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Hg Aug 2018
wri
ting is
threading
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
secrets
you'll
get
po
ke
d
a
l
i
t
t
l
e
.
©Hg
ryn Jan 2015
.

•som
ething.was
broken.today•
some.pi eces.and
.an.item.   were.lost
•somet       hing.for.
which.m       y.heart.h
as.to.pay      •somethi
ng.inval        uable.in.
cost•wo        nder.if.e
ver.I.may    .find•wo
nder.if.I'l   l.get.it.ba
ck•wonder.if.life.w
ould.be.kind•won
der.if.it'll.cut­.me.s
ome.slack•while.
I.*****.around.i
n.the.dark•whil
e.I.searc­h.for.w
hat.had.gone...
missing•whil
e.I.try.to.rega
in.the.spark­•
while.I.conju
re.light.from
.inexistent.k
indling•ple
ase.let.m­e.r
etrieve.it.•
please.giv
e.me.just.
another•
please.le
t.the.f­la
me.I've
.lit•rec
over.t
he.ne
edle.
to.st
itch
.me
.ba
ck
..







*together•
.
A tad disproportionate and rough but you get the picture (pun intended).
:p
.
Alysia Marie Nov 2014
Come sew buttons into my eyes, and allow me to believe all of your lies.
For the beauty of love shall seep deep within; even if perception is fogged by your sins.

                                     Alysia Marie 2014 ©
Jeff Gaines Mar 2018
Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback.

Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines

Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world

  Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!
Big, Biggest Love,
        Jeff Gaines
A rather silly little ditty. It's pretty self-explanatory. It may be a draft. Not sure yet. So, if you come back and find some bit changed, then it was ... if not ... then it wasn't!

And please, PLEASE don't come at me in defense of Hip-Hop. My opinions about that current state of affairs are absolute. I have toured with SNAP!, Wu Tang Clan, **** and Red, Onyx, Bone-Thugs & Harmony and have worked with EVERY Hip Hop artist you could EVER name as a Lighting Director.

As for Street cred, I LIVED at Park and Broadway Brooklyn for almost 8 years, right across Park Ave. from The Sumner Houses projects in Bed-Stuy.

So, don't DREAM of challenging me about "what I know" about Hip Hop or having street cred. To polish all that, I was a nightclub DJ for 20 years. Chances are, I was spinning "White Lines" in a late night bottle club or roller skating to "Rappers Delight" BEFORE your parents even MET!

I DO love much of the current stuff ...

BUT ...

SO, SO much of it is complete and utter GARBAGE. The violence and misogyny that it glorifies is so far beyond belligerent, ignorant AND pathetic.

Your words will fall on Def Ears ...
(PUN INTENDED)
Harry May 2015
all the while
i've lived a lie:
i crossed my heart
but remained alive
i broke my trust
as i survived
my hopeless lust
will never die
Pyrrha Sep 2018
Carefully the needle penetrates into my skin
With every new puncture the thread follows along

In and out again and again
Till it reaches the end and finally
A harsh pull, a few tugs

Then the string is snipped free at last
Its been completely sewn shut

Only after you closed me up
Did you ask me how my day was
How I was feeling

But what could I say
With my mouth sewn shut?
High on'a farm,
make a needle biscuits
water-up sits creek
jostle potatoes,
pan-*** boiling
-with carrot cake.

Purple sky,
tractor runnin'
time of day,
sun low.

E'er body say,

"Why dou'a on'a farm?"

entered-dat du da future;
not Ford'ed fields.
Face it dou'a future,

"Dat future know it's place."

Sweet devils singin' to me,
sweetened tongue a' beautiful place. . .

"E'erthing set in place, ***** wit I say,
-dinner on-ma tray."

nja Feb 12
She wanted to remain pure,
unstained,
unpoked.
She had toyed with getting a tattoo
but realised it wasn’t
individual anymore.
But she was in need of validation.
Was she past her peak? She’s still cool right?

The needle stuck into her skin like the scent of an old lover. It left a fizzy sensation behind.
The ink spread.
She kept poking,
stabbing,
stick n poking.

What emerged was a star.

Startled,
strained by Tar,
scarred,
her sparkle faded.
My experience of doing a stick n poke tattoo of a star on myself. My thoughts on my first tattoo. I called my star tattoo Tar.
CK Baker Jan 2017
In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoners song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago

You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen

There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the *****” Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif

But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey

There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death

But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:

he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out
Jack Jenkins Apr 2016
If I ruled the world, I would be,
Not a benevolent leader, nor,
Would I be a tyrannical leader.

I would be something much unexpected and, hopefully, humble.

You see, I would be a quilt maker. Not of fabric and thread, though.
I would stitch the different cultures together, leaving each individual one unique, yet united by a common thread.

I would sit with my diplomatic needle and peaceful stitching and lead those whom hold contempt for one another see the other's perspective.

I would show them that,
The world isn't in black and white,
It's in full, high-definition color.
So let's celebrate unity,
Equality,
Individuality,
And uniqueness.

