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Connor Jul 2016
And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin
Written between late June to July 13th.
jeffrey robin Aug 2015
we come


To your town

(Hungry)

!    ?    !

.~~


I mean :

...We know what we are being trained to do ...

to gun them down !

;:

( all them hungry kids )

///

THATS OUR WORLD YOU KNOW  
THE ONE THAT WE ARE CERTAINLY
TOO POWERLESS TO CHANGE
WE SAY CONSTANTLY

KNOWING WE ARE FULL
OF ****

BUT WE SAY IT ANYWAY BECAUSE WE ARE SCARED

))

By the fires and campfire

Creating false stories to become false memories
To become a false religion about a false god

We sit and watch pure and total DOOM encircle the whole planet

and polute the whole universe

And befoul the very heart of the creation

And we accept it all so passively

But crying all the while

))

Me

I think we should all probably reconsider what should  be our

Plans  for a tomorrow

That is today seen as a begger limping in

With an an absolutely confused

Look on his face

!!!!

I really feel it's the HOUR

When the true and natural unity of

WE THE PEOPLE

assert the simple truth of love

And our unique sovereignty

As the PROTECTORS OF THE UNIVERSE

and the GUARDIANS OF ALL CHILDREN

instead on being the ones

Standing here before them

As they stagger

From the orphanages

And approach

The rich man's horde

::

Standing there

Ready to gun them down
Rapunzoll Apr 2016
most nights
i'm only loving you
in fragments,
i'm only loving
you in death

i wander your
mind like a child in
search of it's mother,
but you were
orphanages
not loving homes

only drugs can
compare to
the feeling of
disillusion
i had when i was
with you.

i love you,
i crave
you
© copyright
Sharina Saad May 2013
Handbags

Fetish for handbags...
The last time I counted
Almost 100 of them
Variety of brand names
LV, Gucci, Hermes, coach, Burberry, Jimmy Choo, Marc Jacobs, Fendi
Ohhh.... you just name them..
Some were bought
Some were given on special events

Proud of the collection, love them all
But closet is full..
Keeping some in the store..
Collecting dust , waiting time to rot
Why not sell them?
Donate the profit to charity, orphanages, old folks etc..
Handbags too many...
Can save lives of many...
selling my handbags...
Boaz Priestly Mar 2017
so you call yourself pro-life
okay, I guess I can pretend to respect that
which then means that you must also
respect the fact that I am very loudly pro-choice
and thanks to science
I know that a bundle of cells
and a living child are not the same thing

because an actual fetus is not fully formed
until the third trimester
and by fully formed I mean that it is
for all intents and purpose alive
but before that
there is nothing but a group of cells
there is no brain
no heart
not even pearly pink fingernails

so now what, huh?
you’re probably going to keep protesting
Planned Parenthood and harassing the people
that work there, right?
because all that Planned Parenthood does
is condone the vicious and inhumane ******
of defenseless, unborn children, right?
right?

either way, you don’t care about the child
once they’re born
all that you care about is making a woman
and other individuals who have a ******
carry this thing that is literally feeding off of them
and why should a child be brought into this world
if the circumstances through which it was
conceived are non-consensual?

because, if you really did care
if you really were “pro-life”
then you would care about the child
after it is born
or better yet
you could turn your attention and time and money
and anger to all the millions of orphans living
in the US

ya know, the living children?
with no homes?
with no parents?
packed like sardines in orphanages?
what about them?
do they not matter because they are not a group
of cells, and therefore not defenseless?
and therefore they do not matter?

because,
if you only care about that bundle of cells
and because some states actually make women
and those with uteruses
have funerals for the aborted “child”
then by default whenever a man
masturbates and then *******
shouldn’t he be made to have a separate
funeral for each of the thousands of children
that he just killed?
because one of them could have cured cancer, ******

and tell me
when I was still menstruating
should I have said “amen”
over all the potential children that bled out
of my body and into the pad
and the sides of my boxers?

