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"negligible" poems
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond. I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre and said to my wife A gun in every home. Those devils would think twice before razing the village and seizing the boys. A well-regulated militia. The local militia the most interesting moment in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,       fights) and a **** sexless love story. Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the       community, the young from the janjaweed. The crop from the **** Limited scope and defensive posture but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)       side by side. Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain. Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture. Great music. Cuba, Africa. The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat       of violence No saxophones in the band. The saxophone! Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the       Congo! When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry for non-violent acts. This quiet neighborhood, July, undergirded by violence, force. That's a given-- any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that. Without just violence Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited, negligible (but not non-existent)?                                                        Regarding King the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon federal force to counter the South's violence. No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be       overwhelmed by southern violence. Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic. Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the       British. Or did he? 1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi     restrained but could release which the British feared, and 2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that     allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint     was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as     emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and     valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture). What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with       community as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession. Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the       common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with       otherwise neutral, private acts. The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is       forgoing deadly force. But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence, in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune       violence. Hence, a gun in every home.
0
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
A Gun in Every Home
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond. I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre and said to my wife A gun in every home. Those devils would think twice before razing the village and seizing the boys. A well-regulated militia. The local militia the most interesting moment in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,       fights) and a **** sexless love story. Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the       community, the young from the janjaweed. The crop from the **** Limited scope and defensive posture but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)       side by side. Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain. Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture. Great music. Cuba, Africa. The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat       of violence No saxophones in the band. The saxophone! Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the       Congo! When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry for non-violent acts. This quiet neighborhood, July, undergirded by violence, force. That's a given-- any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that. Without just violence Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited, negligible (but not non-existent)?                                                        Regarding King the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon federal force to counter the South's violence. No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be       overwhelmed by southern violence. Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic. Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the       British. Or did he? 1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi     restrained but could release which the British feared, and 2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that     allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint     was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as     emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and     valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture). What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with       community as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession. Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the       common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with       otherwise neutral, private acts. The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is       forgoing deadly force. But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence, in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune       violence. Hence, a gun in every home.
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58
If I ever happen to meet myself, I'd sit graciously on silence's table, And study my evolved, yet un-evolved self, Undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated, By world's brightest gulf. ...and smile back, as I watch myself. If I ever happen to meet myself, I'd sit cozily on peace's table, And watch my wounded, yet un-wounded self, Un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved, By world's sorry self ...and smile back, as I watch myself. If I ever happen to meet myself, I'd sit calmly on agony's table, And observe my painful, yet not too painful self, Unmoved, undaunted, unleashed, By world's weirdest self, ...and smile back, as I watch myself. If I ever happen to meet myself, I'd sit gladly on glee's table, With my eyes smiling, and smiling at myself, Unaffected, unguarded, unremitted, By world's unrequited self. ...and grin back, at myself. If I ever happen to meet myself, Twill indeed be a blessed, contending  miracle, As that's when I could pat & greet myself, In real, In real, In real! And make this fact to myself perceivable, That Our world may sure often demand struggles, And our mere existence in it, May just be negligible, But we never gotta forget To stay hopeful, smile and giggle at ourselves, No matter how hard, or harder are the struggles, As that's the precious fuel, That can truly cause miracles, In a world, Often so obsessed with struggles! And then with a grin, A sparkling hope within, I'll bid myself, A sweet, serene, farewell.
0
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
If I Ever Meet Myself
I am the one who wears a scarf around her face , while walking in the dark, The one who gets affected by your ‘harmless’ words and remarks snark, But, you won’t recognize me, won’t even stop judging me for saying this, that’s for sure, So, let me introduce you to myself, hello there, I am your victim, the one who is insecure. I am just a servant, a worthless one, in your powerful, popular , betraying regime, Just someone negligible, created by Him to make you laugh, not even worth your ‘precious’ time, An anonymous personality, you call me a ******* fat *** **** ******* an emotional fool, I am the one who gets punished without committing a single crime, without breaking any rule. But, you won’t recognize me, won’t even stop judging me for saying this, that’s for sure, So, let me introduce you to myself, hello there, I am your victim, the one who is insecure. You will never treat me as I am , never think of me as a human being, No matter how hard I try, to ignore you, to befriend you, to you, I will always remain a funny thing. But, when it will be your turn to offer flowers on my grave, free of scars which will be, as well as pure, That will be the moment when you will look at others and exclaim, “Oh, what a pity, I knew her, wasn't she the one who was insecure?”
