder the pain together,
And survive.
Tell the world. Let us end this suffering.
kirk Oct 2018
To impregnate a women, you have to feel the horn
Being soft is not much good, or if your ***** is worn
Many men they want a ****, but don't want babies born
It's best to avoid men like Boyd, because he's low on corn

If you have unprotected ***, and your cocktails on the prawn
Then pregnancy is immanent, unless a line is drawn
Wearing a sheaf is sensible, that's if it isn't torn
Make sure your rubbers in one piece, or watch some ******* ****

****** stimulation can be achieved, when there is a certain need
You soon had some excuses, when your rubber tore at speed
There's no need to lie, because it's just for your own greed
Suddenly your low on ***** after you had your ****** feed

You didn't mind your pleasure, when you layed and did the deed
Some consequences matter, when you know where things may lead
No mention of low ***** counts, you came and spread your seed
Pregnancies have happened, because low ***** counts can still breed

Hay now Boyd I wonder how, your ***** count is so low ?
It seems to me your capable, but you don't want to know
If you can break a ******, then it just goes to show
The only thing you can count, is a free cash money flow

Counting *****'s not easy, was it sitting in a row
Low ***** count is an excuse, for just another ***
Responsibility is not your thing, you want to ***** and go
You don't care you've had your ***, instead of going slow

Avoid Boyd because I think, his low count is a lie
It can get through rubber sheafs, and it doesn't even try
Destroying morning after pills, it looks like his counts sky high
His Low count cant be so low, to kiss pregnancy goodbye

He's implied the kids not his, its enough to make you cry
It didn't bother him before, when he layed in the pie
Now that pregnancies occurred, he's now done up his fly
Suddenly his ***** is low, and that's the reason why

Isn't Boyd just a boy, but with an added D
The laziness of proper names, at least to a degree
What's his parent's thinking of, are they completely of their tree
What's wrong with naming a boy, ben or pete or lee

Is it a bit like catchphrase, where you say what you see
Was there born a baby boy, holding brook bond tea
I don't think Boyd is a real name, but you may disagree
A better name I could supply, and I wouldn't charge a fee

Poor old Boyd his ***** is low, they must be quite annoyed
Their waiting for orders to go, but now there unemployed
Most of them are killed off, and the rest just get destroyed
Not one of those *****'s hanging high, unlike Harold Lloyd

He's claiming that his count is low, he must be paranoid
******* that rips rubber, that's some ***** you should avoid
Combating morning after pills, once his ***** has been deployed
If you value your own dignity, for **** sake avoid Boyd
PiLomus Sep 2018
You should do this,
You should do that,
Why these diktats I do not understand.
Are we living our life to comply?
Are not we here to supply.
Why we are to be part of some creed,
When in reality we all are from the same seed.
We are stuck in a whirlpool of sanctions,
And I do not know how to come out of this expansion.

Expectations are defining our life more than existence do,
And the biggest question humanity is asking
what should I do?
We are blaming history for our misconceptions,
Naming presumptions as The inceptions.
How we are going to move ahead,
When we are becoming a body with just a head,
Shedding our humanity for a mere piece of bread.

We are the creation and creators of our world,
All of us is an existence a real thing,
Our creativity is our ability to think.
Then why should we be like someone,
When we could be anyone.
I want to holler out at the world with this answer
Yes, we can
Because we are not endowed with a taste
We have a whole Selection.
Expectations as a hope are a bliss but as a requirement a living hell.
Pyrrha Mar 4
While we sit underneath the shadowy blanket of the night
counting stars and naming all the constellations
sipping wine and forgetting time
I can't help the jealousy that flows into me
as you get drunk off wine instead of me
how I wish I could intoxicate you with myself
It isn't until I part my eyes from those dazzling twinkling lights
that I see your gaze is on me
rather than the endless sky
Forgiveness is forsaken

By all

Knowing love Is unconditional

Showers down on us

Like cats and dogs

Quiet storms

From father’s mothering

Gone now from above

Goodness gracious be

Infinite the sky to see

Cloudy days, stars at night,

Supposedly

Life Is written in illuminating light

Across the vacuous void

Proofs and blooms of nebulae

The shapes of the known

Formulae

A Universe within

Forgiveness not forsaken

Perhaps forgotten

About the times of us

Milky ways

Swirling dance of dust

Who’s asking

Who for whom

Bells tolling tongues

Naming the wizard a man

In odds within

Oz

Looking for idols of immunity

No way out but falling

Up

Or In love

The rain seems the only thing

Forgiving

Lately

Its begotten cold.
The forgotten Jan 12
Your long hair streaked with white
Sun shimmering it to silvers
Once soft slender hands now withered
Yet when you smile,
Years passed come running back.
I hold your hand
Promising to never let go.
Your daughter's eyes glistened
When you called her mom.
Moments slowly ebbing out of your mind's reach
When did it start slipping away?

