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Rebecca Feb 2018
i just woke up, but three hours before me you are still soundly sleeping.  i can’t stop measuring heartbeats and gauging miles across torn up road maps, where each space in between whispers a breathy i miss you that can barely be heard.

i keep pacing around so much, that my floorboards have walked the distance between me and you, forming fault lines that go absolutely no where, no direction.  my ceilings have been stared at so intensely that i long to feel you staring right back at me, but only feel my eyes being absorbed into an eternal black space above me.

its adventure and madness, and if it isn’t, then its too sane to be true love for me.  my heart is now an empty void, and who knew that these miles between us would only destroy.

i pray every night to the stars that you’re happy and i hope they shine my prayers over you as you sleep.  and when you wake, i envy the sun for getting to kiss your skin everyday.

the world keeps rotating, time keeps ticking, and you’re still not here.  your love filled every crack inside my body, discovered parts of me i didn’t even know existed, and played symphonies on repeat in my head. tick tock tick tock, feeling things i have never felt, don’t let go, can’t let go. never.

inhaling like the way your arms embraced me. exhaling like the way i pushed you away.

when you look into her eyes, do you hope to see me in their reflection?  all I’ve stared at is the stars from my windshield when i drive, the sidewalk and my feet as i walk, the computer screen as i rot out my ******* eyes, and a bunch of other god awful boring **** ******* **** **** ****.

i am the one waiting on you.  and i always forever will be waiting.  i swear to you, i won’t ever stop waiting.  i say it every **** day to every person i meet. “yeah my ex-boyfriend from L.A. i’m running away with him one day forever.”  every ******* person.

you are my ticket to the better life i need to live.

i wish i could reach you and touch your hand, but you blocked my number.
“hey” “hey! how are you” “i miss you” “help I’m ****** up” “i miss you” “i need you” but nothing ever gets delivered.
you’ll never hear my cries for help.

where have you been? where did you go?

i know you’re forgetting about me and there’s nothing i can do about it.

where are you? the guy who would take videos of me doing my makeup in the bathroom mirror? the guy who kissed my forehead as i slept? the guy who traveled miles and miles just to kiss my lips?
where is he?

remember those moments during the days leading up to when we met again in new york city? how everything just felt so right and meant to be over simple text messages? we didn’t even have to be physically with each other to know it was meant to be

i miss the way your finger strokes my cheek, but i also miss the way your hand grabbed my hair from behind.  i miss the way you curl your arm around my waist, but i also miss the way you pushed my wrists into the mattress.

so many miles.

maybe this isn’t going to happen.
i keep telling myself it is, but maybe I’m wrong, maybe i’m crazy and delusional.

you are the forbidden fruit.
i bit into you once and tasted your sweet taste and lived with you in that moment.
but now you’re gone and all i have left is certainly no garden of eden.

a life barely worth living

what if it stays like this forever? what if it never rekindles again? what if we never meet again? what if i never get to stare into those blue eyes again? kiss those soft lips again? feel those hands around my waist again? run my fingers through that hair again? what if i stay this way forever? no one falls in love with me ever again?

what if i’m unloveable?

let’s be honest. this feeling’s never leaving.

i’m having my doubts.  maybe you don’t actually feel the same way i do, or the same way i felt.
maybe you love every girl the same, but to me it was the most love i’ve ever felt in my entire life.
maybe i was played.

i don’t know what to think anymore.

“find what you’d die for and live for it”
then i guess what i’m living for is you
each and every day.

i know you’re somewhere.

“no jumping from the pier,” said the manhattan beach sign.
but i jumped anyways.

i dream of you.
i dream of you rolling over into your warmth before the sun rises
or walking briskly in the open air of boston.

i dream of a little girl.
i dream of combing her hair every day
half of me and half of you
watching her grow and carry my strength
but mostly embodying your kind heart.

i dream of the louvre.
i dream of the first moment my eyes met yours.
i dream of our forever.

i dream of being the perfect version of me.
i dream of my wandering heart settling into yours.
i dream of us.
i dream of you.

nothing seems to change. i am stuck.
nothing but old high how are yous where my head spins at each thought of your shining face.

one minute you’re riding your bike around the block to your best friends house to go to the local town pool.
the next minute, you meet the love of your life in paris at only 16.
the next minute, you lose the love of your life somehow and everything seems to blur.
then suddenly you’re stuck in this blur. nothing moves anymore.