should I have
said “grace” over all the
little pad mummies that I threw away?
should I have cried when I flushed
the ****** toilet paper?

because,
since I have a ******
how dare I want and feel as if I should
be owed control over my own body, right?

how dare I believe that
each and every woman
biological and otherwise
have a say in what they do with their body
how dare I be pro-choice, right?

well, let me knock you down
a few pegs with this closing statement:
if you only care about the “child” when it is
just a group of cells that doesn’t feel a **** thing
and couldn’t care less about it
once it is born
and homeless
or an orphan
or queer
then you are not “pro-life”
what you are
is an *******
Bags Oct 2012
A pedal kicker walks forwards
A pedal kicker doesn't think a lot.
A pedal kicker tears at his courage cage.
A pedal kicker doesn't care about you.
A pedal kicker makes mistakes.
A pedal kicker doesn't give a ****.
A pedal kicker doesn't always get things done.
A pedal kicker has a fleeting mind.
A pedal kicker aims too high.
A pedal kicker supplies orphanages.
A pedal kicker eats small people.
A pedal kicker eats themselves.
A pedal kicker eats food.
A pedal kicker doesn't have to pretend.
A pedal kicker gets things done too fast.
Dead lover Nov 2015
I saw a beautiful soul today,
Masked had he been,
His face, nobody had seen...

He had a heart that did beat for all,
He had a mind, that did think about good for all,
He had a set of hands, that did work for humanity,
He had a wallet, that did open - only for charity,

He took no name, he took no fame,
He kept helping people,
And wanted everyone to do the same,

He worked for orphanages, old age homes,
He worked for hospitals,
And not for running his own family,

What a man, of hospitality!

What a beauty he bad been!
Masked had he been,
His face nobody had seen...
To do charity and take credit, is a way of getting popularity... To do charity, and know about those being helped,
Is the world's best hospitality!
Leah Ward Nov 2012
I inhaled sparks
Because sparks are love.
And bonfires are
Orphanages for sparks.
And a burning fire
Sometimes sends sparks my way.

I inhaled sparks
From a bonfire that
Had been lit by a Giant.
He asked
"Are you cold?"
And knelt down with two
Sticks between his hands
Even though I was quite not cold.
He went to work
With two sticks
That turned into vapid flame
And the sparks
Jumped from the fire
Like kids running away from home.
I walked to the fire pit and
Caught the sparks with my hands.
Held them up to my face like a cup of coffee
And with one swift breath
I inhaled sparks.
And oh God,
It wasn't enough.
They needed to be rekindled.
louis rams Jun 2013
He was known as the roof top poet
He was good, but he wouldn’t show it.
He wrote about everything on the streets
While listening to the Latin beat.

His upbringing inspired him
To write about crime and sin.
He wrote about street drugs everywhere
And ***** needles that they would share.

He played the conga and bongos too
This is what he had learned to do.
There was not a topic that he would not touch
For he loved life much to much.

He wrote about robberies, muggings
And ******, prostitution, gambling
Corruption and all the rest
His talent for street writing made him the best.

But there was a soft side to him
That people did not know
And where ever children needed him
He would go.
He was a volunteer in the children s hospital
And the orphanages too, which was
Something that nobody knew.
He would give them love, affection, and laughter
Wealth or fame he wasn’t after.
He gave them the key elements for the
Children to survive, HOPE, LOVE, FAITH
With hope in their hearts and faith in GOD
There was nothing that they could not do.
If to themselves they would be true.
Now if we could be such as HE
The world would be better for the children you see.
HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET YOURSELF FREE

louis rams :
louis rams Aug 2010
He was known as the roof top poet
He was good , but he wouldn’t show it.
He wrote about everything on the streets
While listening to the Latin beat.

His upbringing inspired him
To write about crime and sin.
He wrote about street drugs everywhere
And ***** needles that they would share.