The moon falling on your soft skin
As the water played the rhythm
Lying in my arms,
naming constellations,
You said
"Into the stars we melt"
I smiled and stroked your hair
But darling,
You don't remember
Not even the feel of my name on your lips
Your wrinkled hands still fit into mine
So perfectly
The dark circles holding up your eyes
Fireflies
Glowing within them
Struggling to grasp,
the remaining shards of fading tales
Almost completely forgotten;
Clinging to the dying memories.
HYA Nov 2018
Dyan ka lang,
walang patutunguhan
siraulo, dyan ka lang
Buong magdamag,
Laro inaatupag
Dota, csgo, crossfire at... pag-ibig?

‘Huwag kang tumalon,
Huwag kang tumakbo,
Huwag kang lumipad,’
Yan ang sabi nila
Sa tulad naming adik sa dota
Yan ang sabi nila
Maji-gg ba sa buhay, sinta?

Pero ibigin mo ang tala
Ibigin mo ang buwan
Ibigin mo ang araw
At ibigin mo ako

Tumalon at lumipad
Bahala na kung saan mapadpad
Kung iibigin mo ang araw
Kinabukasan, matatanaw

Walang reset ang buhay,
Walang revive ang buhay
Wala ring pause ang buhay
Kaya lahat ay dapat ibigay
Lahat ay iibigay

Dito ka lang,
Dito ka nararapat
Huwag magbilang e hindi naman kaya
Dito ka lang,
Wala kang kinabukasan
Kung maglalaro, dito lang

‘Huwag kang lumakad
Huwag kang lumangoy
Huwag kang gumapang’

Susunod ba sa sabi nila?
Ang bukas ba'y hindi mapipinta?
Totoo ba ang sabi nila?
Makikinig ka ba, sinta?

Bumangon at ibigin mo ang tala
Ibigin mo ang mga buwan
Ibigin mo ang mga araw
At ibigin mo ako

Tumalon at lumipad
Ipagmamalaki ka ng lahat
Ibalanse mo ang oras
Talento moy ilalabas

Walang quit button buhay
Walang edit ang buhay
Walang cancel ang buhay
Kaya magpatuloy, magpatuloy, magpatuloy

Iibigin ko ang tala
Iibigin ko ang buwan
Iibigin ko ang araw
At iibigin din kita
Hiiii HAHAHAHAHA

this is a piece I created when I was in the bathroom HAHAHHAA this is a song actually for today's contest and here it is.
This piece is for my classmates na mga 'gamers' na nadidiscriminate ng iba at ng mga **** namin kasi nga mga tamad HAHAHHAHAHA but I still love those pipol and they have a loooot of potentials
Eric Angels Jun 5
I am fallen, cast out and freezing

Surrounded by dark space and black holes neither I nor light can escape

Trauma, depression...regrets my new normal.

I try to cry, but these tears, as quickly as they drip, dry.

I hate being nostalgic, for the nostalgia causing memories are like the dirt suspended in the air I breathe... sickening, and only serve to trigger my asthma.

You were the reason I used to feel alive,
The one thing that motivated me to breath in and to breath out

I still remember how we used to sit outside, or at times lay on the green fields, soul naked staring at the star lit sky.

   How time used to have no meaning,
I mean, we would stay up all night, with hopes of seeing a shooting star, only to wish for another shooting star, when we saw one, so that we never run out of wishes.

How you'd point at the constellations, and how you never stopped naming them: Orion, Aquila, Scutum, Ophiuchus, Serpens, Lupus...saying out their names with the same passion you used to say my name, to say I LOVE YOU.

     Our love burnt with such remarkable desire, a fervent only depicted in soaps.

  Her lips were beautiful,
Her words sweet, soft spoken and warm.
Her eyes shy,
Her dimples deep
And her skin dark and smooth like the water pebbles.

We fell in love fast
We lived carefree, with no regards to rules or consequences, for we were young and "ride or die" our brag.

But we also fell apart fast.
We, who were each others angel dust, were left at the mercies of strong unseen forces...like desert sand in the awakening of a sandstorm.

Maybe it was because of the words left untold, the apologies that went unspoken...the sweet pride that turned too bitter to swallow... maybe, it was all of the above.
However invisible, their impacts very tangible.

It's funny, how we who were inseparable, now eye each other like strangers.

Our paths appear cursed, with no hope of ever crossing,
And just like the polar bears and penguins,
We see the world from opposite ends.

You used to fill my world with colours: bright and attractive.
But when you stepped out, darkness hurriedly stepped in, and engulfed everything I held sacred.

My life remains without light, however faint, like the heart of a night on a new moon.

I should accept defeat, turn the other cheek for a second slap but,
I have come to understand that even the dull colours are bright to a blind painter.

So I will love you,
When you are far or near,
When you are a foe or the one who's dear,
For we may fight, fall and rise with the tide,
Bend or sometimes, even break,
But I will never give up on you.
You are my silver lining...
And I believe just like the phoenix, ashes are our birthplace.

So no matter how much you hide, I will always seek you like the morning does the sun
And no matter how far you are, I will always be waiting for you, patiently, like the wolf does the full moon
       I will never give up on you,
For I still believe our love, will once again be seen, like the sun at noon.
Truth.
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