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Amanda Hawk Jan 2021
I can’t help but wonder if we have crossed paths
Over and over again, tangling each hello
Catching a hint of mischief when we first bumped into each other
And how easy it was for us to slip into
Conversations, plotting to take on the world
But first things first, we have to catch the moon
And hold the stars ransom in our back pockets
I swear we were pirates singing sea shanties
And conquering cities, but now we settle
For late night dance parties, and one shot, two shot, three
And sure, we are invincible, and I can’t help but wonder
If we have crossed paths over and over again
Our stories layering, life long friends
Or maybe arch nemeses, and each time
Tagging out a new adventure
Where we are chasing after each other
I swear we were renegades, young rebels
Questioning authority and pushing boundaries
Now, we collaborate artistically
Broadcasting in a world of social media, one shout, two shout, three
And sure, we are strong, and I can’t help but wonder
If we have crossed paths over and over again
Our history repeating, kindred spirits
Or maybe pieces of the same soul, and each time
We meet, we find a part of ourselves
We had forgotten
Inspired by BTS song "Telepathy"
Hayley Simpson Jan 2013
There is no shame, in moving back with your parents.

To them you still smell of diapers and the time you puked jelly beans all over the back of the car after you tilt-a-whirled your “I’m a big girl” attitude into giggles.

Around them you still clumsily tip over you own puberty when they ask you to clean your room.

You’re still in college. And that diploma on your wall is still less of an accomplishment, than when you suddenly discovered your thumbs.

So, how do you cope with the baby talk condescension scribbled over directions to empty a dishwasher properly?

1) Realize this is just temporary. You have till you’re at least 40 to fix this.

2) Clean your room of all the embarrassing childish evidence (i.e. N’Synch Posters, Pokemon Cards, Ect) . When CSI comes in they will just assume you were visiting.

3) Take long, long walks far, far away from your residence. Preferably the woods, so you may not run into any high school nemeses.

4) Pray you can get laid by someone, your age. Preferably someone you have not had any prepubescent encounters with already.

5) Eat all the free food you can.

With theses steps you can safely avoid pulling out your own fingernails with the self-loathing hiding under your bed.

Do not let it fill your Pog champion hands with delusions that you have failed to tie your own shoes, let alone pay your own taxes or get married.

Might as well give up those big girl pants and open lid cups and go back to Sesame Street and ******* in your own pants.

This…

Is only temporary.

You must say.

A temporary walk through the woods. Praying to lay down relax, and enjoy the air you are still eating.

This is only temporary.
Written (2013)
Evaldas Eseth Dec 2010
Every passing minute,
Penetrates us with new implants,
Of dynamic stability,
Of anxious comfortability

Fixing until they're obsolete,
Machine flies in fleets,
Rust in our sterile neurons,
Symmetry causing deforms

An arcane glitch,
Until the illumination
Of our steel plated souls,
An untouchable virus,
Not alone but
Imaginary friends
Or personal nemeses,
Under the dust hides us

Fate lost its impact,
Before the very birth,
In self excusing motherboards

Entities of creation
Or accidental subelement relation,
Beings of chaos at unclarity,
No stalemate, always in action,
What's ever born of it,
Presumes towards destruction
Created 08 December 2010
Gloved hands flex in umbra of night
a cot rocks, glittering in the rays of moonlight
baby coos, shaking its rattle
the leathery hands stalk the craddle
finding their prey, the gloves seek the neck
like guillotine, they reap
... they reap

Every idea meets this end
Every dream of mine every prayer
In infancy they glow then glow no more
throttled by shame, they break
chastised by fear, they fade
I would rock them, nestled in coaxing arms, close to my heart
the clock chimes its hour with pride and finality
at midnight, the reaping begins
upon the witching hour, my dreams are snuffed
and nightmares usurp their place.

Is it torment to expect more of myself?
Content to write poetry and leave epic tales of heroes and nemeses to doom and dust?