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Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
The One Who Is Insecure
I usually write about pain because of the absence of happiness now im going to write about pain because of the absence of you suffering through negligible tasks like floating through a school day both feet in the air gliding past my peers without a care I'm numb you know, from the excruciating agony of knowing your not here with me, I'm crippled with the guilt of knowing that you  feel the same because of me you should let me love you more, you have no idea what affects you have on me, glee rolled in ecstasy fun double dipped in happiness joy twice fried  in cute and once in trust you have changed me, I never thought I could love anyone like you and now look, I'm loving you, hearts thumping like a good remix two songs merge into one Mad love' Most of the time I write about pain, but right now I want to write about you
0
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
Mad love, mad, mad love'
His body lost temperature as he pressed himself against the chest of hers, seducing her with his love. With his sleepy **** voice, he hums her romantic morning lullabies. The gray walls of the room soon embosomed with gleaming hearts of their beauteous lust and speedy soft breaths, leaving nothing more but powder blushes of crimson on her flowery cheeks in the springtime dawn. The honeyed lust in the veins lit the bodies of two lovers like candles into eternal flames of romance. Under the chocolate brown duvets, Milky fragrances of the tea dances along the bare hands of two lovers, while he serves breakfast on bed to her in an old-fashioned way. Bleak morning mist tango around the vitreous skins of scratched windows, as fat hummingbirds' tinkling giggles paint beyond the nature's smiley meadows, sending a major abundance of lovable freedom and glee to the people. In the bathtub, Velvety calyx of dreamlover rose flows smoothly through the silk water. They shower each other and let warmth grasp their naked body. He kissed her dancing soul of chasms out and tie uncountable amount of butterfly knots to her pancake stomach. His abilities of heart possessions had captured the universe's breath. *Nothing has changed since day number one, everything is iridescent. Everything is swimming in a magical pool of scarred perfections.* As the sun sets to the west, The undarkened nightfall sings lulling melodies and let its harmonic fire burn the skies. The shadows of their love whirl out unstoppable romance that vanished away void hopes and pain. The lover's spirits echo and echo into spring gorges and dashing rivers, Feeding darkness with lucent fragments of light. Oh they were only two humans in love... Or only a size of two negligible lovedust in the mystical galaxies... But their endless love never fails to deluge the world with drizzling tears. A facile spark of romance can be an amazing set of fireworks that creates indiscernible fruitful happiness. Who in the world could resist this unpredictable power of their spingtime love?
0
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Springtime Romance
His body lost temperature as he pressed himself against the chest of hers, seducing her with his love. With his sleepy **** voice, he hums her romantic morning lullabies. The gray walls of the room soon embosomed with gleaming hearts of their beauteous lust and speedy soft breaths, leaving nothing more but powder blushes of crimson on her flowery cheeks in the springtime dawn. The honeyed lust in the veins lit the bodies of two lovers like candles into eternal flames of romance. Under the chocolate brown duvets, Milky fragrances of the tea dances along the bare hands of two lovers, while he serves breakfast on bed to her in an old-fashioned way. Bleak morning mist tango around the vitreous skins of scratched windows, as fat hummingbirds' tinkling giggles paint beyond the nature's smiley meadows, sending a major abundance of lovable freedom and glee to the people. In the bathtub, Velvety calyx of dreamlover rose flows smoothly through the silk water. They shower each other and let warmth grasp their naked body. He kissed her dancing soul of chasms out and tie uncountable amount of butterfly knots to her pancake stomach. His abilities of heart possessions had captured the universe's breath. *Nothing has changed since day number one, everything is iridescent. Everything is swimming in a magical pool of scarred perfections.* As the sun sets to the west, The undarkened nightfall sings lulling melodies and let its harmonic fire burn the skies. The shadows of their love whirl out unstoppable romance that vanished away void hopes and pain. The lover's spirits echo and echo into spring gorges and dashing rivers, Feeding darkness with lucent fragments of light. Oh they were only two humans in love... Or only a size of two negligible lovedust in the mystical galaxies... But their endless love never fails to deluge the world with drizzling tears. A facile spark of romance can be an amazing set of fireworks that creates indiscernible fruitful happiness. Who in the world could resist this unpredictable power of their spingtime love?