it’s getting colder, but i’ve been frozen ever since i left you.

my brain is mush. i can’t even think anymore.
or maybe i think too much?

how did i end up here?
i don’t know where i belong anymore. new york city’s lively streets? los angeles’s aura on the beach? parisian café’s sipping coffee? boston bars with the music blaring? pennsylvanian countryside wandering the forest? dead?

what does she have that i don’t have? what is it about her that he likes?
is she smarter than me? more intellectual than me? he finds her interesting and stimulating to talk to?
or maybe she has more money than me? has a large fortune waiting for her? and they want to be rich together and soak up in each others richness?

is he in love with her the same way he was in love with me?

please don’t just be a memory. you’re more than just a memory. i am more than just a memory.
our story is more than just a memory.

dial tones are my least favorite sound.
it’s the only sound associated with waiting, or at least what i can think of.
dial tones are all i hear when i try to reach you.
i can’t even make a phone call without my heart plunging into my stomach, forcing me to think about you.

i wish i could snap my fingers and fast forward into another world where you and i never parted.

I DIDNT WANT TO HOLD YOU BACK from all the energy that DARTED from your fingertips.
i let you go so the WORLD COULD SEE THE LIGHT SHINING FROM YOU and so you can soak in the world’s energy right back
in hopes that one day we’ll have absorbed so much life that we can find more life in each other again.

i can’t pretend this didn’t happen.

once again, you have entered my time zone and have entered my mind. the strings between us have shortened and i can feel them pull and strain as my heart pulls toward you. a lingering presence of your restraint still haunts me and has me wondering if you even still love me at all.

please see beyond your restraint and reach out to me with open arms. please recognize my good intentions and never-ending love that goes above and beyond what we think we are capable of loving.

sirens of your toxic spirit blaring all throughout the east coast once again and i can’t help but listen to their alluring call. a game of tag across the time zones. tag you’re it.

time keeps on ticking and the earth continues rotating, but i have halted. the universe has spoken to me far too many times through its catastrophic blows towards me. i have decided that i no longer want to be a victim of your continuous presence and diminishing universal energy.

i pray that this is the last time i ever write in this document, or at least hopefully not for a long time.
but you see there lies my problem again: time. i keep praying that you’ll come back, if not now, then later, but later is too far away and i am tired of this eternal suffering.

no more.

in order for the universe to come into alignment with me again, i must let go of the already-happened past, let go of the god-only-knows future, and embrace my current present state.
an ongoing poem of my thoughts since i left you.
Nalini Oct 2014
Illusions of permanence are cutting the very
Depth of this mind while it
Overflows with thoughts and
Never-ending clouds bring
Tears to remind how
Knowledge is the whirlwind while
Not-knowing is the silent center; still the
Ongoing winds keep tearing down every
Withered leaf from the tree of my heart.
October 23, 2014

Another one of those late-night poems. Of the kind that don't let go until they're written down on paper, but the moment they're out there, a serenity overtakes your whole being...
Poetoftheway Jul 2018
Ilion gray
poet extraordinary
is away
learning the codes hidden in raindrops

no reason for surprise;

for the mountains of Brooklyn, the Manhattan caverns of Sunhenge^, corridors of narrow focus for trapping the declining sun rays,

neither high enough, narrow blinding,
to keep a good man from doing good things that life provides as opportunities
to do the right thing

he muses that it took five years for the other poets to understand our
avant-garde he says,
but I laugh,
never felt more misunderstood
and reply take care, be
en garde!

no matter for he is learning a new language,
the codes hidden in raindrops in a land of wheat
once called Indian Territory and eager
await his return so we may
walk along the Brooklyn shoreline,
beginning from under the Brooklyn Bridge
where Washington’s men escaped a British trap

and he can decode for me the whispery thunderous noises of
showers that come up so sudden,  so roughened, but right now,
the seductive sun blinks in Manhattan windowed towers reflecting back on to our East River as golden blinks of nature

We will walk lost in the absorption of our
different commonalities, holding the hands of
his young son, and my Wendy,
both of them equal in possession of round saucer eyes
that give us poems

He calls me me friend,
I call him brother, teacher, master, better than the best,
well recalling a late night message that bred
a five year conversation ongoing

not everything need be coded
what you read here
it is not coded,
for the raindrops come clear and clean
and the poems land on our tongues
bounce on the foreheads and eyes of the babes, all stored and saved for the future blessings spoken in a single tongue


#Ilion codes brooklyn by NY
Ersatz orange shadows
cast on urban streets at night.
Lost in disassociation,
There's a tunnel at the end of the light.

