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Aditya Bhaskara Oct 2012
if I ever were a banyan
I would have soared high
enough into the blue sky
higher than any proud eucalyptus
grounded stronger than any other root
heavier than one hundred elephants
I would have grown upward
not in meters, but a couple of miles
too outreaching and lofty for men
for that might have been one reason
for nobody to chop my trunk
for no bird to ever become homeless
for then, men would've sensed and feared
the grand weight of my life
Et cetera Jun 2014
The golden leaves, ardent in their sheen and whisper
Their slender stems, crisp in their sway and grain
The long branches, graced by gold, hazed by willowy pulchritude
The trunk, straight, firm and glistening, exalting the golden
The  hidden, outreaching roots, left to imagination

Suppose the tree is life, its leaves our time
Each falling in its own momentum.
Suppose the stems are relations, and the branches emotions
Golden, brilliant, each prevailing over the other.
Suppose the trunk is purpose, and the roots your belief
The trunk firm, exalting your life; the roots hidden but obvious to the light.
The golden tree for your golden life.

~Moniba.
I. centipede:
-
They come from both directions and it doesn't take long
for me to realize that they've figured me out.
My mind was fast, but not as swift as the hands
of five-hundred outreaching hands; one angry crowd.
Grabbing at limbs, low and high, they don't waste a second
before tearing me in every direction; at least the cardinal four.
My mind takes flight, leaves fancy, but not before
I get in one last swear, and one last spittle in their faces.

II. snake
-
Tail and head aren't in sync this morning, I tell ya.
No rattle, no bite, just a lot of traffic and heat shimmers
in the one place I don't need to be today.
The people here act like they don't know me,
but they still turn their noses up when I empty my mug.
The waitress answers when spoken to,
but just stares in the time in between wheezing breaths.
I've got to get out of this county, this state.

III. scorpion
-
Ronny hasn't been on a roof since a couple years after we got married.
He wrapped his ankle in some gutters and took a spill;
his thigh popped right out of it's socket and he just dangled
like some kind of prize in one of those crane games.
Doctor says he can still have kids, and I know he can still get it up
from how he watches that ****** **** on t.v.
But he wont touch me; hasn't in fifteen months, I've counted.
He's in for a surprise once the settlement clears.

IV. lizard
-
Wallflowers never get anywhere with their mouths sewn shut
and I cut my stitches well before my teens;
I got what I needed and I made sure of it.
But there is something to be gained from
basking in the naivety of youth and ignorance.
Trouble doesn't set in as well, and boredom comes
as some kind of waiting period, rather than the norm.
These bars are a reminder of why they don't let me make the rules.

V. toad
-
Invulnerable, incontestable, unphasable, archetype.
I listen for the right words to drop the shields,
but I'm only met with the silence that accompanies
asphyxiation through means of wet wax paper.
The touch of phantoms tingle along my skeleton's core
telling me the time for lollygagging has long since passed.
Stand up, giant, you're running hot and the moon
keeps calling out, "follow the lit road home".
tlp
Trevor Gates Jun 2013
It was the rain against the windows
And the moonlight sonata playing
That accompanied my transition
Into melancholy insomnia

In the mid-morning deluge of the overcast sky

The reading of books and Freudian dreams
The watching of movies, Kubrick stare and all
Where emotions are captured and paraphrased
Amidst fight clubs and Fantasia

The Klimt surrealism outreaching from the walls

A lone piano listens, glistens; ripples of time
All dissimilar reinventions
Swirling in the incense smoke rings
Dancing in the flowing spirit air

Free and marvelous among vacant living room eyes

Memories recall the rain of Pasadena
Over rustic-themed modernism for
Eager tourists and the nonchalant few
Whispering words to descend the stairs

From the surface to below where thrusting cocktails reside

Years ago in the same position
But younger than I am now
At another desk with a bleeding pen
Pouring over the torn fickleness and skin I saw

Matchstick men smoking flesh roaches in alleyway shadows

Something hidden underneath the seen frailty
Single mothers courting hairless young men
Cracked anchor teens moving to a beat not of their own
Act of demon from the hand of God

Itching skin and slimy **** for sexes of all;
the men can take a turn in bearing the small.