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28
Gravity is negligible Ground below disappears Stars are within reach And our energy grows Even Einstein envies us Because time stops When we are together Control is needless With full confidence we make every desire reality Even Atlas envies us Because the world lies In the palm of our hands When we are together As brave warriors We boldly crash Every border ahead For a higher cause Even Napoleon envies us Because we are the masters of power When we are together The melody of Our melded bodies Is the only thing we hear Even Mozart envies The perfectly composed symphony When we are together Moral vanished Rationality forgotten Our psyche ruled by Id Even Freud envies us because pleasure is the only drug we use When we are together The fantasy is real As  is the breathing Mine and yours Deep and passionate Even Nietzsche envies us Because the Übermensch becomes alive When we are together
0
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
When we are together
So many years ago, I packed away my childhood, each year was placed neatly in a box, labeled and sealed shut with packing tape. And I took those boxes full of memories; memories full of pain, fear, sadness, abuse…and I placed them in the far back corner of the attic of my mind. I made the boxes diminutive and negligible, they were nothing special and I tried to forget they were there. I did this so I could get through each day without the painful reminder of who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. I did this so I could live. I knew the boxes were there, and I would go into the attic and check on the boxes…just to make sure the packing tape that held all the contents, all the filth and the same, was still secure, that nothing I was unable to face could escape. At times the tape would peal back, allowing the contents of the boxes to peak through the cracks, and I could see things so horrible I would be physically sick. The contents in the boxes would taunt me, beg me to look inside, to admit that they existed, and I would have to hurry and close the door to resist them. I resisted the temptation so I could live. So I could protect myself, and those I loved, from who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. I knew that eventually I would have to unpack those boxes, and put them away, where they belonged. And at times I tried to do it – but the contents were so rotten, so ***** and shameful, I couldn’t put them out for anyone to see. And I denied that they belonged to me. I denied them so I could live. So I could protect myself, and those I loved, from who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. Panic grew inside of me as the pain leaked out of the aged boxes, pain that was always there, but like the sound of my own heart beating, I no longer noticed it. It just was. And then the pain became overwhelming, loud and intrusive, I could hear screaming and crying, and noises that did not sound human , an animal in pain, I thought. I closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears but the screaming didn’t stop. It would not stop. I could no longer deny them. I could no longer protect myself. I could no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. Now, today, all these years later…these boxes that represent ME. And as I look around me, at the pain, and the shame, and the sadness, I not only see what these boxes held, I feel it…I hear it…I taste it…I breathe it. My vision is blurred from my tears…spilling over, some streaming down cheeks; others poised on the edges of my eyelashes, awaiting their turn to fall...right into the content of those boxes filled with my pain. Her pain. The pain of a little girl, abused and broken, unloved and unheard… I can hear her screaming and crying. I can feel her pain…it is real. And I can feel it, and I can hear it, and I can taste it…I breathe it. And I can no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me.