He played the conga and bongos too
This is what he had learned to do.
There was not a topic that he would not touch
For he loved life much to much.

He wrote about robberies, muggings
And ****** , prostitution, gambling
Corruption and all the rest
His talent for street writing made him the best.

But there was a soft side to him
That people did not know
And where ever children needed him
He would go.
He was a volunteer in the children s hospital
And the orphanages too, which was
Something that nobody knew.
He would give them love, affection, and laughter
Wealth or fame he wasn’t after.
He gave them the key elements for the
Children to survive,  HOPE, LOVE, FAITH
With hope in their hearts and faith in GOD
There was nothing that they could not do.
If to themselves they would be true.
Now if we could be such as HE
The world would be better for the children you see.
    HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET YOURSELF FREE
Frank Russell Sep 2018
Paint a picture for me -
Brush strokes in elephant blood
     of corrupted soil and
     toxic waterways,
     sunless air hanging over
     bombed-out orphanages -
But create with these elements
An image positive
In tone and direction
Framed by youthful vision -
Paint for me a picture
     of possibilities -
Convince me there is a way out...





- fr
ekaj revae Mar 2012
Restless wandering through the voidless night.
Time is spent watching my dreams go down.
The morning trifles the mirage of normalcy.
I sip coffee with chamomile crumbs floating at the top.
Herbs upon herbs, accidents and orphanages.
Out the window the high school sits cold and waiting for the not awake yet.
The busses rumble the emptines.
It doesn't scare the birds.
I am scared for my Life and
Our Oath will keep both of us
Safe till I build orphanages,
old people's homes and
till our songs gets Grammies, B.E.Tz and
a special place on the internet!

I decree
All Poets, Musicians, Artists and Listeners are Prophets if not Prophetic!
Margo May Jan 2016
for almost two and a half hours
we talked
mostly he talked
and i listened
but i could listen
to him all day
and never be bored
i could listen
to his stories
with undivided attention.

school
soccer
coffee
family
friends
childhood
church
­funerals
weddings
honeymoon
adoption
orphanages
relationships
hea­ven

maybe some day
you’ll discover my secret
maybe some day
you’ll smile in agreement;

until some day
i’ll be patiently waiting.
Joe Satkowski May 2015
2
I turn off the lights at orphanages
just to hear the sound of them cry

because trust me, trust me, even a ******* stray deserves to die
Seema Dec 2017
The moments fade
Like that of many seasons
Leaving appalling memories
And few fake reasons

Just to comfort ones self
And spreading the warmth of smiles
Never letting anyone guess
The walk you take alone in miles

Tho shattered into infinite pieces
Still keeping your frame strong
Waking up everyday like dead
From within, you know you're not wrong

Days spent at work
And free time at the park
While watching the fictional routines of norms
You sit there till dark

You begin to love your solitude
And avoid congestion and loud
Away from the puppeteer world
Into your own little happy crowd

Where you have smiles, kindness
Warmth, and selfless gratitude
The place where the unfortunate children are
You encourage them with positive attitude

With little presents for God's earthly angels
You can't get enough of their cheerful giggles
Left in orphanages and other caring homes
My friends are these, my little smeagols



©sim
Spare a gift this festive season for the unfortunate children.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
indeed my misery is counter-,
an archaeological intuitiveness.