Tales written from reflection and soul
Those wanderers and solicitors passing over the sick
The dead that laugh and the living that cry
Cold flesh injections stock markets for cattle to imbibe

Like so many humans do
Marla Apr 2019
Have you been bleeding ice again
in the past million years?
I saw it in your eyes back then,
the image of your fears.

Have you learned any words by now
that people can perceive?
That don't disintegrate somehow,
in times of loss and grieve.

Did you visit sporadically
or have you kept away?
You've always lived nomadically,
yet never found a way.

Is there a chance to meet you there?
Have all your hymns been drowned?
I really hope you're taking care
of the spiders we once found.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
three ante-chambers and then the bedroom, a valet rather than my wife sleeping in the same room as me... if this is a will to power, i'd rather see the Sunday menu of: a will to whatever's on offer, other than hereditary genetics... mind you, 20th century anti-hereditary genetics seemed like quite fun, all that eugenic stuff... i love the byproducts that came with that, weaklings to be sure, missing horse and engaged tractor, celeb culture and the next Raphael pickling a hammer-shark sidelined with Warhol's quote: knock knock - ah cheap, i know, but when wasn't sarcasm ever?

the famoud *will to power
is a fable, there are too few words
in between will and power, since both are rather antonymous
in application, the argument -
the will to power is a state of anonymity
rather than a dualism,
in Versailles Louis XIV questions himself
as both man and king, and the god appointed;
instead of duality there's an anonymity,
a permanent height outreaching / out-qualifying
the jumper, all pampers and demure,
the mirror circus of poses that Louis XIV
was compared to his brother
gauging out an eye of a laughing man in
a role of a Kafka play the nobles thirsted for
and slyly forgot - there was once a prancing
lady of France, who donned the title
as the king of France, but was overshadowed by
his ****-******* brother; there are indeed
Arabia in the King to quench Africa,
but not enough to go further, with his philandering
******* boyishness to succumb to the womanising
artefact with brotherly jest as with a woman's
care for an up-kept boudoir... of matching stockings
and his matching socks
: never mind the places
cut first on the gauges of fear of the guillotine
with the eyes turning all Newtonian searching
for the next cake - the roles we keep are not the
identities we express, keeping the militant
populace ignorant and ourselves kept by
the labyrinth sexed-up, keeping one pronoun
a wall of denoted king and the rest
a scramble which, whoever, we wish to choose -
as ever, preferring a woman...
well i preferred animals, how's that for an argument
from *****? oh wait, that's an argument from Eden...
ooh choo choo the pick-up truck never picked up steam,
the democracy of nobles overtook the notion
of king as the psychiatric, philosophical rigidity
overtook the notion of ego...
well, weeners and winners here and there,
like salt and pepper... mm, push it! push it real
good!
wait a minute, i thought that aristocracy kept
Paris and subsequent Parisian a folded model ready for
corruption with adequate vices?
when Communism came about the aristocracy was replaced
with intelligentsia - the urban version of what was once
property owning now replaced with idea owning -
it all gets a bit murky here, i write with a more detached
defacement in mind onto a head of a donkey to reveal
the saintly cranium, but never mind the joke,
there's still the papal yoke to keep us curbed, after all,
the best ****** travel to home to sing: love live papa,
love like papa.
it just got me thinking, this obscure cannibal of
aristocracy could scare the king, no wonder the king
in chess is just an extension of pawns, while the queen
is an extension of rook, knight, bishop -
reductionist Darwinism uncovered more than
Darwinism per se, we were originally reduced to insects,
revolving past that and encouraging us to exhibit
mammalian tendencies made us into being unable to
choose which monkey was worthwhile to have originated from;
but still the black widow, the mantis -
female reductions took her beyond mammals,
into pre-reptiles,
male reductions took him into pure mammal,
we're both running treadmills now though,
we're both rodents, hamsters, ha ha, it's funny how
equilibrium works, there's two opposites, both need
to be pacified, no trans-gender changes will actually
objectify or personify, it'll just the other more even and the
other mode off / left in / left out.
you never ask so much about art, you just say
the magic Sesame words of Ali-Baba 'i don't get it'
and it opens, but then you suddenly want poetry to read like
chemistry, what a ******* oddity, and say the words
'i get it', but all that opens is a can of tuna, wooh!
what a ******* stink. imagine these words unlike what
you'd might use buying a pint of beer at a pub,
grow up, you hit puberty with fifty shades of grey,
bestsellers this century, the last, Don Quixote...
believe me, these words will be around for not that long,
soon ingested by what the already aristocracy isn't,
modern aristocracy are mere inheritors, spongers,
they overslept the mark of complicated phonetic encoding
being exhausted, hence the dissociation with politics,
the apathy of the former lusts for war -
granny can write a tweet, but granny can't write an app.,
never mind if it's Buckingham Palace or
the French Riviera mansion... Party Harry gives less ****
than the red squirrels when the grey Canadian squirrels
were introduced, and the next Prince of Wales
is wondering: did i really need to waste 20 minutes of my
life watching Head & Shoulders' adverts?!
Sarah Mar 2014
I don't know what to do
when nights are
never-ending
like tonight