Her eyes gaze far into the horizon,
To meet the glare of a storm arising.
The quiet before it's thunder is chilling,
As the energy is distilling.
Shivers dance
on the nape of her neck.
I can hear the contemplation,
Her rumination.

Dark doors echo on a glass plane.
She dwells here,
Transfixed by fluorescent stains.
Black-light projectors
and vibrancy injectors
illuminate this neon dimension;
Trance angel held in suspension.

So many will never experience the sensations we have known,
I trust you will keep our venturous exploits ongoing.
By the scars
That leave
The marks
On my fingertips

But it marks
An ongoing fight
With the struggles
That only can I

And once death
Stands in the darkness
By the bed, and I came
To realize that my death
Is something I live with.
patty m Nov 2014
Vaporous conjecture
an ongoing lecture sets
alarms blaring, light years away
Godling on the fringe,
on a power binge
biting pitch-black,
ready to sack the experiment in

Beyond the rise blind eyes
needn't see to surmise the indeterminable
depth of the emptiness of Earth's shadow.
Fertile fields turn fallow as hate's ****
seeds countless war-torn lands
while grand weaponry expands.
Build until we annihilate whole countries at a time
in the sublime madness of power
the glowering fallout
suffocates our shouts of glee
                 we forget who is or was the enemy.

To our chagrin, infusions stimulate cataclysm,
while the sun with awkward precision
does it's regular crawl,
arcing against the skyline
until it hits an impenetrable wall  

Now viscous flesh
sits congealing
gelling in turbulence's unrest
unaware that the air is putrid
now that our planet's
completely compressed.

Good bye to war, greed, and temptation,
goodbye to love and lust and prayer
some will rot in a wormhole
and no one will know they were there. .
Others will  sink in the mire
some will travel to the outskirts of time
while the rest will simply expire
to the beat of this incessant rhyme.
LexiSully Jan 2016
There's something about the ever-moving sea,
Whose shimmering waves brighten every face,
Whose calming sounds bring joy to every ear that hears

There's something about the forever changing beach,
Whose soft sand holds treasures from the deep blue,
Whose sparkling granules clump together to create vast castles

There's something about the ongoing sky,
Whose blue tints are home to the warm, shining sun,
Whose colors magnify themselves onto the gorgeous sea

So look upon this picture and smile,
Because each figure is a piece of a puzzle,
Forming a complex but brilliant masterpiece.
Gabriel burnS Sep 2018
screeching blackness
the music is over
the veil has fallen
I am the needle running in circles
spinning its wheels
running on empty
for hours on end
for days ongoing
waiting for the hand to
tear through the shadows
the white noise
flip the vinyl world
and guide me on track
where all I touch
is your songs
where curtains are wings
and my sky is your melody
Umi Mar 2018
By my dear angel Sandalphon as he has been lead in my hand, leaving a clear trail of a cursive writing on a transient sheet of paper,
A crimson sight, so black that one would be caught in trance, reflected by unnatural light of a lamp flickering in the dark of the night, as his feather releases a sweet scent of fresh yet unused ink,
Together with Zadkiel's blooming and happy memories I then am capable to write such down, in an attempt to create poetry, focused,
The sound of scratchy, itchy, rasping echos through this room I inhabit, but already left spititually, engaged in the world of fantasy,
Word by word, the paper is penetrated by this pen, pleasantly, thoughtfully, gently sliding over it to not damage it by accident,
There is no need for haste, heartache nor rush, not is there the need to be concerned about this angels work, duty and his mission to accompany me throughout each and every writing which unfurls,
Alike a story from my mind, from my emotions, deepest wishes, cast on the physical realm with his help,
And once his strengh weakens, fades, loses might and goes out alike an dying ember he will be dunked in fresh ongoing determination, so that he can repeat his duties with exuberance, joy
Casting a smile on my face once literature has been created,
As then I lay my dark knight, my servant for the night to rest,
Until another poem has to be written and his duty awakens him,
After all, in this dreamlike tale it is well to remember;
You don't have to die in a dream

~ Umi
Tammy M Darby May 2018
I cannot comprehend the constant yearning for attachment
Though it is a slow poison
For some an ongoing destruction
Still it is constantly sought
This emotion they call love

