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M Solav Sep 2018
We were mixed up when it built;
One another forced to coexist.
As it drew us high and higher still,
Below us grew the abyss.

Overflowing with ecstasy,
We left our hearts astray.
The obnubilating and obsolete
Had gotten our way.

Obstacles vanished one by one,
Increasingly slaying the beast.
Moments we thought we'd won
Are when we'd won the least.

We stretched out our hands towards the sky
Like wretched ghosts wrapped in disguise,
As though we had just found a new paradise
With the devil ahead leading as our guide.

We followed him throughout the land:
"This way leads us to the great fountain",
And now we're stuck in a desert of sand
Wondering when oases shall be attained.

We've taken a bet against our nature.
Was it anyone-in-particular's fault?
"For every curse there'll be a cure,
For every flood there'll be a drought."

Once more, again, we shall repeat,
To morrow, and for ever more.
When the sunshine now seems to greet
And when the darkness falls,

Comes that nighttime of our lives;
We ponder what we've been,
But what we're we supposed to be
When the pact was always sealed.

So we wait in such anxiety,
The impatience growing itchy;
And we amass, tall in piles,
To crash onto the shores like the sea.
Written in August 2016.
Marco Carlos Jul 2018
Hair, looping about, intersecting through one another, locks, like a sea of being.
Smell, scent from an unseen utopia, lingering, waiting to be consumed by my gasping lungs.
In and out, it controls, to the point of complete isolation, eyes become obsolete, lids contract, breathing in slowly the calming breeze.
Like a sea shell, the ear witnesses the origins, beat after beat, separated by intermissions of quiet, her inner mechanisms at work. I feel her soul coming alive.
Bryce Jun 2018
Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.

New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?

Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme

Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?

You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.

Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow

Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.
july hearne Oct 2018
i like to listen to bobby womack
singing "fly me to the moon"
and think of jeff's blue origin rocketship
exploding in the air

all his pride
crashing down in pieces
recorded for the whole world to see

because i have walked
unhappily down the streets
of soulless south lake union
where clueless people walk by
dumbly raising rents
congesting traffic
thinking they are off to change the world

crying about peter dinklage
yellowfacing herve villechaize,

their stupidity knows no bounds
always hard at work in south lake union
producing nothing that won't be obsolete
the second it is completed
purposely designed to make our lives unaffordable

**** jeff and all his tech bro henchmen
who do nothing but steal the sun from the poor
a white european actor
a white european actor
Isaac Jul 2018
I made a new friend,
Though old she may be.

Spotting her at the end,
I invited her for tea.

Sitting with me for a moment.
My worries became obsolete.

Her sting so potent.
It made everything sweet.
Written 21 July 2018

I have learned that your own death can become a valuable friend.

John Eldredge says it beautifully:

The most dangerous man on earth is the man who has reckoned with his own death. All men die; few men ever really live.
Joanna Jun 19
The days of wine and roses have long passed, yet the woman, in me, has not given up on finding a relationship that will last.

No longer wanting to keep my head in the sand, I am looking to understand the meaning of this open door.

As the days of loss and too much pain disappear, like smog in the spring rain.

The days of listening seem obsolete, and if so, where is the fruit of resolve versus the constant competition? 

Leaving me to think, Leah has been the center of my day to day routine. And now the days of Rachel's promise must be conceived.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
Tammy M Darby Sep 2013
Of woman's strength
Feminine emotion
Novice poet of rhyme
Wandering traveler in time
A skilled hunter

I am an outlaw
Choosing not to embrace conformity
Or integrate into the system
Societies matrix
The definition of normal
Existing uneasily on the fringe

Confederate born
Southern bred
I fly my flag with pride overhead
Not out of hate
To represent the heritage of my birth

A scholar
Obscurity is my chosen environment
Connoisseur of the written word
The yellowed paper soon obsolete  

These are my many attributions
I will not dispute it
Indeed I am a maze of confusion
In the conscious world
I am a strange combination