0
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Boxes
So many years ago, I packed away my childhood, each year was placed neatly in a box, labeled and sealed shut with packing tape. And I took those boxes full of memories; memories full of pain, fear, sadness, abuse…and I placed them in the far back corner of the attic of my mind. I made the boxes diminutive and negligible, they were nothing special and I tried to forget they were there. I did this so I could get through each day without the painful reminder of who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. I did this so I could live. I knew the boxes were there, and I would go into the attic and check on the boxes…just to make sure the packing tape that held all the contents, all the filth and the same, was still secure, that nothing I was unable to face could escape. At times the tape would peal back, allowing the contents of the boxes to peak through the cracks, and I could see things so horrible I would be physically sick. The contents in the boxes would taunt me, beg me to look inside, to admit that they existed, and I would have to hurry and close the door to resist them. I resisted the temptation so I could live. So I could protect myself, and those I loved, from who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. I knew that eventually I would have to unpack those boxes, and put them away, where they belonged. And at times I tried to do it – but the contents were so rotten, so ***** and shameful, I couldn’t put them out for anyone to see. And I denied that they belonged to me. I denied them so I could live. So I could protect myself, and those I loved, from who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. Panic grew inside of me as the pain leaked out of the aged boxes, pain that was always there, but like the sound of my own heart beating, I no longer noticed it. It just was. And then the pain became overwhelming, loud and intrusive, I could hear screaming and crying, and noises that did not sound human , an animal in pain, I thought. I closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears but the screaming didn’t stop. It would not stop. I could no longer deny them. I could no longer protect myself. I could no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. Now, today, all these years later…these boxes that represent ME. And as I look around me, at the pain, and the shame, and the sadness, I not only see what these boxes held, I feel it…I hear it…I taste it…I breathe it. My vision is blurred from my tears…spilling over, some streaming down cheeks; others poised on the edges of my eyelashes, awaiting their turn to fall...right into the content of those boxes filled with my pain. Her pain. The pain of a little girl, abused and broken, unloved and unheard… I can hear her screaming and crying. I can feel her pain…it is real. And I can feel it, and I can hear it, and I can taste it…I breathe it. And I can no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me.
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7
I'm running about with my mind scattered around, There you sit quietly alone on the ground. I hardly see you, I'm in such a hurry. As I whirl past your image is blurry. When I stop for a moment to eat my meal, You soft, quiet voice makes an appeal. I don't even hear you, I'm not paying attention. Your story begins with misapprehension. When you notice how little my ears are hearing, You become quiet depressed, your voice disappearing. My response to this; agitated, and sharp. Naturally, not failing to go straight through your heart. "Darling, please, I'm quite busy today. Yes, of course I'm listening, but remind me: What did you say?" But to you the message is already made clear: You are negligible, and my apology completely insincere. There, your self-worth is crushed under my shoe. You sit back quietly, shrouded in blue. I brush off your discouragement, I have no time to spare. As I rush out the door, you are left, though it may be unfair. Sometimes things are just as they appear. I am too preoccupied, and the top of my priorities you are no where near.
