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declan morrow Jan 2019
your eyes are
more potent
than any pill
i could swallow.

not of this earth
the nearest i can reach
to the image of god:
a deep muddy earth
i think they're sweet
like chocolate

but they punish me
without thought,
peeling off
each layer of
my endurance until
there won't be
anyone left:
nothing left of
who i was

so here we are

i remain latched
to the thought of you.

and you
you're as blind as ever.
boys am i right? especially boys who don't know who they are.
More Love Aug 2018
The Great Niagra Falls
Spilling over like my love
loose and reckless
so alive and fruitful

And having found a source
an outlet for this outpouring love
this deep inborn desire to say 'yes'
with all of me; my life

This thick lust for life
and for love
and this perfect intuition
to give it all away

I am proud to be alive.
And to have the capacity
in my bones and in my flesh
to say 'yes' with all of me

So small and so fragile
yet having existed forever.

Nonetheless, impermanent
here to make a permanent mark
with this pen and this paper
and this racing heart
so uniquely my own
and so beautifully similar to the rest.

All here through the great devotional
journey of our ancestors
so gladly outpouring their lives,
like the great Niagra Falls

Into the present moment,
into our hands

And so,
I pick up this pen
and I write.
PiLomus Feb 2019
With ignorance as a pride,
I dawn on the regular stride,
My mind was weaving its thread,
Surmising ways to spread,
Drowned under the outpouring of lore,
Suddenly a rock hit my core.

There was she, who was to be decoded,
A hapless **** make her slash,
Under the encumbrance of pain,
She did not let a single tear to rain,
Under disgust for her angelic reasons,
She did not stop showing love for the new seasons,
Two paths coalesce under the shrine,
Another cardinal lesson from the divine,
I again started to run,
For the new day under Sun.
Pain fade with time,but never goes in vain.
Dada Olowo Eyo Oct 2018
The lovelessness breaks the heart,
The outpouring of hatred among The People of State,
The bequeathing of sadness to the generations,
The unwillingness to take a different turn.
Human life is worth no more than pulling grass off the side of the road in Nigeria. Hospitals have become death centres. Doctors and Nurses do not care. Old and young die with reckless abandon. People pay through their noses for their own death
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2019
A love poem for Terry Collett

**** it, not a single word affixed,
and tears come gushing, flooding my cheeks paths,
into my mouth comes the salty outpouring

my nose blubbery, it’s hard to type
when you can’t see and the tissue is
engrossed, engrasped in your only
good writing hand

a lovely Sunday by the Atlantic coast,
listening to 60s folk and rock n’ roll,
mostly love songs of seeded sadness,
simplistic so many tunes of heartbreak
long ago planted in our respective souls

each one reminds, restores,
a heart poking,
all your recollections penetrate,
as if I was nearer to thee,
and I too, weep,
missing your Oliver

be advised there will never be enough poems
to make one/me not want more,
for ****** you, these love poems into my interior,
learning from you the human


so much more than
the when where and why one loves
a child resolutely, absolutely

for each child the unique reasons differ,
but never the


for you, of this,
are the the poet exemplar

this makes me weep
for so man-many reasons,
strangely, a stream of delight
runs sweeter deeper within my tears,
for which I thank you
with this
love poem
Nigdaw Jun 2019
It had an unbridled joy
Screaming guitars, weeping
As the current flowed through
Pickups, feedback and tremolo
Arm distortion, a cacophony of
Chords, played by would be
Rock stars, accompanied by
Thundering drums and a base
Turned up to number eleven,

It wasn't about the music, it
Was about the noise, the energy
Generated by hundreds of sweaty
Bodies out for blood, out with
The boys, nothing pleasant here
An outpouring of emotion, beyond
The pale, it exists in us all, but
Only some could tap the source, for
A chance to be a three minute hero.