How many old lovers have I professed my dreams to
how many friends have I bored with my tales
how many family members smiled as I asserted my storytelling chops
only so I could stop, even before the period could halt the last sentence of the novel, thwarting its purpose.

How many heroes clambered upon my doorstep
begging, pleading for me to pen their heroism
How many villains woke me up with their cackling
In the corner, sitting, their eyes glowing in the void of night,
smiling teeth too white
or too black
feathered hats bobbing as their malice peaks
when they hold snaking knives to my throat
and with morbid breath instruct,
"For the love of God..." they say,
"Paint me in a good light, but make my misdeeds known, **** you!"
And I would lay awake, dreaming of these worlds
until the clocks knell
knell
knell
knell
allowing the ebb of time
to wash away my desires, my talents
and the glistening, far-off worlds fade to nothing...

In the end, indeed,
even my mind fades
leaving nothing but a husk behind
and all who knew come to watch
hanging a tombstone upon my rigor mortis neck,
it reads the words,
"He tried, of course he tried
but the devil has his price,
and this poor soul couldn't make rent."
My most cynical take on my problems with writing long stories (some short stories and otherwise, novels): It's also the first time I've written about it poetically, almost therapeutically.

I remember a time when I could sit down and not leave until 5000 words (or midnight, whichever came first) sat on the page.
I remember when there was no concept of a chore, or bore.
But these are just memories...
Who am I now?
Someone unhappy, that's for sure!

I'm trying to do something about it, so I hope I can keep doing what I'm doing (had a list or goals here, but it's wayy too long).

Anyway...

Enjoy!

DEW
Fountains of shame summon your nemeses
We are all pregnant with our resistances
She speaks in rhythms deep
As poems emerge from her hips
She thinks about the river and it quivers
Underneath her skin
There are dolphins reaching for the sky
Flippers finding fingers to caress their alibis
We are all singers
Of a song that has no words
And painters of images that have never been seen
We are impregnated by our dreams
While single handed sailors row us all to safety
We are basically still ashamed
Of all this pretty ugly creativity
Sean Pope Jun 2012
It is with curiosity
I find myself without a trance
Within in which to lose myself,
Give forth to flitting fancy.
Foe and friend might make amends
In such a stupor as that I lack,
But it is with a frightful force
I trudge the turgid track.

For even staunchest nemeses
Might find a counterpoint in depth;
A silent song is what I call
The anthem antiseptic.
Without a stone I can condone,
I fall to a resplendent stress:
I find myself increasingly
Descending into madness.

The miracle of life.
Hope holds my hand
Against the anxiety of the
Topsy-turvy turns of
Icy isolation with
Nemeses, Necromancers, Nothing,
Guiding great things.

Never and nothing:
One can't open the
Narcoleptic disposition I'm
Experienced in.

Lavished in loneliness,
Obliterated,
Venturing to
Expel or endure through this
Destruction.

But in the end there is only
You.

One, but
None are
Expected to stay.

Hating none, loved by one.
Stickamstam Definition: A coin worth hardly anything.
H Phone Feb 2018
OST
You’re more than the sum of your parts.
Your form, as it travels through the air, is poetry in motion,
a poem written in the wind,
invoking a wide range of emotions,
from getting your blood pumping,
to getting your heart bleeding;
from jumping for joy,
to jumping in fear.
But unlike others, your beauty carries something soulful:
a memory.

My blood isn’t boiling over the heat you radiate alone;
I associate it with facing my nemeses.
My heart isn’t soaring because of the wings you give me;
it soars because I remember the excitement of a victory.
My tears aren’t welling because of your rainclouds spilling;
the pools form over the fall of a friend.