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Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC
Unimportant
If 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, i'd sitteth graciously on silence's table, and studyeth mine own evolved, yet un-evolv'd self, undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated, by w'rld's brightest gulf . and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself. if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, i'd sitteth comf'rtably on peace's table, and gaze mine own wounded, yet un-wound'd self, un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved, by w'rld's s'rry self . and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself. if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, i'd sitteth calmly on agony's table, and obs'rve mine own painful, yet not painful self, unmoved, undaunted, unleashed, by w'rld's weirdest self, . and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself. if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, i'd sitteth fain on glee's table, with mine own eyes smiling, and smiling at myself, unaffected, unguarded, unremitted, by w'rld's unrequit'd self . and grineth backeth, at myself. if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, twill forsooth beest a did bless, contending  miracle, as yond's at which hour i couldst pateth & greeteth myself, in real, in real, in real! and maketh this fact p'rceivable, yond our w'rld may sure oft hest struggles, and our m're existence in t, may just beest negligible, but we nev'r gotta f'rget to stayeth hopeful, smileth and giggle, nay matt'r how hard the struggles, as yond's the most wondrous fuel, yond can oft causeth miracles, in a w'rld, so obsess'd with struggles! And then with a sigheth, a blooming grineth, yet a sparkling desire within, i'll did bid myself, a farewell
0
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
If I Ever Meet Myself (Shakespearean version)
If 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, i'd sitteth graciously on silence's table, and studyeth mine own evolved, yet un-evolv'd self, undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated, by w'rld's brightest gulf . and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself. if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, i'd sitteth comf'rtably on peace's table, and gaze mine own wounded, yet un-wound'd self, un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved, by w'rld's s'rry self . and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself. if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, i'd sitteth calmly on agony's table, and obs'rve mine own painful, yet not painful self, unmoved, undaunted, unleashed, by w'rld's weirdest self, . and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself. if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, i'd sitteth fain on glee's table, with mine own eyes smiling, and smiling at myself, unaffected, unguarded, unremitted, by w'rld's unrequit'd self . and grineth backeth, at myself. if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself, twill forsooth beest a did bless, contending  miracle, as yond's at which hour i couldst pateth & greeteth myself, in real, in real, in real! and maketh this fact p'rceivable, yond our w'rld may sure oft hest struggles, and our m're existence in t, may just beest negligible, but we nev'r gotta f'rget to stayeth hopeful, smileth and giggle, nay matt'r how hard the struggles, as yond's the most wondrous fuel, yond can oft causeth miracles, in a w'rld, so obsess'd with struggles! And then with a sigheth, a blooming grineth, yet a sparkling desire within, i'll did bid myself, a farewell
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44
Negligible morsel of biomass my fat belly, formerly abs insignificant yet it occupies me hourly while bored or hungry. Fat is what? a picture of despair, giving up caring or man out of balance, other side of the world's starving mass, case of the soul's malnutrition industrial agriculture, television supermarkets, vacations, hydrocarbons and the grid. Electricity, urban traffic jams, photons at final rest. Sugars synthesized, abundant plastics to carry them home in. Into your house and into your mirror. Memorizing the periodic table and learning the calculus makes one no thinner. Walking the mountain in heat and cold and rain, alone or in fire crews should inhibit. And a healthy fear of death. A laugh a day at *** and pain and fate which renews the biomass I hate.
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Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
Morsel of Biomass
Spending intangible dollars at the mercy of my ever growing appetite, Instead of buying my ticket out of this perfectly advantageous country, Which focuses solely on my beauty and money. I neglect my inner advice telling me to drop it all and run, To where I can breathe and focus on God, Promoting a healthier way of living and improving humanity. Momentary hope that unrealistically characterizes perfection As a quality that I can mentally download and miraculously make the above, true, Never seems to linger long enough to actually induce action, Which leads to disappointment draining the motivation essential to recover my missing pieces, Which pushes me to crave cash I don’t have, to pick up that dose, That hushes the unwarranted guilt that seduces me into thinking that I’m not incredibly blessed, And that I can’t handle what I’ve been dealt, Blurs the doubts I have about my abilities, my self- worth, Forcing me into a state of content that awakens my creativity, While vaguely being able to make out memories of let down led by myself and my mother, Who was a part of what was never good enough for my idea of a perfect family. I’ve wrongly accepted that a mediocre life-performance is to be had while following the crowd, While obsessing over flaws that are negligible to my true purpose in life, And with that I’ve become stifled by the decision to remain effortlessly stuck.
0
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
Writing a Complicated Poem About What ****** Me Off
And I’ll swear by forty swords If a sword is what will appease you “SWORDS!” I’ll shout with mock obscenity, “Oh, swords!” And you’ll wordlessly curse me through pinched eyes And you’ll inform me that I am not a jester And that you are not my mother, nor my caretaker. But I swear, (swords!) I swear that my mother has never hatefully condemned me for making light of a situation Never folded her face into contorted revolt at my weak attempts to mend a fractured conversation. And yet it seems as though I’ve prodded you with too many swords You’ve plastered your negligible scars with bandages irrelevant– Trivial, for though once wounds, they’ve since been healed. Like a puppet master, like a ventriloquist You’ve got me speaking in idioms A foster home, I’ve adopted your character And, doing so, determined your actions foolish And you the fool and jester.
