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Kara Rose Trojan May 2015
Au(Or)al Tune
When (O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity knocks –
            Ah, pour that tune into me
               n(O)t
just write or speak
            but
                        /zIg:zAg/
            gut--
                        --teral mut--
            --ter yarns
                        With
Mouth-churn--
--ing-beat-lick--          
                        --ings.


Half-grown seedling ([her]bal:e(X)ssen(10)ces)
                                    into sm(O)ke
adolescent (O)re worn from being p(o)(o)r—
                      it was nE(X)CESSary for:
battles
birds
beats
b(O)(O)ks
bottles
bucks
b(O)nes
boys
bei­ng(bad)


sm(O)ke-rings w(ear)y with surr(end)er      
      stripped
            v(O)wel
                    for
                       v(O)wel
thr(OU)gh the yawn: (O)nly
            “(O)h.”

             (O)h
              … foll(O)ws

                        the
You’re w(or)th-knowing-ONLY-(O)nce
            type of l(i)ke.
VERSE/VERSUS: the
You’re-w(or)th-knowing-AT:LEAST-(O)nce
            type of l(i)ke
VERSE/VERSUS:
                        for (u)s

it’s the worst type of verse
                        when it’s
            them:VERSUS:us
                     (verses)

likewise -- (O)r worse --
it should really be about//
      a bad in (u)s: Y(O)U:ME


(O)h after a
                        kn(O)ck
(O)h after a
                        t(u)ne:://
(end)-verse
for worse – it’s an
(end)-versus-us
                        type of verse.


(O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity
            pouring
            ringing e(X)cesses
like
                     ear-worms to
                     hear words to
                     heat hearts.

Ah::rest that mouth-verse onto me.
            (restful//fluster)
Ah::rest that mouth
            (silent//listen)
soulless gall(O)w r(u)ng
lipless v(O)wel sl(u)ng
            like
ARTS::between::STARS
            then
VOICES RANT ON::into::CONVERSATION
            then
PAYMENT RECEIVED::yet::EVERY CENT       PAID ME

worst-verse:
           Y(O)u//like hanging
                        your dipTH(O)NGS
on (O)pportun(e)ity’s d(O)(O)r
            like
                        sm(O)ke-rings
            like
                        being(bad)
            like
                        Y(O)U:ME
            like
                        (O)h. n(O).

(end)-verse:
worst-verse:
            L(I)ttle.Kn(O)wn.V(O)wel::
            n(O)(O)se big for (u)s

            ALL.
BarelyABard Jun 2017
I wish to topple wicked kings.
Rage and slice the hidden strings.
Watch the temples burn and fall,
lead revolts and breach the wall.
I have no wish to take control.
There is no "greater" noble goal.
I have no plans to own the land
I want no people to command.
The only thing my heart desires,
is truth unbound, unyielding fires.
To see the world without the veils,
as evil dies and good prevails.
The kings of man who lie and scheme
to spread their fear and vicious dream
will watch their statues disappear
entombed against a new frontier.
I wish to topple wicked kings
rage and slice the hidden strings.
I'd gaze upon an empty throne
if I could just defeat my own.
You can't make a difference in the world without controlling your own egocentric nature.
ryn Oct 2015
.
  •sharpened to                                  • prowling  this
  a point•made                                     hallowed night
  to sink easily                                      •to satiate my  
    into flesh •                                         hunger   pa-    
     power   to                                            ngs• know    
     maim and                                            my name      
    disjoint•                                            as i take    
       spilling                                             flight  •      
       blood,                        ­                    cower      
          warm                                          as i ba-      
           and                                         re my      
          fre-                                      fan-        
         sh                                   gs        
•                                •
.
.
Happy Halloween!
Anna Lo Sep 2012
altho
                  ugh i push y
                                         ou away, yo
                                                u have alw
                                                             ­        ays see
                                                             ­                       med to kno
                                                             ­                                               w that
the truth of the m
                              atter is, i will alwa
                                                            ­    ys need you more
                and yet
                                                        poets are flagra
                            nt wastes of space
hem      
                   ming the edge
                                                  s of this society
                                                                                                               confining it
                                     with hed
          onistic needs and wants
                        and all t
                                      he ridiculous feeli
                                                           ­                               ngs assoc
                                                           ­              iated with the fu
                                                              ­                                                          cked system of
                  emot
   ional intelligence
                                            emascu
                                                           lating the blac
                                                                                          k and wh
                                                              ­                        ite i des
                        ire of



Alas, Alas
I seem to have drowned myself into Kool-Aid.
"Poets are shameless with their experiences; they exploit them" said Nietzsche once.
I wonder how you are today.
Alex Martin Feb 2012
The time moved on quicker than expected
That thing between you and I soon became neglected,
The constant hope and yet constant pain
The nonsensical rules of the game
And would it have been worth while?