Had it not been for these memories,
you would have been nary a whisper,
facing a boundless flood of noise,
but even as I’m drowning in its vastness,
you, I will forever proudly hoist.
A poem about my love for video game music.
Proviquis Feb 2015
Where I am
In my
Life- Currently-

Friends
Are a thing of
Fiction

Family
Is all I see in the
Future

And

Nemeses
Never really did
Exist

In my
Life- Currently-

The closest
Thing to a friend
Brother

He is
Smarter
Than me

I don’t mind
Though
I like a challenge

Im learning
New things
Every day

It seems each time
I see him- I- have
More and more to say

In my
Life- Currently-

After I study
I head to the
Factory-

****-
The-
Factory-

That place
Is filled with
Ignorant- pigs
Edward Coles Apr 2018
She used to bite her lip
Arch her back
As she sank down on top of me
When she reached my ***** bone
My **** felt like it could break in half

Still, she’d lean further back
And in the throes of ecstasy
My **** became property of hers
At the mercy of her spine
And how she chose to undulate it

We would lay there
All hot and stupid
In our cigarette smoke
We’d both derive pleasure
From my pain

She taught me how to kiss
She taught me how to really kiss a woman
Kiss and ****
Alternating between closed and opened mouths
The neck, collarbones, the insides of ears
“Oh baby…” she’d whisper when we were done
“Kiss me all over…”
And I did.

I’d start on her toes
She had a mole on her fourth toe
Right at the knuckle
And the cutest ankles you’ve ever seen
I’d never noticed feet in any capacity before
If the nails were painted and she was clean
I’d take my time down there

Next I’d work the calves
Always massaging a little further up
To where my lips and tongue were
Working in tandem
I could taste our *** on her skin
As I kissed between her small, pointed *******
Her pale skin – she’d faintly utter a sound

Her diaphragm lifting
Her swimmer’s body
And hairless ****
She’d whisper “baby…”
As my hands work her hips
And my lips move to her neck
By the time we’re making out
I’m inside her again

All the guts and gore of routine love
I could feel my *** run out of her
Like a broken yolk
Nothing beautiful about it aside from the feeling
******* her so soon was like
Screaming after a smoker’s cough
**** all swollen and hungover

Still, she looked beautiful in the half-light
Of the early afternoon
Curtains closed
Till the street lights come on
These moments where 2 hours sail with ease
Without drinking, smoking, or killing something
Inside of us

Though the *** was full of heart
It was all methodical, strategic
Making love to the one we hate the most
Nothing hurt more than my numb life
But I’d forget it in these instances
Of endless restoration between her legs
We’d sit in bed and smoke and drink
Too spent now to ****, the evenings
Were for ourselves
Though we were never apart

Somewhere along the way
*** was all we had left
Fight
****
Drink

Soon enough we’d stare across the bed
Nemeses waiting for the other to crack
“God, I hate you,” I said once
As I pulled back her hair
And kissed her behind the ear
She shuddered
“You repulse me” she said

“don’t stop.”
C
JR Feb 2018
I feel like I'm losing control of my life. She betrays me and says she's sorry. I believe her but I know I shouldn't. I love her but I know I shouldn't. I feel like a puppet who's trying to cut his strings. Stuck in a cycle of Stockholm Syndrome. Is love any different? I feel like it should be. It used to be, but now it's just an inability to defect. Threats more abundant than thoughts.
     Sometimes I feel courage to leave, which rapidly turns to fear. How could someone let go of his or her greatest memories? And yet those memories become spoiled and all I'm left with are fallicies in disguise.
      I think I can follow through this time around. Yet where would this leave me in the end? Is it worth it? Doubt consumes action and doubt begets doubt. Left with my nemeses: stagnation and insecurity.
     Is the risk worth the reward? What is the reward? Reward should not be synonymous with pleasure. My prize for action will be my drive for inaction.
     This gyre known as love. . .will it ever seize its pull?
Samuel Nov 2017
Give us the strength
to break what needs breaking
to be the monster who is a hero
fierce fury felling foes fully
burning like Regonereth
nemeses in our own right
Give us that strength
Before the monsoon descends in feverish
torrents, and The Great Migration begins,
the earth crumbles, crackles and slides
into tawny showers of sand and stone.