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Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 3:29 AM UTC
Forty Swords
A tantalized spirit Delves into my spine It dictates my breathing, It quickens my saunter I see filth in my mind, In my decaying lungs, On the palms of my hands Muck where virtue once resided Virtue untainted by original sin “O’ God free me” No reply The spirit seizes each prayer If the spirit within should perish Or plague babes hereafter It is negligible For every breast carries putrid milk Every infant grows And matures into a gruesome sight Every wave peaks And culminates Every day passes Every harmonious sound shall cease
0
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
Repetition
Autumn came quickly this year. The skies tinted themselves gray. The children were suddenly under three layers of clothing. I noticed I drank hot tea instead of iced coffee. My summer dresses were replaced by my favorite grubby sweaters. Scarves flew in formation to guard my neck from the cold air. My music playlist went from rock and roll to acoustic. I promised this autumn, sadness will not strike. I promised to leave summer paralysis back on the beach. I was not to fall off like the yellow leaves from the oak outside my dorm. You met me on my way to lecture. You were cowarding under three layers of clothing, eyes tinted gray. You were giving off the scent of exhaustion. You said I looked as if I were out to conquer the world. You said I was armed with my algebra textbook. I said you looked in harmony with the weather. You laughed. I believe you meant to stab me with that laugh. To remind me how in August your blue eyes did not want me. But it's October. And I'm detached from the thirst for you. Autumn came so quickly this year it made you irrelevant. October turned your blue eyes a negligible splash of gray, made you fall off like a yellow leaf from the oak outside my dorm, blurred you with the backdrop. Autumn came so quickly, October painted my green summer eyes a fiesty, burning yellow, a flame in contrast to the tinted sky, made my footsteps soothing like an acoustic guitar, made my lips taste like hot tea in my own mouth.
0
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
October
Within our cosmic insignificance, I find solace beyond shame. Embracing my paltry value, Accepting my humble name. Do galaxies bother in human affair? Have they halted the scourge Or answered your prayer? Indebted not to the appreciable stars, Negligible dust in their golden eyes. Existing above our earthen scars, They see not your flaws, they hear not your lies.
0
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Existential
Nigredo Crawl to your calignous cave, where The carbon walls will encroach your gray matter. Choke on the ebb of your gnarled reason. Left imploring, You will breathe the expanse, planets will taunt you. Negligible, your ego will dissipate, For you do not matter, are not matter, will not matter. You will take the cathartic dragon, Purge the soot from its gaping nostrils. Shadows will multiply and thunder your eyeballs Quick silver tears will swarm your porcelain peel. So below, As above. Albedo I erupted from my candescent pool, where The ivory baubles pirouetted in the cerulean sky, Stimulated faith, insanity, rhapsody. My unblemished chalk fingertips traced star-letters, “I do mind, am mind, will mind.” Bathing in this serene elation, I released the congested swallows, Scattered feathers upon the wasteland. As above, So below. Rubedo Soon will be a crippling inundation of crimson diamonds, That will shred and tear her dusty membrane, Waning shards will slowly clear and stitches will surface. Recognition will ignite from her shadows and Golden love will germinate in the sandy dunes. Leaves will gather to crunch her toes. The vitality queen will reign from her throne, Encrusted with life, stone in hand, So above, As below.