Sometimes I think back and remember
That party we both attended in the November
Before you left and I was more confused
The confusion that left me so very bemused
Would it have been worth while?
To tell you then how much it did mean
For you to want me or for it to seem
As if you did.

When I saw that picture of the two of you
That’s when I realised, that’s when I knew
Things had moved on for you but not for me
I needed to change and finally see
But would it have been worth while
To not have deleted you from my life
But kept you up to date with the struggles and strife
I felt at that time.

When that seven months passed and you returned
Those feeli ngs that had begun to disperse
Also began to return and eventually burn
That hideous notion of unrequited lust
Having to see you and hide this just
So as not to make a fool of myself
Would it have been worthwhile, though?
To tell you how much I needed that smile
Of yours in my life every day.

And after these three long years
Feelings of loss, desperation and many tears
For you to tell me that you finally feel that way
Was not actually as incredible or as  ama-
Zing as I hoped it would be, but in fact
Made me see
And now I know and can finally smile
Realising that no – it Would not have been worth while.
David Ian Go Mar 2014
there are some things that lay beneath what is visible,
there are some words that are not said yet understood,
there are things invisible to the naked eye but are still felt,
there are some things you never thought were there,
there are some words never spoken, never uttered,
but these are those words that give so much feelings and emotions,
those are the things I want you to see.
I... how do I start this?

Okay, I'll just, just get straight in...

I think of nameless things,
Weightless thoughts with withering strings,
Faithful thoughts of my distressed links,
Boneless thoughts now surfacing,
Stressful 9, and He stopped winking,
No two's and no signs and I'm singing,
So here's now what I'm invested in:

I like to sing, I like to write, there's a Sılver ın my mınd,
I also like to talk in rhymes, and keep the meaning behind.
No, I don't talk like this real life.

Just a little sometimes :}

Not so socially smart and strong,
That's why I like to stay between my walls,
It's a lot easier.. being you between ya walls, ya know?

I love to know, but am I capable at all anymore?
Lately I've gotten a little time-out,
And I thought it was a nice life treat (becuase, wow, obviously I've always been a lucky me.)
But now I lost my inner light, n my speed's somewhere at school & sixteen,

And I...hate all these I's... I use too much of those, don't I? sigh

So, well, here's my why: I enjoy writing because inside I'm.. just...

Well.
T.Swifting on my surroundings,
And 'my feelings, all my findings,
Schizophrenic analysis,
Drama addict's falls and lightnings,
A hundred more words off a Draddict,
But they'll fall out where the light's in,
And I struggle to finish my writings,
A quick toggle in the dark, a little change in heart,
This great flow of my voice... sometimes. I have to confess of my heart for the dark.
How did I get to write this section?
And since when do I blend songs & introductions?

My winter infection?

A little more than I should, I'm enjoying this dive down deep to the darkest dark. A little more than a little more than I should.
For the match of my heart with the darkest dark.

My first actual poem. Hope you liked it :)
Sayer May 2013
t
          ire
                    swi  
                                ngs
                                      and s    i    d     e    w    a    l   k    s      
                                                etc.
up
||
fill


my
mind
through-------------------mytime

you're so
precious
so beautiful
like diamonds only
m  o r  e    s  o

as the sun shines

d
o
w
n

n
o
p
u

the ro
cks

death and destr/ction
may devour my mind
but no one can take my time
and etc etc tire swings and sidewalks fill my mind
beauty and your lips on mine

and beautiful I think we're doing just fine
Taylor Evans Apr 2013
Dear Taylor,

     Things are not the way they used to be.
Don't get me wrong I do love you
     Just not the way that you love me.

     I've never had a friend like you
     One I could tell EVERYTHING to
but you, you keep secrets
Things about you
     You say I can never know
It hurts me
     That you don't let your full self show

The first time you told me you liked me
I didn't know what to think
     Or what I should say
So I told you the truth
     That I'd never thought of us that way

I confused my feelings for you after that
     Because when my mom walked out and life got tough
You stepped up to bat
     You where always there for me
Day or night
     Whether my issue be money
or that my dad and I got in another fight
     You were there for me
And my little brothers too
And for that I sincerely thank you

I didn't know how deep your feelings for me ran
     Until I split us apart
You then told me you loved me
     And that I'd broken your heart.
It was then that I decided
That we had to be divided.