All Rights [email protected] Tammy M Darby
All Material Stored in Author Base Sept. 2013
ight reserved
Traveler Oct 2018
**** these violent black holes
Compressing each and every passing soul
****** through these eternities
By vacuums of unknowns

  On the other side where entropy awaits
There at the eventful horizon
Another big bang
At heaven's new gate

Hope is but a hypothesis
From an obsolete science book
Outdated in spirituality
Humanity is always
On the hook!
Traveler Tim
Big Virge Aug 2014
(Pt. III)

After the 7/7 bombing ...
This is part of a Trilogy of poems to remind people about
where some of their, " Anti-Islam Rhetoric ", started from ....
  
(BTW ... I am NOT, Pro-Islam)  

Well …… They've made ....
A ... " REALLY " ... Good Start … !!!!!
  
They've Shot ... A Brazilian ... ?!?
  
Straight through ... His Heart ... !!!
  
Of course ….  " Those Words " ...
are ... NOT ... Quite Right … !!! ? !!!
  
He was ... SHOT ...
... FIVE TIMES ….. !!?!!
At ... Point Blank Range … !!!!!
  
They got ... " REAL CLOSE " … !!!
Putting ... Guns in his face … !!!!!!
  
They CLAIMED ...
  
"He had a bomb !" …
  
But Alas ...
  
They got it ... WRONG ... !?!
  
They made a ... " Slight Mistake " … !!!
  
Well ... " Apologies " ...
Won't ... Mean a lot ...
when friends are at ...
  
….. HIS WAKE ..... !!!!! …..
  
There is a ...
  
" PROBLEM " ... here ... !!!
  
They've given the ... ALL CLEAR ...
For Policemen ... to ...
  
... “SHOOT TO ****” … !?!
  
SO ….
" Who now  " … Has To Fear ... !?!
  
Is it ... " WHITES " ... ???
  
It would seem ... NOT ... ?!?

“It’s Muslims and,
The other lot !”
  
The ... " OTHER LOT " ... !?!
means ... those Like ... " Me " ...
  
Young Black Men ...
on ... London Streets ...
  
So much for us ...
Being ... FREE ... ?!!!?
  
" Freedom " ... NOW ...
is .... " Obsolete " ....
  
Those with ... " Colour " ...
WILL ... Now See ...
  
Much more of ......
Those ... " NICE POLICE " ... !!!!!
  
Those who work ...
for these ... MP's
  
Who ......
Claim to ... " REGRET " ...
Such ... " TRAGEDIES " ...
  
But still ..." WON’T CHANGE " …
Their ... " Policies " ... ?!!!? ...
  
This is now ...
A ... " Horrid Time " ... !!!!!
cos' ... words like ... " These " ...
May be ... " Defined " ... ??? …
As ….. ” INCITEMENT ” …..
When it's just ... " Rhyme " ...
  
This ... " it seems " ...
is ... " Their Design " ...
  
Pay ... " CLOSE ATTENTION " …
to the ... " Following Lines " ...

“We wil imprison, or, deport !
Anyone attacking, the values of The West !"
  
That's … " Lord Falconer " ...
Our … Lord Chancellor ... …
  
He'll bring ... DISTRESS … !!!
to me .... " I guess " .... ?
  
for things ... I say ...
Against ... " THE WEST " …
  
Like ... " Freedom of Speech " ...
will soon be .... " DEAD " .....
  
Now ... I Don't own ...
A ... " Bullet-Proof Vest " ... !!!
  
But ...
Who needs one ... !?!
when they're ...
Aiming at ... HEADS ... !!?!!
  
Instead of ... " Arms " ...
or ... BETTER STILL ... " Legs " ... !!!
  
These people are ...
Humanitys' ... “ DREGS ” … !!!!!
  
Their ... " TERROR LAWS " …..
are like ... ” FISHNETS ” .… !?!
with .....  " NO FISH " ..… !!!!?!!!!
  
But ….. ” HUMAN DEAD ” ….. !!!
  
