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Shane Leigh Jun 2017
Its not outrageous to love
the way he loved him in the
shadows of the skyward stars
and glimmering shine of the moon.

How outrageous to think
that a single kiss he gives to him
is meaningless;
not meaningless,

How beautiful it is to believe -
to love as he loved him
in the yawning rays of the sun
deep in their bed,
among their sheets,
not outrageous.

It's moments like these
that open the eyes and minds
of those that dare not walk
in the dark, and in a world that changes;
it changes, and it changes, and
It Has Changed.
How *outrageous
© Shane Leigh
Say if all events:
'Past, present, future'
All possible occurrence
Chosen and averted
Are already on the 'map'
Of spacetime
(Interpreted from Relativity, Einstein)

Like infinite numbers of
Vacation spots

Time is merely
Our conscious measurement
Of indivisible increments
Of the ever-present
(St. Augustine)

A record of travelling

And if our fourth dimension of time
Is our one dimensional consciousness
Where we can only travel from
Event to event
Dot to dot
In seemingly constant speed
And one direction

As if a railway passenger

In one of the higher dimensions of time and consciousness
Though unfathomable and would seem omnipresent and eternal yet timeless
To us dots in a three dimensional flatlands

As the wayward of them
Had stumbled or spilled
Into our dreams

We would finally be able to
Run wild and free
Greet our past and future
Embrace familiar friends and strangers
In the wildlands
Of a higher dream

And we would not be
Arriving at a dimension of
Love and intuition

But we would inherently
Be beings of love
And intuition

Though we only seldomly
Physically feel them
And never see them

They're part of us
Only visible
Only fathomable
In higher dimension
Would it Fease to make Connections secure,
The Outrageous Magic such Form does cast
Why not the Flu, whose Substance membered, cure
The Fly's own Happiness which would not last
With Furnace Embers burning your Hour's Spent
That Diamond Red of Sparkles unfade
Pride honours you well; Yet deflects on them
Would heal so if you can defer the *****
Intention, dear Victim of Absolute
How could one Comment subtract a Friend's Trust
When one lends a Hand for Innocent's Sake,
And Settle the Gnarbled Basket, we must.
When Integers apply, Truth should be Owned,
On Level Ground seen; But not to the Bone.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Lizzy Nov 2016
Light of my life,
The slings and arrows
Of outrageous fortune
Bloom a rose
In the deeps of my heart.

And so I came forth
But could not behold the stars.
The slings and arrows,
They trespassed upon my thoughts.

And I cried that I came
To this great stage of fools,
But it echoed loudly within me
Because I am hollow at the core.

That outward existence which conforms,
This inward life which questions
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece of.  

I don't exactly know
What I mean by that,
But I mean it.
This is made of quotes from some of my favorite pieces of literature
PC classic Sep 2016
Last nights bottle of whiskey
in a box
which was sliced to make an

It stands by the bed catching dust
hoping to catch some dreams
as well
if they ever arrived

This night

You toss and turn
like an egg
on a stubborn pan

You are
what would happen
if you died right now

You will never know
what happens at the end
of that TV series
where they **** anyone
and everyone

You reminisce
of defeat and miracles
of crossed legs in short pants
how the charm
of a woman
can keep a man wondering for a
life time

The cars motion past the window

the moon is a snail in the sky
sweet jesus
life is outrageous
listless alligators
try to upstage this
drift from forms
to formless sages
residual wages
furnishing your cages
threadbare leather workers
raid our refrigerators
rage is impulsive
sullen lisps and swollen lips
frame our faceless daughters
in their water glasses
houses of hunted howling
dreamcatchers and dancers
humongous lanterns
burning pages
on your dinner tables
why do they feel so out of place
is it the way we are made
have you any
doubts about your origins
what is the worst
thing you’ve ever faced
are you exposed
to typos regularly
tokens of penmanship
and fraternity hazings
hostelries and banquets
growth is dependent
only on intangible quotients
me Dec 2013
M - Many beautiful talents did you have before they drown in a bottle and disappeared from your children’s eyes

O - Outrageous pain did you create for yourself and those who tried hard to love you

T - Tears that were shed as the tidal wave which flowed from a bottle swept over your own life as well as others near you, who were thrown against the rocks of life

H - Hope that waned, its light growing fainter as the years grew weary

E - Effacing the difficult memories hidden deep trying to sort them from the …. others? Trying hard to fine the others. I know they must be there …..somewhere?