     I chose that in this world
There was a you and a me
     Because I knew that an us
could never be

I never wanted to hurt you
I love you
     I did what I did to keep our friendship together
But that wasn't possible
Because things between you and I
      Have changed forever
Trefild Nov 2023
a[ɛ]m I going psychotic in my dA̲[ɛ]mn mind
or ma[ɛ]nkind is on a deranged ride
[in fact, I prefer the word "humankind", but it doesn't fit with the rhyme pattern]
on an armored train? like that power-cray
North Korean son of a bo[ɑ]mb afraid
of his own tubby shade
on a reckless ride that's
go[ʌ]nna take
the highly developed kind back
fro[ʌ]m the age
of reason to the uncivilized past's
darksome days
["dark somedays"]
(probably the latter)
————————————————————————————————
should be in a mental asylum watched over (why?)
off my "meds" like some iron-grip jE̲rkwad
[the meds were mostly video games]
in power striking a wA̲r up
an indescribable U̲rge to wreak destruction & ******
[mostly lyrically]
as if I were a horse-riding enforcer of the Apo[ɑ]calypse or a
jihadist supporter of the IslA̲mist new order
heading to a spot with the public galO̲re to
turn up at; I'm highly avE̲rse to
autocracy, but tyrant-like to[—]ward a kindergartner-like verser
half-a## writers, conformers, & allies of usurpers
better put on something fire-sound or go underground
like the Camorra or Johaness Arnesson, fO̲r I
["for I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "fora"]
[Camorra is a part of the underworld]
[Johannes Arnesson (Owl Vision) makes underground type of electronic music]
am, like when a living victim's hide's being bU̲rned to
muscles by a hob O̲r a cutting blowpipe, a fierce torcher
["torture"]
and if there were, like Ivan the Fourth, a
terrible tsar & a murker, like a hitman satisfying hit orders
[the reign of Ivan the Terrible is infamous for, inter alia, tortures]
for me to take my pick like a **** 𝑓𝑜[ɔ]𝑡𝑘𝑎
["pic."]
I'd, like the wight-like equine rider
direct my sight on the former (scythe); you hardly can stI̲r up
[Death, the pale one of the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse]
a spark, I've come to the taiga & stI̲rred up
a violent inferno; while in the wilds, I've discerned a
couple of male old-timers encircled
by some guards & cam workers; a fire fiend, for the
restless mind is like a flamethrower
which this corruption-plagued world su—
—pplies with fuel like a "Flying J" servo
don't get this wrong, I can't be bothered re[eɪ]
which kai is fave by which state, but I'm afraid
autocracy is, in the China vein, on the rise today (on the rice)
but, for the sake of a fighter plane
laying f#cking waste to a ride or train
with an autocratic ******* aboard
what is a singular someO̲ne that ain't
a well-savvy hacktivist nor
a sick gunfighter, like Max Payne
to do when the disbalance between a civil society
and a regime in some abysmal auto[ɑ]cracy
is so grave there's nothing safe
and rock-solid, like a tungsten *****
to do to undermine this state
of affairs? apply the cre[i]do of yours
to whatever at which you are versed
that's why I'm engaged in my anti-autocratic rhyme crusade
[previously to this one: "punishment of an autocrat"; "надвигался 2022-ой" ➔]
[➔ "a couple of words for dictators" & anti-authoritarian fragments ➔]
[➔ of some other rhyme pieces published by me]
I might lO̲O̲k to be an evil-minded skate
now, but, seizing the opportunity
like some viced ***** gained
a role O̲f a rU̲ler with
an unchecked political might & aimed
at establishing a tight-grip reign inside the state
there's something I'd like to say
I hhhooock... thooo... spit on tyrants' graves
and graves of their compliant aides
without the slightest shame, I, like a crane for construction, raze
["raise"]
their heads—tones by a mace from the knightly age
bet taphophiles ain't gonna like the way
in which I behave; ones who're enviro-cray
better get fire squa[ɑ]ds awake like a rite that takes
place after someone's life has waned
wholly (a wake), 'cause I get mY̲ hands laid
on a pulverizer with spirits of wine & spray
it on those scheissers' grave—yards, then make
'em go, like the face of someone laughing so wildly they
are about to split their sides, ablaze
and I've barely gotten underway
lyrics-wise, I'm gonna give a harsh time
to a power-blinded, nazissistic go[ɑ]bshite
a sort of tea party which you'll no[ɑ]t like
'cause there's a billypo[ɑ]t rife with steaming splo[ɑ]sh I've
got in the pipeline, like oil, & will be pleased to slo[ɑ]sh right
into your filthy mug, swine, so here's a piece of a[ɑ]dvice
better get equipped with some wipes
and something chilling, much like
a horror game when you sit without lights
and in earphones in the middle o[ʌ]f night
it may seem now as if I'm a kitchen cart guy
and you're at an eating spo[ɑ]t (why?)
'cause you're about to get served
scuzz, I'ma strike
a lyrical skewer through your mouth & your stern
just like a swine
————————————————————————————————
it is night-time, like the pre-enlightenment E̲[i]poch, but I'm
["knight time"]
like a ballista sho[ɑ]t flyi[—]ng