Parched prey pray to elude their nemeses,
who scour patches of brown grass,
their noses low and quivering, sniffing
the dust for the faintest fragrance of food.

Baboons heckle crocodiles, whose eggs they've stolen;
female lions pounce on defenseless gazelles. Necks snap.
Life looms for all in the gathering rain clouds.
Yet death will follow, stealthy as a leopard in tall grass.

We ***** the globe like a shaky-legged newborn
giraffe, awkward and vulnerable; dewy-eyed and gulping
the heavy particles of air for the sure scent of sustenance.
Our prey carries no smell, no taste, no movements.

It is sheer spirit shaped from the eternal whirlwinds
of dust that dance around our path. How else shall
we advance? Rain, when it comes, only splatters
in our eyes. We await The Great Migration of Souls.
Jabbering Ignominious Hypocrite Gabbles - against the backdrop of gross unbridled viscous wracking zealotry bruiting extinguishing inherent national trust...  

Poetic Introduction:

I wax and wane rhapsodic
plus prosaically politic
aware severe erosion
of American democracy
over run by narcissistic
over stuffed ego-freezer,
whose vocabulary
extremely laconic
foe swash buckling braggadocio
commander in chief
not gun shy
to brandish (hugely
bully like) jingoistic
tirade unleashing horrific
banshees more'n 10, 000
foo fighting maniacs
(nemesis of liberty) fatalistic
to sanctity of
United States democracy
throw back at him bigly,
his woeful treachery,
quasi xenophobic, tragic,
and lunatic bred anarchy!

Each ticking second of every single day, the pensive, doughy face execrably debased “dunderhead” criminal commander in chief (trumpeting acrimonious, calumnious, egregious...yakking), while donned in gay apparel) trumpeting lunatic, jingoistic, ideology imbues heretic catalysts.

Thou art unduly seething, quaking, and oozing mercurial kindling ideological glommed ethos of mine. These atrocious blaspheming, castigating, denigrating, excoriating, fulminating gross humiliations imply jerkiness, kookiness, lunacy.

No! Not for one more term can this acidulous, indecorous Mandates need outspoken politicians quickly removing this utterly vile wicked Xerses.

Thus spoke Zarathustra (without blandishment) to me, a gluten and monosodiumglutinate free, NON-GMO non-alarmist, nonestablishmentarian, nor ham aye a nihilist.

Yukon just **** sitter me a copacetic, energetic, ironic language lover (English is ma lingua franca late mother tongue), who waxes poetic, but tall so one babbling, creaking, and dabbling dis arming marine naval (gazing) scrivener expressing stance toward thee present lord save us (Te Deum) included despite admitting to espouse atheistic tendencies.

This “FAKE” president aces at blabbing acerbic, caustic, empathetic, fatalistic hoary jabbering mishmash!

I aim to affect a chain reaction while this paunchy dumpling remains in office, whereat he flirts, debases, colludes, with amoral, diabolical, execrable horrible ingrates.

His see-through debonair, imposter nuanced orbit poseur quite revealing sans, (inviting guests, sans agents provocateurs to join his all-star ensemble of mailer daemons, lampoon kickstarting imps of the pervert further underscores this delusional faux equalitarian huckster as an unqualified commander in chief!

A flourishing gesticulation (hocus – pocus) kindles, flickered and evinces braggadocio. This pantomime a charade, facade, inlaid limp odiousness. Via compounding gall, he makes official indiscriminate ******* legislation all the exempting himself and kin.

Smug slinking, sneering, sporting antics attempt to cocoon diabolical, horrible laws (automatically abrogating, evading, flaunting every decree, whereat he affixes his signature). This absolute zero with dangerous liaisons significantly, knowingly, and increasingly shortens the metaphorical burning fuse.

He sets the figurative and literal global shaky sphere stage setting off a global conflagration. If privy with box office seat, you will rub shoulders with guest appearances sans, worldwide webbed sheep in wool clothing faux allies.