R - Resolve that I will never repeat the environment in which I tried to grow, putting it to rest inside my soul, giving that which I so craved, but didn’t know
Graff1980 Oct 2018
She is a small brush fire,
a lifetime set ablaze
reddening skin
melting and swirling
in outrageous agony
as she contorts herself
to accommodate everyone.

Unsettled and unpredictable
constantly turning
the tables on herself,
one minute she is
dancing in a tapestry
of manic happiness,
then in the next
she is obsessed
existing in a heightened state  
of anxiety and sadness.

The bright lights illuminate
brilliant displays
of personal pain
that explode on the stage
as she reads her
tragic truths
in poetic verse.

So, she plays with
more matches
spreading the flame
by sharing her pain
till everyone else
burns the same.
syncopation Oct 2018
That’s what it felt like when we lost you
To the complex maze that became your truth.
A self-enlightened mind
Impermeable to light, to touch, to time.
An inner sanctum of make-believe so outrageous, so utterly unbelievable
Made of illogical truths only you sought achievable.

What led you to this I can only hazard a guess
Was it divorce, insecurity, a lifetime feeling like you were less.
Why has it come out now when time has already been the test
Was it the lack of medication, a lack of rest.

My brother you are wounded.
Your mind an open sore.
Rest your weary soul.
Torture and pain no more.
Jordan Rowan May 2016
Grab that cigarette and take another drag
Listen as the country shouts "**** the ****"
Ain't that a drag
Well that ain't my bag

Did you see that video that's been circulating?
A cool customer got shot down for debating  
All he did was say
Something everyone's been saying

This place is crazy
And so are we
Freedom dies quickly
In the land of the free

Paranoia's a drug and it's getting contagious
I'd like some logic but that'd be outrageous
Why'd it take so long to say this?
First I had to get famous

So grab your lover and rest your head on their chest
But first you gotta check if they're the same ***
If so, move on to the next
Everyone else knows what's best
Bardo Mar 2018
One Summer's night looking out the
   back window at the back garden
My! I couldn't get over it, how bright it
You'd think the sun was still shining
The Big Moon casting its ghostly pallor
    over everything
Like an Enchantress's dark spell
The strange cold beauty of it, it held
    me enthralled
I could only stand there watching,
    silently in awe;
Suddenly, a peculiar thought came
    into my head
I smiled at its outrageous suggestion
Then grabbing my sunglasses and my
    old deck chair
I went out into the garden and sat right down there underneath the stars
Bathing in the silvery light of the
    moon's cold rays,
Well I tell you, all the night creatures
   going about their night business
They all did a double take "Hey, that's the funny human bloke, what's he
    doin' out this late",
Even the cat came over and rubbed her eyes," Wait a minute ", she said, " this isn't right, you're not supposed to
    come out at night ":
Sensing their curiosity and their
    general discomfiture
I lowered my shades and looking at them all gathered there in the shiny
    bright dark, I said
" Don't worry gang, don't be alarmed,
    no! don't be aghast
It's only.... well, it's only Great Art.


I don't know
But it seems
Wherever I go
Great Art is never far behind
In tow.
A bit of whimsy. Happy St Paddy's Day.
anthony Brady Nov 2018
TB or not TB!
Is it in the badgers?
That is the question.
Whether 'tis noticed
elsewhere - slurry perchance.
As they shuffle off the coils
of barbed wire or dodge  the
slings and arrows of culler’s  slaughter
for outrageous fortune,
who for them will take up arms
with a see  of dissidents
and by opposing
end the heart-ache, the
thousand natural shocks
their setts are heir to?
'Tis a consummation
devoutly to be wish'd.

William  Spearshake
We go through stupid,
Stupid little and outrageous fights.
Our love is still there no matter how hard,
It would be forgiven overnight, always on guard.

Love between you and i is real,
Pure as the moon, bright as the sun.
In my vision you'll always be my view,
Hope that i'm in yours too.

Loved with all imperfections within,
You and i will make it anywhere.
You got me down with a little pin,
As if i was the paper on your board.

Our time together is never enough
For though your voice is my favortie symphony.
Know that will never regret lovin' you.
I'll love you until the end.