you read a story about ****,
you read a story about Apollo 17...
you read a story about the first
female commander at Sandhurst....
you read about Czech orphanages' abuse...
you read, and you read,
what a strange anaesthetic you experience...
in your seclusion, you are indeed
a cosmonaut by then...
drinking and reading this **** is like injecting ******;
you begin to shut down,
to learn to become *numb
.
Faleeha Hassan Sep 2019
Oh, my god
This poem!
Whenever I try to make her stand on the reality line
She flutters like Marilyn Monroe’s dress in the imaginations of men
I tell her to keep herself on one meaning
But she defies me
While wearing the interpretation mask
And when she tries to describe the battlefield
She is looking for the effects of kisses
On the collars of the soldiers who are tied down in their trenches
With fear and hopelessness
But if they were to be blown up
And their bodies were every where
Her words would be meaningless
For she hiding behind symbolism
She can’t sense the children’s horror from the bombs
And their attempts to huddle against the remnants of destroyed walls
Her cheeks do not hurt
Like mothers’ cheeks dried of their hot tears poured while waiting for deferred letters from their absent sons
She does not take the risk of thinking
So, she can’t believe any truth
She does not pay attention to my damaged life
Which has been crushed by the harsh machine of days
She is trying to make her words beautiful
So, she sprinkles rose water on an erupting volcano
She is too comfortable with death and even praises him
She is summarizing all this loss, darkness, combustion, destruction, chemical weapons. black banners, coffins, skinning , deprivation, orphanages, curfews, warning, sirens, barbed wire, tanks, thrumming of planes, explosions. ******. blood shed on the side walk, death, ashes, displacement, emptiness, charred bodies, mass graves, coffins, body traps, yelling, sadness, anger, hunger, thirst, vigilance, slapping …. etc.
She summarizes all of this in one ward
War
While I am, the poet stand in the middle
Watching my body jump from death to death
For nothing
Just to let the poem come
But after all this trouble
She only comes imperfectly
David Hilburn Feb 2021
Alienation?
And rolling thunder...
Spite to deserve a credence, once again...
Spare to length and shadow, tomorrow's wonder?

Charity in a garden of seldom seen kisses...
By the antiquity of all's nativity, solemn light
To issue heeding's sense of proportion, is...
A house of redoubt and staid however, the any of a stare might?

Lucidly, the offering of needs and insight...
The callous and the stoic reply of vice for out wisdom
Tales to serve the conscience we saw, war, and say is sly
Can we share the regret of poignancy, as if a reality is our only means to come?

Tones of respect, that occur to know you with an anxious order?
To suggestions and many more candles like these...?
Patient and devoid of latent understanding, a blessing is foreignness?
We are the salt of purpose under a first and last, of acne...
Greasy grimy gopher guts, grimm's got nothing on me....
Martin Bailes Mar 2017
'An inquiry examining institutional *** abuse in Australia has heard 7% of the nation's Catholic priests allegedly abused children between 1950 and 2010.'

Can the bricks from all the churches
create orphanages,

can the cloth from all the robes
warm the freezing,

can the wine from all the altars
cheer the helpless,

can the jewels from all the crosses
fund the starving,

can the gold from all the goblets
ease the suffering,

can the wood from all the pulpits
house the homeless,

can the glass from all the windows
frame the darkness,

can the bones from all the priests
fertilize the fields,

can the pain from all the suffering
be acknowledged,

can the tears from all the children
be as witness,

can the crimes of all the clergy
be always remembered,

can the church in all its guilt
be just obliterated.
Joe Wilson Sep 2014
It rained
It rained down on me
– and it wouldn’t stop!

The torrent of vicious blows just wouldn’t stop
They beat me
They beat me
They beat me

They wouldn’t stop

I was a boy…I was a child

Why wouldn’t they stop?

Mother!
Father!

Why have you abandoned me?

This is not what it says

This is not a home

This is my nightmare.



©Joe Wilson – Just a boy…2014

Life could be harsh in orphanages in the nineteen-fifties.
I’m ever grateful that I only heard of this and didn't experience it myself.
jeffrey robin Sep 2015
but

Ya gotta stop dying

•   •

In the town

Girls with painted faces

No young men hanging around

///

Tears

Gullies of misdirection

She stumbles and falls down

///

The return

All dreams are broken

orphanages are everywhere

///

Anger and grief

The fires Raging

We **** ourselves out of shame

///

Little frozen images

Promises of loveliness

Betrayed
JAM May 2021
A man walks down the street,
He says, "Why am I soft in the middle, now?
Why am I soft in the middle?
The rest of my life is so hard.
I need a photo-opportunity,
I want a shot at redemption,
don't want to end up a cartoon
in a cartoon graveyard.