These Janus faced grungy beastie boys, cagily, edgily cadge facile self-possessing knack to acquire fruitful knick knacks (paddy whacks give their dog a bone), which forsaken good and plenty treats blithely, blindly, blandly exchanged at the emotional, financial, and spiritual expense of American taxpayers.

This collusion to fiddle (while Rome burns), gamble and mollycoddle with turncoats actually, demonstrably, generously favors these chameleon nemeses.

Poetic Polemic Bookends this rant:

Though poor (financially),
this figurative anchorite
doth no longer
wanna feel powerless
against bicameral blight
thus approaching 2020 election...
uneasily doth excite.
Suresh Gupta Jul 2018
Fanaticism

Ignorance it's motto
Illiteracy it's weapon
Narrow mindedness it's field
And also it's shield

It gathers the ignorant
In the shroud of illiteracy
Robs them of their freedom
And steals their individuality

It makes some prisoners for life
Some prisoners by birth
Deprived of any reasonings
Robbed of any worth

Having no boundaries
It exists in all of us
Whether born or bread
It destroys all that is precious

In the past it had its emissaries
Without shame or need of guises
In the form of kings and priests
But now hides in many disguises

Liberals want it tamed
But that only sends it underground
Emotions cannot be framed
And voices cannot be drowned

The way to defeat this nemeses
And change ones mentality
Is through knowledge and education
With freedom and individuality
A lot of water on Earth never gets cold enough to freeze
We are lightning’s dreams divided into thirty beings
The Gods created an immediate opening inside your head
But who can decide why we are afraid to fly
When magic is alive and trying to escape from it's cage
We are in denial of the rage we have yet to face
So you break free of icy bars that keep you chained to your nemeses
We need sunlight and kindness like a child needs it's mother
You were found lying down upon the daisies
Making our love seem as fresh as all these raindrops
Whatever kindness you can imagine
Someone may try to explain away the beauty of it, eventually
But right now I need life to refrain from tantalizing me too frequently
So open my mind for you are already a part of the divine collective
That reminds me to breathe whenever I can't see what's happening in front of me
Or the sparkle of that infinite sky within me
Its true that your lips speak the tenderest of music
But still I choose to remain appreciative of this confusion
Michael Marchese Jun 2023
Grow up in a swamp
Dampen spirited
Sinking
There’s no coming back
No escape
From rethinking
This home
We are rooted to
Stone’s throw
From who we knew
Soon to submerge
In the dismal
Mundanity’s
Tireless dirge
May it serve
Unrelenting
From Quaker to Cat,
Like the memories’
Nemeses
Harken us back
To catharsis
In darkness’s
Walk through the woods
The reclaiming,
The changing
Of old neighborhoods
But to leave it behind
In the mired
Decline
Is impossible
Lest you
Return
Time to time
Ellie Stelter Sep 2014
It’s going to sound strange, but the thing I miss most is your skin.
I know that underneath the starlight I did not say it,
but if I could run my fingers over your body till I burst
then I would explode. I was shaking and it had nothing to do
with the sunless chill that hung over the Earth
under the silver sky like two pale worms we twisted around
and devoured each other, nemeses till the end
our destruction was mutually assured, communal and
longed for. so long it seems we spent speaking without saying anything,
till finally our words were mirrors, and our thoughts
like screeching tires and blinding reverse lights, the
sickening memories of mistakes that led to accidents
that fermented into regret. so much that could have been
was not: curse God for my shyness, ask why we dwell on
something imaginary, something intangible when we’re here,
together, now. so many times, I told you, the world is so big
and I am so small, one of billions, insignificant: but
then we were giants, and reality shrunk till it enclosed
only us, and the sky. the things you said then
were enough to fill that space, the air between us
was not filled with molecules but with planets, each one
full as ours of dreams. the surreality of those moments still haunts me:
if it weren’t for the marks left by your teeth, I would not
be sure that we had ever fallen together at all.

— The End —