By: Zoulaikha
Izlecan Oct 2018
Thou tangle the mortality
And seek the mourning of its course,
With an outrageous cloak  that falls adrift
To have its custom afloat.
The decorations,  thereof flatters this turmoil
That has its doubts and moments,
A longevity beheld upon the chores of the subject,
Never cognizes its everlasting trials,
For those of which handles the elation
Of successive falsification.
I know not of the clumsiness of hymns,
That sighs the mourning of a course,
The chaotic iteration of single pauses
And the faltering of a mere *****.
I know not of the turmoil
That bedecks the frostbitten clavicles,
Onto which no sigh wavers
A petition of no faze and any dome.
I know not of the cloak
That nestles around a haze;
Bringing confusion that betrays every vivid sense.
Let it be the matter, ‘tis a matter of time(!)
Would it morph itself around the mourning mould,
When it dries away with the mud?
James Floss Jul 2018
It’s not easy being white
As we are so often right

Taking responsibility
To the best of our ability

Helping those less fortunate
Unfortunate subordinates

Separating mother and son
Her to Mexico, he to Tucson

Half-breed aborigines
Removed with exigencies

Native American children
Re-homed by the millions

It’s a service that we happily provide
Duly doing our duty to divide

We humbly accept your appreciation
Of our outrageous Caucasian contagion
Nadia Aug 14
My son absconded with
Half of the sandpit
In his sneakers
It happened to hide
Until it was safely inside
And, even then, it waited
To spread all over
Freshly scrubbed floors
(Sand is diabolical,
You should know)

I would happily
Return the mess
But at the time
It seemed best
To clean up
Before it progressed
(sand craves to
spread untidiness)

I can further attest
That this latest theft
Was unintentional
And this confession
Unnecessary but
Sometimes it feels good
To confess something
Less outrageous than
The darkest of truths

NCL August 2019
Deb Jones Oct 2017
You would think that new pain takes precedent over old pain

But the truth is that when new pain follows old pain, the weight of the whole tends to be a lot heavier than any individual wound.

A whole lifetime of accumulated pain.

If we have no coping mechanisms we just bear the weight.

The ever heavier weight.

Because let's be realistic, life is full of pain. And there is no one to turn to that doesn't have their own pain.

We can't say "Hey, do you mind holding this for a few hours? Or for a day? I'll pay you for babysitting it."

The truth is we don't want to give up the pain, to give it up means that we give up the immeasurable love we carry for the people we are mourning.

To give it up means that we never loved them enough. And we did. We do.

We love them so much we are willing to carry the pain for the rest of our lives. That is part of their legacy to us. The love, the memories.

After a while the pain is not so heart clenchingly hurtful.

We start to remember the laughter, the happy times. The loving times.

And we take those memories out and examine them. Smile and feel the lightness in our very soul.

We put the memories back and the heavy hurt doesn't seem so dark.

One of my my favorite quotes is  by Lewis Carroll
"I try to believe in as many as six impossible things before breakfast"

That always seemed like a good attitude to me.

The way the world is these days, it’s almost incomprehensible how anyone could have a closed mind.

It seems like most every day there’s a story in the news about one of our certainties being turned on its ear.

Maybe that’s what it means to be human, forever questioning our certainties.

One of my certainties is I will someday smile and outright laugh at the memory of my mom.

She was a funny, outrageous woman that made me laugh daily.

One day she said something so shockingly funny I threw myself across her bed laughing and banged my head on her wall.

Even that made me laugh harder.

She was a treat to talk to. A great artist, pianist and writer.

When my niece Ashley died, her granddaughter, I came home and went straight to her room.

We didn't say a word. I cried with my head on her lap for more than 2 hours. While she made soothing noises and cried with me.

The night she died I looked into her eyes for hours. The fear. The panic. I talked her home through it all.

I smiled while I cried and I made sure she knew she was safe. She was going home to be with loved ones.

I asked my siblings to come around to my side of the bed so she could see them and they couldn't. They just couldn't.

So I talked her home alone while they listened and cried.

I made sure every time she focused on my face I had a smile for her.

I told her to go. I reassured her and at the end gave her massive doses of medicine so she wouldn't hurt.

And I smiled until my cheeks hurt. While I kept talking her home.

I didn't want strangers touching her so out of 7 sisters only my youngest helped me bath and dress her in her favorite clothes.

I washed her waist long hair myself and did it in the long side braid she favored. I put the light makeup she liked on her face. She looked beautiful.

She was wonderful. She was my anchor, my soulmate, my best friend. She was my mother.
I can't believe she is not upstairs in her room waiting for me right now. I will miss her everyday for the rest of my life.
This was written at the same time I wrote the poem "Dying" my 22 year old niece died just a handful of months before my mom did. Last April. I am still working my way through the grieving process. Writing about it makes me feel better. I can pour the pain into my words
Pump, pump
My heart pumping loud.
So I place my hands over it.
And went wild.