What they say ...
Makes me … UPSET … !!!
  
” Muslim ” … THIS … !!!
and  … ” Muslim ” … THAT … !!!
  
I’m ... NO MUSLIM ... !!!
That's a ... FACT ... !!!
  
Of course it's ... WRONG ... !!!
to ... " Suicide Bomb " .... !!! …
  
But ... " Two Wrongs " ...
Don't make things ... Right ... !!!
  
We're in ... DARK TIMES …
Without ... " Much Light " … !!!
  
When ... ALL WE DO ...
is ... " Incite Fights " ... ?!?
  
Just because of .....
  
” STEREOTYPES ” … !?!
  
This is why ....
Innocents ... will die ...
  
Tears will ... " Flow " ...
while many ... CRY … !!!
  
Tears of ..... " SADNESS " …..
from this ... " MADNESS " ....
  
MADNESS ... On ...
Your TV Screens ...
  
MADNESS ... On ...
Our City Streets ...
  
Madness ... that ...
Will slowly ... " Creep " ...
  
YES …..
Close to ... You ... !!!
  
And ...
Close to .... Me .... !!!!
  
Don't ... DISMISS ...
cos' you've been ... " Missed " ...
  
At ... ANY TIME ...
You ... Could get ... HIT … !
  
by a ... Policeman ...
who holds a ... GUN ... !!!
and has the ... " OK " ...
to ... Make You ... RUN ... !!!!!
  
Just like ... “ REDNECKS ” ...
Run from ..... “ SUN ” ….. !!!!!
  
Or ... I Do ... from ...
  
..... ” RACISM ” ..... !!!!!!
  
That's something .....
I’ve Always ... ” SHUNNED ” … !!!!!
  
because I like ...
This Word ... HUMAN ... !!!!!
  
If you ... Shoot Me ...
with a .... " Gun " ....
  
When I Bleed ....
It's ... BLOOD ... that runs ... !!!
  
KILLING …… is ……
  
NO ……. SOLUTION …….. !!!!!!
  
They've just ... KILLED ...
Somebody's ... SON ... !!!!!
  
That's what comes from ...
Using .... GUNS .... !!!!!
  
NEEDLESS DEATHS …..
  
Rise like ... " The Sun " ...
While Peace Now ... " Sinks " ....
  
Into ... " OCEANS " ...
  
This ain't making ....
Life ... " Much Fun " ...
  
Actually .....
I'm getting .... ” VEX ” ..... !!!
  
cos' ... I’m thinking ...
  
Maaaaannnnnnnnnnn ……..
  
WHO’S NEXT ….. ? !!!!!!!!!! ?
People, as much as it seems,
disconnected from, the 7/7 attacks.
One should recognise,
  
The ****** of Jean Charles De Menezes ...
  
Yeah ... Remember Him !!!
  
R.I.P.
  
It's CLEAR.
  
whether you believe, 7/7 was a Muslim,
Islamist attack, or not ?
  
What  has transpired since,
has shown that Terrorist actions,
are not something that, Muslims
have total ownership of ...............
  
Hate, leads to terror, and
******, is an act of ... TERRORISM.
zebra Jan 14
a future promise
a ******* like bundled gym socks
in stuffed blue jeans

a future threat
a shriveled phallus wrinkled obsolete

she remembered fondly
being beaten drum chatter
and seized like slow roasted
fall off the bone pulled pork
****** raggedy Ann
catapulted beyond Euboean heavens
ravaging scrotums Gordian ******
with her wild fiendish mouth
drinking a river of
haloed golden showers
spit and ****
in a runaway hot house of glistening pink
buttery spires
engorging her macerated orifices

half eaten radish
chocking on hordes
of big do do *****
a ****** face; cross eyed
Babylon abalone
bashed Ashly mashed
begging for
a face full of swinging *****
like caped chandeliers
trotting faint giggles
in a constellation
of ruptured arteries
and thick sparked ****

on her knees
milk glitter faced
scared with happiness
she counted one smiling bruise at a time