0
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 4:46 PM UTC
The Alchemist
***Our world is a union of millions of thoughts, And reality constitutes only a negligible part of its beauty. What our minds perceive is only a phaneron, And that constitutes only a negligible part of reality.***
0
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
We live in our Minds
*Just now returning opening my door.. warming and retiring a winter fireplace.. After a time on a deserted trail.. watching other woods fill with snow.. Large flakes floating and sticking.. unique pattern each building white depth.. Fleeting they live only this moment.. isolate one flake now joins whole.. New white body defies imagination only my footprints set order now.. The village owner I hope he reflects.. in such chaos his negligible role.. This lacy flake which made entrance now unseen as circle and center.. I then joined that village owner we're both ready miles to go...*
0
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
Frosty trail
A negligible volume and infinite energy A limitless interval of knowledge and intimacy Wisdom surpassing reason binding the creation Imprinted information in our core's explanation I am eternal, i will never die Death is conquered, though you will putrefy Because You knew too much, still you chose crime But I come from the outter margin, beyond space and time Words Of Harfouchism
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Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
The Rare Strain
Some times We freeze We stop living We stop thinking We become blank We forget our surroundings We become blind We forget to remember We fail to react We die momentarily In dark space We come across Such small deaths many times In our lives Especially when whom we consider So dear and near Depart us … Seems like we are lost for ever, even when we are in the midst of a crowd When we lose the energies of those who are nearby When we fail to connect We feel the emptiness of the complexities that surround us The work that has been done, remaining to be done Does it really matter what we do? Or what we live for? Does it really matter that we live? In the vast timeline of the universe Where do we stand? The infinitely negligible Portion of the man in the entire universe?
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Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
Small small deaths
Something sad, horrible, condemnable happened this day Two passenger planes deviated from their designated way. Intentionally two planes crashed into huge, tall, towers two. Thousands died, survivors were less, negligible, very few. But who were behind this barbarous act, heinous crime? Can they do? , people living in caves, way back in time. Surprised were pilots experienced when plane took turn U. Can a passenger plane be flown that way by pilots new? Will any sophisticated mobile phone function from that height? Can any airfuel melt steel strong, hard, standing upright? Can fire bring down structure so strong, quickly, veritically that way? I have seen buildings fragile standing ***** and burning for days. I am writing poem, stories and novels I cannot write. Islam is not the enemy, - >Quran (5: 32) , (5: 82) break glasses black and white. Now so costly are petrol and diesel, cheap is human blood. These are modern days, in deserts one can find rain and flood. In Google type ' Scientific Forensic Evidence Exposing 9/11 Lies' Try to increase your thought's horizon, take my honest advise. Must be destroyed tall tower of lies, huge tower of greed. Two aeroplanes filled with fuel of truth is all that we need
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Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
Inside Job! - 9/11
I'm a ******* genius. I'm gifted to an insane degree. How come you guys can't see this? Why is everyone so mean to me? I'm beautiful. I'm incredible. I'm a hero. You're a spectator. I'm important and you're negligible. I'm the president, but I'm no dictator.
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Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 10:55 PM UTC
Look at me go!
When last I left you sitting here alone with my lukewarm beer You told me I was charming told me scars were **** and I felt a little nauseous but I listened anyway can you order a beer so the next time I see you I'll forget I saw that fly on your ear? Really? Great. Whats that? You're drinking to forget the ***** on my boot? and your old man who had the master plan which is he on now? b? no z? can you count? you want to forget him and you want to forget me like a peppermint wrapper cheap and negligible that you carelessly toss away
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Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
Barfly
"NOTHING MUCH FOR MINORS" Minors are those less than eighteen, As they don't have knowledge in keen. They don't have a driving licence, As don't have driving sense. Minors are given just pen and page, Their life is not more than a cage. Holiday is not given even on sundays, As their age is negligible for fundays. Parents are worried not to get blame, From minors they just want their fame. Circumstances are same for every minor, Parents are just their life designer. -Sahaj Sabharwal. -Chowk Chabutra, -Jammu. -11th Class. ©sahajsabharwal Delhi Public School, Jammu #India #Poem #Jammu #sahajsabharwal12345 #DelhiPublicSchool #DpsJammu #copyright #INDIA #TALENTPOETSahaj Sabharwal
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Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
NOTHING MUCH FOR MINORS BY SAHAJ SABHARWAL