This heartbeat love is outrageous.
Except, it makes me smile.
Especially more when you standing by my side.
SamanthaX Jun 11

Locked away
in my harem
My sinister bedroom
Of lost lonely souls
Burning my holy wood
Waiting for the call
from My Man
in Hollywood

Forbidden miracles
Outlaws and sinners
Excepting holy trades
Prayers to justify
my evil ways

I’m smoking the
finest of *****
Imported from
the diamond
My Man
He smuggled
it in

Oh now look
what he did
He tied me up
in lace
He made me
He made me beg
Then on my
He made me say

  I need one
  last kiss
  so I don’t fall
  from my Grace”

Your eyes
I once needed
like ******
Now bite me
like a venomous
I tried to find
a cure in someone
else but they
****** out
my soul and
told me I was

These Grey
I make

Will eventually
make me famous
Temporarily outrageous
My etiquette is
dangerously contagious

On the front page
On every News paper
The headlines will
be saying

That girl is
Extra, Extra!
Read all about it!

These are the
questions to ask
when God’s become
that you can surely shuffle your miserable untested
vocabulary into never been heard before combo’s,

your insights have never transversed in my blood stream,
a poem unheard, yours, a transfusion of not-my-blood type

you are special in life, in love, in pain, in sad madness,
only you can feel primarily and primitive, all of us, tertiary

does the optimist mock you?

most certainly not.

poems are allusions, born each time, first time, summary illustrations
of eyes, mouth, all your sensations together, make a messy birth canal

your first is our first as well, make the risk-taken a celebration,
newness is a gift unique, bond us to your children issue nouvelle

with insolence of the blind beggar, a teasing teaspoon of outrageous
good fortune, a fist hammering breakthroughs of pain and glory

my words have been tasted by thousands of thousands,
a fleeting glory that is instantly lost to the crumbling
dissatisfaction that all that your needs, your findings, solutions,
the breaking of the chains of your boundaries, drawn by imposition,
the fragility of the lines that contour your image, make you nothing, are nothing more than just another poet which is the most,

most glorious honor one can proudly bestow upon oneself
No. 5
By: Cedric McClester

Her explanation
Best explains,
She’s living rent free
Inside of his brain
A mere distraction
That always remains
The motivator of
His outrageous claims

She’s been vetted
A thousand times
All they’ve come up with
Are imagined crimes
“Lock her up,”
His base always chimes.
She’d be rich
If they paid her in dimes

I guess we could have
Him calling for her
To be investigated
For spying he says
Kind of belated
They used to be friends
But now she’s hated

He’s talked in the past
About giving out pardons
But when it come to her
His attitude hardens
It’s like the war
Of the ancient Spartans
Not like a stroll
Through Tivoli Gardens

Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
By: Cedric McClester

I wonder if they knew,
Or did they just blow their cue,
That the children locked in those cages
Were treated so outrageous?
And though it strains belief
They couldn’t even brush their teeth
Nor, use a bar of soap to bathe
Yet they’re who Marvin Gaye said save!

They present an opportunity
For the Colgate brand to be
Their toothpaste of choice
If their mouths are full of it when moist
Colgate at least should try
To be their sole source of supply
They could give those kids some hope
With their toothpaste and some Soap

Imagine that being your child,
Commercial ready with a Colgate smile
Do you get what I mean?
Like Outkast says, “So fresh and so clean.”
We can stop this insanity
With just a little humanity
And furthermore we can explore.
Not having them sleep on a floor

Beginning with a Colgate smile
We can turn back the dial,
And stop those family separations
For those caught in border migrations
They’re simply seeking a better life
An escape from the toil and strife
And crazy as it might seem
They bought into the American Dream

Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
AestheticAbi Apr 23
It Is not a word, instead a feeling
not lightly taken and mostly hated
To say such a word without a meaning
love is the idea that is faded

Throughout the ages, it's been contagious
To let your heart overpower your brain
However, would it be so outrageous
If for you I jumped in front of a train

Walking into a room with the belief
that no one could ever be as flawless
is the moment you are at a relief
for this alone can bring you so much bliss

For love is the truth fading from our world
yet it is a word you have always heard
I'm not really sure if the words 'world' and 'heard' rhyme so don't hate on me for that. It is a sonnet so if I'm doing something wrong please inform me I just started writing poetry so please don't be too harsh.
False Poets Dec 1
~for patty m.~
and all the others that surrender their truths
word by word by word

get paid by the word.

nothing particularly relevant-familiar to a poet-revenant.

we the Falstaffs, the literate fools of the world,
pay and pay on, pay forwards and backwards

once eons ago, in a confession blurted,
in a moment of spent outrageous misfortune:

”what you did not ask was this!