her badge of calamities
black and blue silhouettes
grinning invitations like party favors
without a crease of shame

her skin rapturous
spackled patchworks
bled like torrential fountains summer tide
while every body had  fizzy red ice phlebotomies
and steamed through her drooling tumble pie

lust ***** totem
house of winding labyrinths
honey pumped transfusion
flush on blush
opera of tangled limbs
red pulse wedding flowers
slick ***** palace
blood tongued orchard
caressing knotted mooned
**** spill
Mark Grover Mar 2013
he had knowing dreams of where he was going
all along upward he was growing
the always certain hand of fate was ever sowing
fields of poppies concealing secrets of the knowing

so soon he forgot to remember that which he once knew
he traded certainty for a comforting clue
now he is on his back staring at the blue
with eyes forever closed to that which is true

will his muddled gaze ever be wrested
from the flickering box on which it has nested
given comfort as he is artificially breastfed
hate people and love things is where he is led

so the cycle continues to turn
until we coach the match to burn
birthing a new world from the urn
ashes to ashes and so much to learn

drop a stitch and skip a beat
out of line, missing steps of society's feet
no more fear of leaving others plans' incomplete
finally rendering acceptance obsolete

he stands alone
ConnectHook Sep 2015
ϖ↑∅⊕↓☺↨☼♀


The dawn is nigh at hand. The clouds
begin to lift above the grange.
Arise, O Phoebus, bless the crowds –
let poultry roam the range.

I’ll bind a broom of gathered hay
to sweep the hen-house free of hate.
Let roosters hail the crack of day
and chicks with ***** tempt fate.

A fractured self and a challenge hurled:
they left the shell – but found it rough
because our bigoted barnyard world
cannot get queer enough fast enough.

They flutter through the *******’s farm
subverting gender’s useless role.
We feel their pain, and mean no harm –
yet question this progressive goal.

They cluck a brand-new barnyard song:
Gender Identity Obsolete!
(As long as they claim God hatched them wrong,
biology signals their defeat.)

While poultry scratches rhymes for “hen”
and chicks are combing crests for *****
let’s ring the dinner bell and then
we’ll synchronize the global clocks.

Let Mankind’s unmanned race delight
at Jesus’ gender-free return.
Soon Africa shall see the light
and Araby’s sun more brightly burn.

Then dawn shall break o’er Russian plains
to liberate the Tartar races;
loose their limbs from Gender’s chains
to stride with polymorphous paces.

China too, and Southeast Asia
swift shall follow in their train
celebrating ***-aphasia
joining in the West’s refrain.

Hindu multitudes will rise
to vanquish gender, caste aside
and shake the slumber from their eyes
with metro-ambisexual pride.

Carib isles, with Latin kingdoms
From the tropics to the mountains
Shall announce they too are Wisdom’s,
drinking from de-gendered fountains.

Juveniles, raised to simply be
shall pioneer new modes of life;
explore horizons happily
set free from biologic strife.

Then shall our earth, in glad array
***** dirt upon Tradition’s tomb;
unshackled from that dark dismay
to grieve – but nevermore exhume.

Alas, the global dreams descend.
We’re back in the barnyard, gender-queer…
where hens have ***** and eggshells bend
transcending Nature’s reign of fear.

The henhouse still votes hetero –
their eggless chickens cluck for rights
biologists, ex utero
are born to further futile flights.

(Because I was almost one of them
I’ve earned the right to make fun of them.
Time alone will tell if the trend
remains coherent to the end.
)
rumpled and wilted
sheer desolution created reminiscence
obsolete beauty of a fossil .

©Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
17.05.2019#
This poem...a take on modern haiku is a quick  outcome and response to a photo posted about nature and wilted flowers in particular by my dear friend himani on Instagram.. The flowers although wilted looked beautiful ,It immediately sparked an idea for how remnants of anything well preserved look beautiful ...Hence the haiku.. my take:-foresee beauty in every situation and everything !
#Inspired through a photo credit by Himani palande#☺️
A landscape devoid of transparent eyeballs.
When did we all become photographers?
Freeze fleeting things,
filter clouds, endless beauty a simple effect.