Sometimes when people meet me,
they think I look the sad type,
but when I look in the mirror
I see someone that's learned it all the hard way.

When I pretend I’m happy
I never feel that sappy,
I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine.

I'd rather be a shadow than a veil.
Yes, I would,
If I could,
I surely would.

When I hold back a tear
To make a smile appear
I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine.

Eighteen and jaded with a gun in my hands.
I was fighting for freedom and just what is that?
Bills to the banks and food for the kids,
money for college but couldn't get in.

It was violent times,
And you shouldn't have to sell your soul.
In black and white
They really, really ought to know.”

A man walks up the street,
He says, ”Well hey little Hollywood!
You're gone but you don't forget!
You got the cash but your credit's no good!
You flipped the script; you shot the plot!

Now Shout, shout, let it all out!
These are the things you could do without!
Come on, I'm talking to you, come on!

Walking toward him, Hollywood begins to shout,
“All around me are familiar faces,
worn out places, worn out faces,
bright and early for the daily races,
going nowhere, going nowhere!

Getting closer to him, he quiets down and says,
“Now I've heard there was a secret chord
that I could play, and it’ll please the Lord.
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth,
the minor falls, the major lifts,
the baffled king composing Hallelujah.

But why am I short of attention?
Got a short little span of attention.
And, whoa, my nights are so long.
Where's my life and future?
What if I die here?
Who was my role model?
Oh, was my role model always there?"

The man starts speaking with Hollywood,
“Now, I have a secret to tell,
From my electrical well.
It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells.
So, you must listen to me,
filibuster vigilantly.
My name is blue canary, one note, spelled L-I-T-E.
My story's infinite,
like the Longines Symphonette, it doesn't rest.

I’m hoping and waiting for something to sing
like the angels in heaven or the bones on the street.
I’m hoping for life to find a new voice.
Oh, the song that needs singing has already been sung before.”

Hollywood says solemnly to Lite,
“I might put on my blue suede shoes
and board a plane.
I’ll touch down in the land of the Delta Blues
in the middle of the pouring rain.
Buddy Holly, will you look down over me?
I’ll get a first-class ticket,
but I'm as blue as a boy can be.

Those one-track minds,
they took me for a serving boy,
kiss them goodbye.
I shouldn't have to jump for joy.
You shouldn't have to jump for joy.

I'd rather sail away,
like a swan that's here and gone.

And I find it kind of funny,
I find it kind of sad,
the dreams in which I'm dying
are the best I've ever had.
I find it hard to tell you,
I find it hard to take,
when people run in circles it's a very, very,
mad world.”

Lite says to Hollywood,
“I could be your only friend.
I'm not your only friend,
but I'm a little glowing friend,
but really, I'm not actually your friend,
but I am.

Your faith was strong, but you needed proof.
You saw the rivers running all aloof,
their beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.
You were tied to a kitchen chair,
they broke your throne, and they cut your hair,
and from your lips they drew the Hallelujah.

They gave you life
and in return you gave them Hell,
as cold as ice.
I hope you live to tell the tale."

Hollywood says angrily,
“Well, humans are boring, dangerous morons,
with no respect for life.
And maybe the rabbit who lives in the forest
is clever-er than our dads.
And maybe it's time we watch the sun rise
knowing it's our last,
as life soldiers on without us,
just a figment of the past.”

They start walking up the street
And Hollywood says,
“A long, long time ago,
I can still remember how that music
used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
and maybe they'd be happy for a while.

I look to the sea.
Reflections in the waves spark my memory,
Some happy some sad,
I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had.
We live happily forever,
so the story goes,
but somehow we missed out
on that *** of gold.
But we'll try best that we can
to carry on.”