Commercialisation won in the end
Bringing the ugly monster to its
Knees begging for fortune, craving
More fame, as soon as the track was
Recorded punk died on a mixing desk,
Some kept a little kudos, pretending
Not to play the game, some died trying
To be an eternal flame, some are there
Still, banging out the good old days.
Stephen James Apr 2019
The mind of a writer is driven by the desire to enact change, inflict emotion, pass on knowledge, and inspire. The process through which we choose to do this is the whole of what makes up our self image. Allowing the reader inside what makes us laugh and cry creates a bond long thought of as intimate. How we perceive ourselves, from our eyes to our cells, will dictate the product that flows from an ever softening shell. How we achieve this state to grow and create requires a vulnerability that most, even those close, will rarely see. So, as it get to know an author isn't done through interviews, talk shows, or even podcasts with ads and sponsors. It's by reading...and gathering from whats gleaming from the outpouring of the minds of scribes who express this soul teaching.
a poem
Dada Olowo Eyo May 2019
Out of a place,
Of scorn and embitterment,
An outpouring of scorching mentions,
From whence came so much adoration.
It is true that to cross a woman is to have a date with the gates of hell itself. FIRE!
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SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]>
3:38 AM (56 minutes ago)
to Daniel


By the creditor at cyprus  and on other grounds:

The counter-cedar Venice much unparalleled ever pursuant  kindly indigenous street streams far above strange beneath  the string ...' Dream castle before the 'Requiring much quill 'Peanut lieutenant great  ones of the machinery  citation /  Worth  pillow following purposes invasion with a rainfall bombardment epistle the pearl earning era:   Closet  by sessions pursue arithmetician diaries ' anchor calculus cumulative arrows propellant / Squadron in the field-refueling ' division visions ...' Upswing within the meaning axle conversion processes proofs /  ' Electron icons ' Creation wireless reticence circles:  Moon ship's  amnesty crest reckon  'flaskbone SpurZebra...'  Preferment goes by relieves and affectionate 'Oil The Self-graduation  Outpouring  / Vagrant above ant strides : Rodrigo peculiar ends demonstration/ Forego  the-Outward acclimation :   Upon all civility citizenry civil-rises other low less  losses below yonder / Phrase of prose -possessions  cuss ion syn chronicutensils  'asylum  systems  beyond stems : Preeminence blown 'being ht-thence quarries  hijack travels  history/Wherein of plant  hours ' spicily spoke *****:  Pilgrimage dilutes noble companies  'ago-maximize promptly  alacrity;  Exhibition the underrating  besought levels- of quarry / burden oxidation immune  slaughter

Cheap Hill Chips

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Nathalie Feb 2019
A medley of emotions

Can be heard from hearts

that surrender to the notes

Chiming from their

Sacred garden

The truth of one’s heart

Cannot be silenced

In the presence

Of true love

The attraction even

If concealed, is unveiled  

As the outpouring of sentiments

Cascade in a showering

Of energetic love.