the target's way, in the open air & quite away
like an anthracite aflame/ablaze
["(a) vay" (Malagasy) - "(a) glowing coal"]
nearby the gates of your sublime estate
a mite ashamed to say this, but I might be ta'en
for the Russian state or the "Hamas" brigade (why?)
these premises are like Ukraine
or Israel, respectively, inasmuch as they
are gonna be violated sI̲m. to a victim of a ******; finna
penetrate your villa like the agent Fisher
[Sam Fisher from the "Splintel Cell" videogame series]
which is gonna be made much quicker
than you, a[ɛ]nxious geezer, would make a lady stimu—lated I̲nto
the ****** state; your security system & lights are way
like a surgeon who's armless, they no longer o[ɑ]perate (ha-ha)
'cause I have an EMP device in play; the weather, by the way
is trash, raining, just like Hussein in his presiding days (trash, reigning)
but your cap-cladded daw[ɑ]gs remain
outside despite that & an adage Russians say
that a dog keeper that is mindful ain't
gonna let his dogs be outside at the time it rains
or when some other weather that's bad becomes the case
but thA̲t's, un—like the sign that's made
of metal & acts A̲s an
indication that it's a co[ɑ]p you face
not a bother; like a register that has an
["buzzer", in the sense of "police badge"]
abundant range
of info about a vile regime's pieces of crap having
rank slides, such as their addies, mug sho[ɑ]ts, & names
a specialist, the black-cladded
["special list"]
crusader from the Norsefire-tyrannized UK
in the Guy Fawkes mask strapped with
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
a blowgun with darts, like the pirate claimed
the title of an assassin
[Edward Kenway from "Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag"]
by which I sedate those diletta[ɑ]nte[—]s ordained
to guard your place as I slyly make my go[ɑ]ddamn way
forth like a farcE̲U̲r coming out
of behind the stage
lock pick the door of your house
then walk inside like a pro[ɑ]mena[eɪ]de (walking site)
while touring around
the pretty so[ɑ]lid place
of yours, I encoun—
—ter your do[ɑ]xy draped
with a corse[—]let-like towel
not far away from the room in which you shower, bathe
with her bo[ɑ]dy shape, to one whose mind's unchaste
she's like a va—cant front seat to one whose sight's debased
hard not to try & take; but, given the time & place, I try to stay
away from these broad thoughts like an ex-****-bawd (thots)
besides your inviting bae
like a ship-parking space nearby a pirate-obliging place
["inviting bay"]
I descry your maid nearby the kitchen-dinette; they
both get tranquilized, like someO̲ne who came
for a massage, & chained to pillars of a ba[ɑ]lustrade
with their gobs sealed with parcel tape
arrived a mite hungry, so I knife a slice
off of an icebox pie I came bY̲ inside
the fridge of yours, then eat it sE̲rved on
your high-cost plate
using your silver fork &
your table knife engraved
with a rhomb grid adornment
(some would think you're a perfectionist, like me when I undertake)
(rhyming like an Eastern person)
["ramen"]
(but, in accordance with what my mindset says)
(it's more likely you're just pretty corny)
(like rappers whose lines display their consumerism-governed brains)
(and whose body of rhymes is shaped in an unenticing way)
once the meal's finished, like a rival/fighter slain
in a "Mortal Ko[ɑ]mbat" fray, I leave your tableware defiled, same
as that pious place, in which ***** Riot made
a protest performance
pU̲t on, like that unashamed
co[ɑ]cky, a la desert soldiers
["khaki"]
autocratic swine that reigns in the north-east mo[ɑ]bster state
some high-octane tunes fro[ʌ]m a play—
—list of mine, then start to make your hideaway
[it's supposed that the EMP effect has gone by this time, so electronics are able to function]
look like it faced the wildest rave where mustered skates
who have, like a wrE̲cking ball
a disorganizing trait
towards stuff that's ta[ɛ]ngible
and are prone to territory-marking, same
as what's done by a[ɛ]nimals
or bY̲ street ga[ɛ]ngs
quite an effortful
jo[ɑ]b awaits your unlucky maid
or whoever you're gonna choose to invite & pay
in order to neutralize the may—hem caused by my stay
————————————————————————————————
such a misfortune you, A̲##hole
are away from your glorious castle
which is, like a brutal ******
that you are, looking nO̲[ɑ]t so
["nutso"]
glorious now if you look insI̲de, *** (ha-ha)
you stupid ****̲teball, ***** you, li̲ke bolts
"spit on autocrats' graves" by TREF1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Olga Valerevna Feb 2017
there once was a girl who traveled in curls
she saw this whole world like her mother
As everything whirled, she learned how to twirl
she swallowed the things she had smothered
Her grandfather knew her heart split in two
so he mended the break with his Life
And now she is new, she knows what to do
with each day when it's bitten by night
The moon is a song, the sun sings along
and each ray has a story to tell
"If ever I'm wrong, expose me upon
the rocks on the road to the well"
#question #everything #enough

— The End —