A gathering of angels
appeared above his head,
they sang to him this song of hope
and this is what they said,
they said: “come sail away, come sail away,
Come sail away with us.”

Hollywood looks around,
he’s on a street in a strange world.
Maybe it's the third world,
maybe it's his first time around.
Doesn't speak the language,
He holds no currency.
He is a foreign man.
He is surrounded by the sound, the sound
of cattle in the marketplace,
scatterings and orphanages.
He looks around, around,
He sees angels in the architecture,
spinning in infinity,
He says, "Amen and Hallelujah!"

Lite mutters, “Well, maybe there's a God above,
as for me all I've ever learned from life
is how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.
But it's not a crime that you're here tonight,
it's not some pilgrim who claims to have seen the light.
No, it's a cold and it's a very broken Hallelujah.

But soon I’ll be all a shiver
With every paper I deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep,
I won’t take one more step,
But I’ll remember to cry
When I read about this dismembered guy.”

Hollywood says to Lite, he says,
“Did you write the book of life,
And do you have faith in God’s strife,
If that book tells you so?
Now, do you believe in rock 'n' roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you show me how to entrance and glow?

If you'll be my bodyguard,
I can be your long-lost pal.
I can call you Lyre,
And Lyre, when you call me, you can call me Oll.”

Lite says to Hollywood,
“Now, for ten years we've been wandering alone,
And moss grows fat on a rollin' stone.
But that's not how it needs to be.
When a jester sings for the king and queen
in a quote he borrowed and painted green
And a voice that’ll come from you and me.

Painting the blue, beautiful hues,
colored with gold and old rose.
He’s playing the clown,
trying to drown all of his woes.
Though things may not look bright,
they all turn out alright
if he keeps painting the clouds with sunshine.

Hollywood chimes in,
“Well, I don't know why I talked to you tonight.
I've got the feeling that something ain't right.
I'm so scared in case I fall through the air,
and I'm wondering what fruit this talk bears.”

Lite looks off into the distance and says,
“There's a feeling I get when I look to the West,
and my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees
and the voices of those who stand looking,
that's you.

And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune,
then a jester will lead us to reason
and a new day will dawn for those who stand long.
And the forests will echo with laughter.
Remember laughter?

Always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the Lite side of life.

If life seems jolly rotten
Then there's something you've forgotten,
and that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dump,
don't be silly chump,
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing.
And

life is for singing,
and life is for dancing,
and life is for making love.
Life is for learning and thinking and teaching,
and life isn't giving up.
Life isn't buying and selling and wishing
that everything came for free.
Repeat after me:

Always look on the bright side of Lite.”

Hollywood looks to the distance with Lite,
“Well, life is for sharing.
but sometimes it's hard when you've hardly got enough.
Sharing is caring
but will you still care if the water gets really rough.
Life jackets on, lifeboats supported,
and people will drown the same,
As the water of life falls out of the sky
and washes the whole thing away.

Lite looks at Hollywood, “Well Oll, I've been here before.
I know this room and I've walked this floor.
You see I used to walk alone before I knew ya,
And I've seen your flag on a marble arch.
But listen, life,
life is not some kind of victory march, no,
it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

Oh, and while the king is looking down
the jester will steal his ***** crown.
The courtroom will adjourn,
no verdict will return,
and while leaning into the teeth of sharks,
a quartet practices in the park,
and we sing dirges in the dark,
the day the music dies.”

Hollywood realizes something,
“Well Lyre, you’re the picture opposite me,
of my primitive ancestry,
which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free.
Though I respect that a lot
I'd be fired if that were my job,
after killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts.
Bluebird of friendliness,
like guardian angels, you’re always near.

Oh, Life is for livin’, as long as I'm breathin’
my life won't be wasted on me.