With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.”

this is our only pay-out & pay-meant methodology.
Yenson Jul 2018
A while ago in East London, in an area called Poplar
a black man lived with his wife
Quiet, hardworking, law-abiding they both were.
never courted a scandal, never committed a crime
Just went about their business, working for  better tomorrows

Then next door a Scottish family of five moved in
and immediately started borrowing from couple next door
Do you have sugar, do you have bread, can I borrow a fiver
till our Giro arrives next week, please another tenner for Jim
He has to pay a fine.

Empty beer cans littered their doorway, they all drank like fish
fights and arguments rang late into the night
Police visited twice, thrice weekly and it was known Jim burgled.
and was always doing time, when not drunk and fighting
Joan eldest girl was pregnant at sixteen and Tom fourteen had
done two stretches in juvenile detention
Last daughter Kelly was also to end up in the duff at sixteen

Amounts borrowed was now sizable, the odd fiver repaid
stolen items regularly offered and rejected by quiet couple next door
Invites to the black man to visit while Jim in jail politely declined
Come and have a drink with me and my young daughters
No thanks, got to go and cook, my Mrs would be returning soon.

The family from hell has turned the neighborhood to hell
constant break-ins all around
strange men coming and going, fights and noise, beer cans
for carpets, stairwells reeking of ****, Tom and friends and
Marijuana fumes graced the stairs and veranda.
Mrs Scottish and two young daughters constant smiling invitations
to black man next door, duly always deftly rejected.

Black man and Mrs decided to stop lending money
it was all going on beer and smoke and never paid back
By the end of the week, their car had been vandalized and four
wheels removed, racist leaflets started appearing on veranda.
No more smiling coyly invites, now just loud music and loud
intermittent bangs on walls from next door.
We must complain, we most report all this to the Landlords.
No, lets just ignore them, not worth the hassle.

Then it happened, black man arrives home one afternoon
and finds his front door ajar, they had been burgled.
Seething with anger he stormed next door to be met by Mrs S
'you ******* thieves have robbed me, how can you be so low,
after all we've done to try and help you. None of you work, You are a bunch of lazy
workshy, welfare scroungers, you are pathetic lowlife. why don't you go and get a job instead of burgling houses and getting drunk all day long
I will start a petition to move you away from the neighborhood.
You no-good non working class scums'  a disgrace and an affront to the hardworking working classes. You ******* racist bullies, I will show you, you can't
mess with me'

Mrs S smiled wickedly and said, you will see
'character assassination, public humiliation, we'll ruin your life and you'd wish you are dead by the time we finish with you and your chicken legs wife. I will show you who runs the manor in East London.'
You can't do that, black man replied, I have done nothing wrong, you are the bare-faced thieves, you shameless woman. We have had enough of you and your anti-social behaviour. You are not going to mess with us no more!

OH, YES! they can and by jove, they did.
Mrs S retorted' You are the foreigner here, you are the one that would be leaving the country
and going back to your Jungle'.
Black man called wife to tell her, she came home immediately
the police came, no evidence, here's a crime report, get your door
fixed. How about searching next door, we can't, no witnesses.
And then Black man's life changed FOREVER.

Should I write about the intimidation from other white families
in the neighborhood, should I write about how the Local Socialist
Party got involved, and launched a propaganda campaign about a black Conservative member dissing the Working Classes,  should I write about how one of his beloved dogs was
killed, should I write about a rumour campaign that black man was a wife-beater, a ****, a con man, a greedy parasite, should I write about sudden hostilities and bullying at his work place, how his wife was also sacked, about being randomly insulted and abused in the streets, about kids spitting on him, about being shunned inexplicably by locals
he's known for years. Should I write about outrageous fabrication, smears and humiliation.
Should I write about political victimization, about the black man 'who thinks he is better than us all,' about how a wedge was driven between him and his wife, till she broke and upped and left without warning,
should I write about how strangers shouted 'solidarity with the working Class' at him, should I write about daily torments and constant harassment everywhere he goes, should I write about Criminal gang stalking,
should I write about being informed they were going to ruin his career, ruin his marriage and ruin his reputation, check, all done. S I write about how they said they were going to chuck mud at him everywhere he went and blacken his name forever, should i write about pure isolation, about being made a target and being  hounded and stalked and disrespected everywhere. Should I write about how they stated they were going to drive him insane and drive him to suicide.

Just  know that somewhere in London, a decent, law-abiding progressive, and innocent black man, is now on his own, broke, in debts and on Welfare benefits, unable to find a job, friendless and isolated, discredited and shunned.  He is still being stalked, harassed and hounded, round the clock. All for daring to stand up to CRIMINALS.

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