Michael Marchese Nov 2019
Of all sorts of
Warped information
So porously permeates
My rumination
An inundation
Of befuddling
Besotted my brain
With each new innovation
I can not explain
Outpacing the rate
I can’t trace
A trajectory
Can’t calibrate
To this Morse Code
Vexing me
Try as I might
To decipher
The messages
Only in writing
The past’s
Lasting vestiges
Remnants of presaging
Matters in tatters
All scattered
About me
As mad as a hatter
Still poring over
An outpouring of tea
Kettles meddling,
Me more lunacy
With each sip
I trip, slipping
Down rabbit hole mystery
Sifting through time-shifting
Pages of history
Back to antiquity’s
And nuncupative
Fragments of memory
In talking point’s
Pin-pointed provenance
The sum-total
Of petit bourgeoisie
Partisan politics
Paltry polemics
And charlatan
****** polygamist
Warring with
Transgender bans’
Clans of militants’
Plans for the future
Contingent on which
Faction patches
Its lack of technology
And yet still am I itching
To scratch at the surface
Of how it all started
With what is my purpose?
Except to reflect on it all
And persist
In existence amidst
patty m Oct 2019
Beneath the ground of a corn field a monstrosity lies, buried.  A demon born and bred, he reeked havoc on the residents of the town years  before.  Now buried deep and left to rot, he stirs beneath the harvest moon.  It's Halloween and the children are about, goblins and ghosts, a princess or two and one very rotund pumpkin.
The ground is soft and muddy due to flood and saturating rain, and soon the earth churns as giant talons claw away, forming huge rutting furrows.  In scant light a hideous grinning hulk of blackness clambers upward and lumbers away from the grave.  Dogs howl frantically at the scent of death prevalent in the air, while the moon covered by clouds, cast a blood-red glow.
The beast lurks in grotesque shadow, alien to humanity, he's blinded by blood lust and rage as he stumbles through the field, the scent of sweet flesh strong in his nostrils as he searches for prey.
All the earth stands still as we ghosts spill through the darkness, illuminated only by carved faces and toothy grins,
The monster stops in his tracks listening to voices, sniffing the air, he catches a scent.  He finds, his victims, a couple of railroad bums, helpless in his wake, the quiet is shattered by their screams the outpouring of tortured souls.  He tears his victims apart, ripping them limb to limb, gnashing them with his teeth.  One heart still beating is torn out and ****** dry.
A small child, crouches in the darkness, separated somehow from the group she was with, she trembles violently, her small teeth biting into her lip to hold back the screams.  Shocked, she spawns disbelief, masking her fears.  She hums softly, rocking to and fro, her trick or treat bag still clutched in one small hand.  Will the fates be kind and allow her to survive this terror ridden night?
Plastered with mud and gristle and blood, the monster again sniffs the air, and turns in the child's direction.  My friends and I spin, creating a fog, the ethereal mist sparkles with ectoplasm and sparkling stars.  How powerfully our wind fed force whirls with intense volocity.  The beast stumbles in our whiteness blinded by the brightness, as we force him backwards to his rutted grave.
He issues a bellowing roar, as he loses his footing and crashes, another blast of ghostly power sends out roots and the earth quickens, closing the chasm forevermore.
In the darkness the old owl hoots, children are ringing doorbells and collecting treats.  A small child holds on to my ghostly hand, as I spirit her home, keeping her safe.
Now the candles are extinguished as the clock strikes it's final chord.  Sleep well my friends, may you have pleasant dreams, until I see you again next Halloween.
patty m Feb 2019
My screen name my real email address, not Patty M.
is masculine.  I didn't want it to sound too feminine, for fear of being hounded so I chose one with strength ,
thinking as I newly entered AOL, the gates of hell, that this name
with fortitude would get me through.
I happened across the AOL poetry boards,
a wannabe writer, dumb, naive but open to acquiring knowledge.
And acquire it I did.  I began in the guise of a man,
thinking it safer that way.  No one would bother a guy,
and if they should think I'm a nerd, what do I care?
For a while it worked, I chiseled my skill, with
harsh words and a dark demeanor.  At least that's
what I thought.  It wasn't too many weeks into the game that
I was found out,  it seems my feminine side had a way of seeping through, soft and syrupy making it's own womanly appearance  So I chucked it all in and became who I really was.  

Then there is still the matter
of my screen name, which soon got to be problematic.
It seems a business man, possibly rich, who traveled a lot
and was a player, had a name almost exactly the same
as mine, except for one letter.  Odd thing that he'd dropped the e.
Soon I was barraged with email from woman of all kinds and shapes
sending me pictures, and telling me what they wanted to do
to me.  Apalled, I fell back from the screen, emitting
a primal scream.  What the f- - k  is this all about?  I was
beside myself with worry.  Had I set off a mob of hot ladies
with the poetry I had written?  Good Grief, Charlie Brown,
what the hell was I supposed to do now?