Now I've done my best, I know it wasn't much.
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch.
I've told the truth, I didn’t talk to you, Lyre, just to fool you.
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand right here before the Lord of song
with nothing, nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.”

Then Hollywood whispers to Lite, who is drawing his gun,
“it's a cold and it's a very broken Hallelujah.”

Grinning, he pulls the trigger.

And so, the bullet of Hollywood’s gun went so deep;
And Lite’s belly closed upon the shrapnel,
so that he could not draw the bullet out;
and the dirt came out.
let's be more stubborn is my recent motto

let's love myself more, even if it's tough, especially when it's tough



to do that, let's start being more honest with myself, right?

i am going to lie to myself actually.
i am going to stand on my own side and defend my own feelings.


you? you are a joke to me!
you can defend yourself and justify yourself.

you believe you did the right thing?



good! good? good good!!
i also believe that i did the right thing so ***** you.



====

such a simple childish conversation, why did it take me so long to realize how powerful this is?

if I am not on my side, then who will be on my side? why do i always have to view it like others do?

why was i taught that i was bad if i hurt others' feelings??
what if they hurt my feelings?? is that right, then?

i am not sorry.
i do not want to feel a second's worth of guilt or hurt over it.
you hurt me and i hurt you back. you deserved it.

stop trying to take advantage of the fact that i am nice and desperate for people.

no one is really that important to each other.

not even lovers last!
divorces are ever-growing. no one wants to actually stay married. even john mulaney and his wife broke up. :(

parents can **** too!
orphanages keep growing in population, child abuse is rampant globally.

who says friendship lasts forever?
talk to all the middle schoolers and adults who have fallen out with multiple people over their short and long lives.

i call *******!
i was just taught to be a ******* doormat.
On this International Women's Day, I write about a simple unknown personality, whom I luckily happen to know very closely ......

MY WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE

Achievers there are hundreds, doctors, engineers, astronauts, chartered accountants et al

But the woman of substance I admire most is, my very own Austi Jerbanu

A great person, a dedicated teacher, who actually lived by the principles she taught

A teacher who just didn't teach; she actually practised every word that she preached

Life tough was when suddenly at a tender age of six, from rich she became very poor

She lost her father; and the family its riches, within months, almost simultaneously

Kids had to go to orphanages, she went to Avabai Petit as Maayji couldn't their fees afford

Clever n outstanding in Studies, they sponsored college which she graciously declined, due to responsibilities at home

Did her teacher's training, remained unmarried to bear the responsibilities of mother n her grandma

Once an accomplished teacher; she brought a niece n nephew to this city, for education better

Along side, she knitted Kusti, n woolies, embroidered sari borders, to well educate the kids

Gave tutions to only two as per rule; but taught a dozen or so kids free

Educated her niece to a prominent surgeon become; n her nephew to a MBA become.

Then came a Bombaite, pampered by her parents, to live with her, as her niece in law

Thus grew my relationship with her into a strong bond, making her my soulmate

Soon she became my very own Jer Mummy, my treasure trove, which she will eternally remain.

Learnt I, so many things from her, but most importantly, the true values of a simple life.

My Shez n I grew up under her wings; she groomed n blossomed us, into beautiful roses

She definitely is the one, n always will be, our all. The one we love, admire and passionately adore.

MY WOMAN OF THIS CENTURY, WHO INCULCATED SO MUCH, SO SELFLESSLY, WITH HER UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. "MA WE LOVE YOU".

Armin Dutia Motashaw
The complicated story of John McCain is a simple one. John McCain's mother's husband continued to drive buses for a living after retiring as a bus driver in 1954. Then his wife died and they celebrated their 35th anniversary. After John McCain's mother enjoyed a successful abortion, the aborted baby was born in good health and grew up to be 18 years old in under 19 years. Lyndon Johnson started the Vietnam War and told John McCain to bomb Hanoi orphanages in self-defense a lot.

— The End —