Because in the final chapter,
We all already rule the world.
It's up to us to thread ourselves to each other,
Or pull ourselves apart by the seams.
//On acceptance//
This poem got me a tie for first place in a poetry contest I entered. :)
Dead Rose One Apr 2018
3:15am

<•>

unlike a first kiss, a first love,
the premiere awkward first coupling,
which when one recalls it
appears with ever increasing fuzziness (intentionally?)
or not at all, so much so that making it up based on
fleeting hazed glimpses of unmemorized dreams
just to have an “official entry in the cloudy memory,”
is a semi-necessity for regaling...nobody

but you never forget your virginal
projectile vomiting

there is even an emoji for it,
a hurling curling celebration

like a computer reset,
a confessional admission
that includes your own original
original sin,
a purging so complete,
it is a rebirthing of sorts,
a human do over

(c’mon c’mon get on with this, this
no kiss, a most undeserving bizzaring poem title choice)


each and every time I draw forth
the words on the in sides of me
they are ejected with force comparable,
my body rejecting l'étranger,
who’s now escaping

no first kiss, miss, no laughing at one’s first tumbling fumbling,
there is no smiling recollections sweet,
a cover up for your exciting intimation initiations faint revisions

but your first writing!

given up and out in a ejection burst,
a needle in the arm, gunshot
fluids *******, spit out,
without malice aforethought,
and this your last writing

this one, yes, this one.
comes quick, rough and inelegant,
expulsion combustion leaving you
panting on the cold floor you emptied
but
sorta of whole, a clean sheet, so to speak,
swearing you’ll never do this again,
must be an easier way,
to just slow secrete it holy,
or give up the drug of writing
raven forevermore nevermore

nope-u-dope

the vision of a long ago rabbi,
being burned to death slowly
by the Romans, wrapped in
dampened torah scripture scrolls
to lengthen the burnished burning,
a vision burned into a
very youthful boy’s consciousness,
the holy black ink hand drawn letters flowing
from martyr’s mouth, flying heavenward
this fresh within,
a childhood image primal mind,
is ways present
as each letter typed, formulating mathematically,
based on an artificial intelligence theorem,
that updates itself with every missive,
until the new poem is
projectile released in
a single ***** bursting,
purging of the urging

and guess what,

it just happened again

4/27/18

~for Sky, whose poems endearing found me, in her brazen ways,
which is what poets do~
https://hellopoetry.com/sheepskyny/
When Rabbi Hananiah ben Tradyon was caught teaching Torah in public, the Romans decided to make an example of him. Accordingly, Rabbi Hananiah was wrapped in a Torah scroll, which was then set afire. As if this torture were not sufficient, strips of water-soaked wool were placed on his body to prolong his agony. While his distraught students looked on helplessly, Rabbi Hananiah inspired them with his famous utterance, "The parchment is burning but the letters are flying off," meaning that enemies can crush the Jewish body but not the spirit
Inspiring Needle, pierce his fresh Leather,
Inscribing Earth's Totem into his Birth
Mum was Happy; What else could be better
For such Achievement as well as your Worth
So what if you Ascend?! Can you improvise
Those Loyal Customers who bought your Face?
Good Lord! Just on the lower-arm-set's Tripe,
Crypted to prevent another Disgrace
Envy? Me? Please! Not on my Word's Best Site
Will I even Dare to take such Sour Note
As I once reminded myself in-spite
For every Storm there is a Shred of Hope.
Three Figures picturesqued on certain Price
That Midnomer then showed his Biggest Size.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
ryn Nov 2014
While you were away,
My words seem to fall on deaf ears.
Unvoiced mutterings that fall out in droves,
Burning rants swallowed back in singes and sears...

While you were away,
Time was stagnant; a viscous puddle.
Hours only stretched longer,
The second hand jabbing its ferocious needle...

While you were away,
The clock drove me insane.
Ticking my life away in literal seconds.
Losing sand grain by grain...

While you were away,
And when it's all quiet and dark,
I could hear my heartbeat...
Awaiting the new day to make its mark.

While you were away,
My words seem to have lost their meaning...
As if they were stuck in limbo,
Unanswered calls that keep on ringing...

While you were away,*
I am but a little lost foal...
Because whenever you're away,
I am never whole...
sara Apr 2018
Cover up the mirrors and I'll find somewhere to look,
rip me into pieces like the pages of an old notebook,
smudge me into ink stains, stick a needle in my eye,
scribble over my mistakes and cross me out with lines.

Turn me inside out to wash and
hang me out to dry,
drown me in a dried up lake
and cool me down by fire,

spit me out like sour grapes,
then leave me like an ageing wine,
just now, I've quite the bitter taste
but I still need a little time.
Catharsis in a poem- felt very grounded after spitting this out
Austin Morrison Jan 2017
Finding a reason to live is harder than finding a needle in a hay field. You don't quite where to look but you know what you are looking for is out there. Your hands and knees will get ****** from searching, and at times you might feel like giving up. but when you finally see that this piece of metal shine you will get the most forgiving sense of relief. Like everything you have had to worry about is just gone. When I first saw you the sun reflected off your eyes and there was the most beautiful sparkle I have ever seen in my life. I found what was to be the smallest needle in the hay field we call earth. And all the pain and suffering I tried to cover up with cheap perfume and mindless lust was replaced with the smell of freshly bloomed roses and passion. You were the girl that gave me a reason to live, to love and to see how beautiful this world can be. You made me remember why I am alive.
This is my first write in over almost two years. I know it's bad but there is someone I love to much not to write about them.
Sebastian Macias Jul 2018
The hands of time play the fiddle
Each moment, a year  floats on
Each day, another decade turns
Many close their eyes
Sticking a needle in their arm
Hoping for the wave to crash
Others drink nectar from soft *******
Soothing their heart till night fall
Waking up only to close their eyes
The world can open up it's wings
All you feel is the smoke of the fires
I'll sit here with my glass
Waiting for a silence so pure
The ocean and skies would enjoy
As the soft whisper of death rests
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