One day soon after the initial outpouring of **** females
parading in scanty attire, I was accosted by a male
in IM.  "What the f- -k are you doing online, you're supposed
to be on an airplane to Brazil." he wrote.  First my mouth
fell open, and then I wrote back, "are you talking to me?"
I know I'm not the fastest with good comebacks, at least
I wasn't then, but I'll blame it primarily on shock.
I asked him who the hell he was, and he told me he
was my brother-in-law.  Now this is really scary,
because I don't have a brother or sister.  "Not possible,"
I say, and he goes on laughing like it's all a big joke
cussin' his head off and being a general *******.
Well I finally broke in, and told him I am a woman,
and I'm not your brother- in- law.  He said he always knew I
was a little *****, followed by hearty laughter.  I
was beside myself with anger, wanting to punch this
guy out.  I screamed my text across the IM screen
I'm a girl, I'm not your freakin' brother in law and I don't
know what the hell you're talking about, nor do I want too!

He got the message then, and calmed down a bit,
and told me he apologized, but there must be
an error on AOL because I had his brother-in-law's
screen name.  Then after closer scrutiny he discovered
I had the e the other guy dropped.  What a crazy
fiasco this was.  It took a week maybe a little longer
for those poor woman to find the user of their dreams.
In the mean time I sent them all my regrets,
told them  I had a venereal disease, and that my wife would
cut my d- -k off if she found out I was playing around with anyone
ever again. I sabotaged his player status, every way I could.
First the initial shock, and then the messages
all faded away.  So I kept the name that I loved, yet
every now and then it still causes problems,
especially in poetry chat rooms where they don't know me.
Women still seem attracted to the name, inviting me to
to private chat

Hey! do any of you guys, wanna buy my name?
A Poet's Voice Nov 2019
A gentle breeze, warmly caressing pastel blossoms in this field of flowers,
Wafting their fragrance, light and sweet, filling the air, stirring the senses.
Across the valley, a string quartet pours its music into the wind currents
Mixing with the sweet fragrances, creating a rich symphonic experience.

I see her approaching from across the field, and she seems to see me also
As she quickens her pace, her billowing dress as an approaching cloud.
I hurry to meet her, my heart quickened by her countenance, her elegance,
Anticipating her in my arms, pulling her close in a welcoming kiss.

At last, arms reach for one another, we press together in warm embrace,
Lips seeking that first anticipated kiss that transports to our desire.
We fall together into pastel blossoms, feeling their feathery gentle touch,
Taking in the aroma of their pleasured sacrifice under our anxious bodies.

With string music wafting and building upon the gentle warm breezes,
The now heady mixed aroma of flowers and grass and rich loamy earth,
Semaphores, quietly signal the inevitable arrival of an inner storm,
Lightning flash and deeply rolling thunder, unseen but richly sensed.

High clouds billow the clear sky, a Morse code of sunlight upon us
Winds rising to wash over the rolling, roiling waves of a crystal sea,
Ancient spirits in awe looking jealously upon this sensuous stage
Trees rattling their leaves in perceptible polyrhythmic percussions.

The bull elk stamps and trumpets a declaration of his royal possession,
A meadowlark sings her heartsong in counterpoint to the string quartet.
And the inner storm, receding into the soft outpouring of a spring rain,
Clouds clearing, creating the soothing aura of a gentle sun shower.

Senses withdraw from their heightened pique, tingling in the afterglow,
Now, in self isolation, begins the recovery from an enraptured encounter
Drifting thru soft silken veils, finding ourselves in each other's arms
We breathe each other's breath, sharing heartbeats as we gently embrace.

A gentle breeze, warmly caressing pastel blossoms in this field of flowers,
Wafting their fragrance, light and sweet, filling the air, calming the senses.
Across the valley, a string quartet pours its music into the wind currents
Mixing with the delicate fragrances for a luxuriously quieting concerto.
TD Sep 2018
wooing, cajoling, persuading
sealing fates with ashen faces
lingering like a sweet silhouette
in the flush of summer's rays..