That word I can hardly force my lips to say
With a sweet taste in my mouth
I can only describe it from experience
As a weakness of flesh and bone
A flaw in our species

Foolish and naive
We are all easily swayed by soft warm words and singular adoration
Dressed in hidden agendas
And always conveniently ignored
As the blood pumps through an eager heart
The stricken spirit to the heavens soar

What does one find in such a blind affection
That will drive you to your knees on a cold stone floor
Sacrifice your soul and turn logic into chaos
Still your heart without a thought
Take away breath from one who is already breathless
Until at last there is nothing left
And no more to say

It is that word I can hardly bring my lips to say
Without a sour taste in my mouth
I call it a weakness of flesh and bone
A genetic deficiency of **** sapiens
The failing of being human
A flaw in our species

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby May 10, 2018.
Paul Butters Sep 2018
Oh let’s sing
Church bells ring
Dingaling ling.

Sing out loud
Boldly and proud
Enormous crowd.

Hear those chants
You debutants
Some breathless pants.

Poetry starts here,
Perhaps with a beer
Ask Shakespeare.

Oral tradition
An ongoing mission
So start the audition.

A memorable rhyme
Lasts for all time
Let’s make it chime.

Free verse is still fine
Bring in the wine
And vary the line.

Who cares if it scans
You grammatical fans
We don’t need your plans.

So free up your souls
Whatever your goals
And loose those controls.

Yes let your heart sing
A bird on the wing
Tingaling ling.

If singing’s your thing
Think what you’ll bring
Tingaling ding.

Paul Butters

© PB 7\9\2018.
Back to the oral tradition. Further stanza added later same day.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red hell –
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.

Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…

Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.

Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…

The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still –
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam –
He’s limping toward his doom.

A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** ** – old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.

Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap –
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.

Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot –
the people’s mouths to feed.

When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows –
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys – )
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

Hell is known for lack of stasis –
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze…

        ☭ END ☭

mannley collins Jul 2014
I am the Individual Isness incarnated in this body.
I am not the body.
I have travelled through many lifetimes in many bodies.
always learning learning learning.
I have developed nous from my experiences only.
accept a mind in my head.
accept any conditioned identity as being  me.
cede control over my brain centres to any mind or groupmind
that exists anywhere..
cede control over my brain centres to any conditioned identity or
group conditioned identity that exists anywhere.
or accept that any other but me,the Individual Isness, using my brain centres,using my brain the way I,the Individual Isness,want to and can do
to be in charge of the brain centres in the head of this body that I,the Isness,am incarnated in.
be prey to opinion-formers and experts and  pie charts and
focus groups and surveys.
be manipulated by PR men and women in shiny suits.
see Edward Bernays book--Propaganda.
be manipulated by GroupMinds into thinking  their way.
be taken in by brutal security forces posing as "guardians of peace.
respect in any way any member of any military forces anywhere
no matter how fancy the uniforms or excuses for ****** they wear.
I do not respect these parasites anywhere as they are nothing more than paid mercenary murderers on behalf of various Oligarchies..
see Jaques Ellul's book--Propaganda.
take any dangerous addictive cancer causing drugs
such as Alcohol and Tobacco primarily--
food additives...
No one has ever died from any cannabis product.
or from LSD or Mesccaline or Psylocybin.
believe in any so-called "god" or "goddess".
believe in any so-called "prophet" of any so-called "god"or "goddess".
accept any so-called "holy" book as valid or truthful
or valuable in any way except as
emergency papers to roll a grass joint
or to wipe my **** on.
be taken in by depraved words and concepts in any of these so-called "holy "books that have led to endless wars and still ongoing terrorism and atrocities in the name of one bloodthirsty "god" or "goddess".
accept anything as reality unless I can see clearly that
it is beyond duality.
accept any Conditioned Identity as me.
For I am the Isness which is a small but equal,individual,
autonomous and independant part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe--!.
which is not a "soul" or Atman or spirit
or any other religious concoction.
accept Mind as a necessary evil
accept GroupMind as a necessary evil.
eat junk food of any kind.
drink tap water anywhere except in direst emergency.
eat white sugar or any other pure carbohydrate.
be a hypocritical moralising vegetarian.
become stoopid through bowing and scraping
and stooping at stupas.
I will be just a Self realised man living on a big ball in space
with a Self Realised woman playing and singing and dancing the Song of Our Lives.
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