Funny how enclosures feel obsolete—
the graves, the houses, three-sided mornings—
when I am a share, a like,
self-simulacrum selfie.
I stand on a fascinating algorithm,
Below that it’s reposts all the way down.

Share, share a like,
share a googol of happy lives
better than yours.

Are we saying yes  
to starting off yet again,
absent this time?
Amira Sep 2018
I thought I understood distance
When I learned at school it is defined as
“The amount of space between two points.”
I learned distance can be measured in various units
As steps, kilometres and miles
or even intervals of time.

I thought I understood distance
When I counted 2362 steps walking to school
And noticed my dad’s car meter increasing two miles
In three minutes driving me back home.

But my understanding had changed when I started measuring longer distances.
And attempting to cross them.

I travelled a distance measured in kilometres and hours to see him.
Such distances can be easily crossed.
Either I took the next train, or drove my car
Distance as an amount of space was two thousand kilometres
And distance as an amount of time was only a few hours.

I thought I understood distance,
But never the amount of space between two specific points;
My lips and his lips.

I travelled a distance measured in bottles of wine and years to kiss him.
Such distances can’t be easily crossed.
I could walk miles of skin
And distance as an amount of space between us
Could extend tiresome.
But such distances aren’t necessarily a barrier.
I have crossed all the oceans we created
I counted all the bodies
And I have indulged in his lips.

It took me two bottles of wine and twenty years
To actually understand distance

But my understanding is obsolete
For him and I ,
Are still two distant entities.
I started writing this poem with great inspiration, but the inspiration wore off halfway through, which is why I still feel it is not complete. Please tell me what you think, and what you would suggest.
P.S : the poem is written to be read in a loud and slow manner.
valencia Dec 2018
i am holding hands with a girl at a pet store.
i love how her voice changes for each of the animals, high and breathy for the calicos, round and bubbly for the angelfish, sonorous and slithery for the python. she loves them all, even the great hairy tarantulas that scare me beyond my age.

i am holding hands with this girl who’s halo of hair glows banana yellow beneath the heat lamps in the reptile section, a girl who offers a finger to the teething kittens.
“can’t we have one?” she asks, in the voice she uses only for me.

a voice i can’t describe without using her name, the kind of voice that makes all of time and space obsolete, oblivion just aftermath. i imagine joan of arc heard something similar the first time she picked up a sword.

she is still holding my hand, and i feel like im drowning in my affection for her, sinking into cartoon quicksand. i don’t want to let go. so i don’t.

“are you two...together?”

this is not unfamiliar, but the womans voice, the voice she has chosen, is strangely acdic. this woman has laced her tone with arsenic, without even a teaspoon of passive aggressive sugar to hide her poison. she inhaled, puffing herself up like a frightened lizard before her final words.

“there are children here, you know.”

in the future, i think of a thousand things to say. we are children too.

two girls holding hands after school, two girls holding hands in the movie theatre, two girls in a booth at tony’s pizza, two girls sharing akward first kisses while they hide behind the wall of a library.

two girls holding hands in a pet store on a saturday afternoon.

i know now they see us through funhouse mirrors: distorted, disturbed, our monstrous bodies taking up too much space, spoiling innocent spaces with our imposing sexualities.

our innocence never ours to begin with.
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
"I will beat this," I swear.
No one else has,
as there is no end,
but there must be an end.
I'll find it.

Watching everyone spin
on their axis,
touting their progress,
there must be a someone
or some thing!

Watch me spin.
Spin and fidget.
Watch me spin,
spin and fidget.

Spin the blades
to your right.
Now you're loading. Now
you're spinning.

"I will beat this," rings obsolete.
Now, "I will secede,"
seems pragmatic.
Is it romantic to
be at one with nothing?

Cross legged on the floor,
I whisper,
to myself,
"Oh,
         you
                 bet."
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