I worry that these words won't be enough
to battle such blanket darkness
in resolve against the outpouring hordes
the curses and contempt flung about
those blindly-stabbing daggers.

And then..
lifting the veil
gentle fingers pierce and ***** at my insecurities...

and I realize..
all words are not my own..

I'm inspired.
More Love Mar 2019
I keep trying to prove
to myself and to you
that I am something of value
to hold onto

But this outpouring of words
won’t do me justice

And won’t convince you
that I am worth keeping
A Poet's Voice Dec 2019
Ascending . . . ASCENDING!

Spirits rising, filaments spindling
Spiraling, spinning, intertwining.
Oblivious to all but themselves
Further and faster into the unknown

Ascending . . . ASCENDING!

Following the trailing light of creation
Clouds of the infinite flash by as ghosts
In their wake, two spirits seeking union
Joining and rejoining themselves
Feelings intensify, glowing within
Touching starlight as they pass
Galaxies gloriously encircling them
Sharing the warmth of their union
Absorbing their waves of adoration
Transforming the very life they sustain
Attentive now to their own cherished beings

Time is rendered to its meaningless essence
As the union of two ascending spirits is consummated
In light . . . in sound . . . in unrivaled emotion
The magnificent currents of love flowing
Mystical currents of lights,
Pulsing and surging, all colors into brightness
Supernovas erupting in a heavenly ethereal ******
Cosmic shockwaves rippling the firmament
Distant echoes of creation become hushed
A time of knowing blossoms in all consciousness
Peace, harmony and love reign supreme
Aftershocks reverberate thru the celestial fabric
Blended within a holy universal communion
Constellations unfold themselves in the skies
Kneeling themselves before the outpouring
is born across the celestial planes
Painters paint, writers write and songs are sung
All being manifested by the unconditional love
Of two spirits
MisfitOfSociety Aug 2019
I like to play dominoes on pizza!
It brings in such an interesting flavor!
Only when it is fresh out of the oven,
Not when it is reheated the very next morning!

A nice thick base!
With tomato paste!
Clothed in cheese!
Sporting meaty toppings!

I pilot this Italian plane with a cargo of
screaming cheeses.
Heading down the corridors into the chamber between two orifices!

Oh little pizza,
Where we are going,
No one can hear you.
My mouth is foaming,
I just want to taste you.
My palms are sweating,
My lips are quivering,
I need to put you in my mouth.
Got me feeling like my higher self!

The pizza’s sad.
The hotdog’s sad.
The pasta’s sad.
The ice cream’s sad.
The map is sad.
The sauce is sad.
The walnut’s sad.
All of these little things are sad!

Taking this pizza,
To the kitchen island,
With a black and white handkerchief.
I gently hold it in my hand,
And lift it up to my trembling face.
Mouth outpouring for a smooth landing.
It’s going to a very dark place.

You look so tasty,
Take a step into my sliding meat elevator.
I close the doors,
And I am met with another dimension of flavor.
We are going down,
Take this ride with me,
We are heading to flavor town.
Myrrdin Oct 2019
She took me into the rain,
Told me to find a puddle,
To jump in,
Laughter outpouring the rain,
I felt my soul,
I felt hope,
I felt something I didnt want to numb,
I drank hot chocolate,
I read stories out loud,
I played old songs,
Bit by bit,
I made my life a puddle,
I wanted to jump in,
Bit by bit,
I came back to life.
Mark Sep 2018
My love for you is as the water falls
cascading off the higher bedrock peak,
outpouring rugged edged and rigid walls
in endless flowing streams, from love's mystique.

To sparkling summer dew on cradling leaves,
condensed to drops, when you were playing dreams,
then from the slightest brush upon your sleeves
then downpours honey scented, splashing seams.

When pupils soak and darker skies then seep,
in every pearl descent, I'll be within
no burden then alone in moistened weep
when grief has dried, the falls again shall win.

My whirlpools gush! Or trickle morns anew
or crawl from wetted eyes, for only you.

— The End —