there's something about
a black sky
that makes me restless
makes me think of you

a black sky
that's weighing heavily
on me
and pressing me down
into fits of rage

a hole,
so deep
that I can hardly see that funnel of light,
dripping down
to touch my
outreaching
hand

that's your love
that's your love
that I don't have
and want and need
and ache for
like a bee must search for flowers

honeycomb and fits of midnight rage
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
around here, you either go to bed early, drink yourself silly,
or read Kant... to be honest i still imagine
Kant like René Magritte - suited
and booted for the "next best thing",
not scruffy like Diogenes or Socrates,
the epitome of civilisation: a well dressed man,
or simply conveniently blending in,
like me wearing tracksuit "trousers" and
a t-shirt, the same thing, over and over
again, for god knows how long...
oh i have a wardrobe, i just chose
to have the feline tastes in the mundane -
why bother? it's a simple question worthy of
a creaking table - why bother?
the pride of the English resides in having
a mortgage rather than a wife - it's all
a frenzy after that contract is signed,
they're all hip-hip-where's-the-*******-hooray!
basically, if i know, Putin knows,
Kant was accused as "being" a Prussian spy, i get
the jokes, hence i execute, and think you out
into thinking i'm irrational due to chickenpox
(even though i've had a vaccination),
no, please, you invented the clockwise route of
traffic and the Shanghai roundabout, you first...
no, seriously, i was just kidding and then you
take me all serious i have to give a Kamikaze
salute, death to us all, and none shall return...
imagine Jesus (big up the Bible Belt States!)
and his rejection of doctrine on the third day,
the whole thing about body resurrected /
resuscitated... am i in heaven? am i in hell?
i don't know! resurrection of the body happened as
it happened - me? personally? i imagine heaven
a place where you don't ****, eat, or feel -
hell where you do each and etc. to excess,
******* is like having **** *** - heaven you just
float about, Hades' lava lamp airy fairy...
i'm writing this because my mortality expired,
i'm angry like a teenager and a fusilier convoy
target for Islamic terrorism...

as you know, within a poet many voices speak,
in polite society the practice of poetry is
best described as schizophrenia -
a polite society, a polite society, a politeness,
doesn't ring the bell that adjective -
since you vote in dichotomy versions of unity -
dichotomic (underlined), a word you should know well -
oh now a theory above a non-approval of
a word? how eloquent... we can have dual
and the self- as in -containment
but we can't seem to have the dicho... ****'s sake 2,
antidote of pre-Christian Greek endeavours
focused on the number 2,
sign your name on the petition to obstruct
any synonymous activity -
post-and-inc.-Christianity Greek endeavours lost
itself into abstracting the no. 3
(prior to β-reduction-ism - i.e. because -
into γ-reduction-ism, i.e. cause) -
well, if there ain't no bench and no one to speak to,
you're bound to find fascinations in symbols
to the outreaching mentions of meaning,
i.e. insinuation - hence what psychiatrists have done
all along in bringing Freddy Kruger and the unconscious,
enveloped, and as antidote, insinuation:
collective unconscious / common sense = intuition.
i know this is abstract, i know the grammatical words missing
to write an essay, it's a poem,
look at it as if all the ******* of the current
Tate Modern exhibition put together - why else?
why take an umbrella out when it's raining
instead of thinking of yourself as sugar?
under my skin? people tend to be tattoos under your skin,
you release them by etching out fingerprints of
their genitalia onto the world, nothing more,
the ***** to guillotine the father, or mother -
should have worked on it, the carpet in the kitchen
as an escape route to explore America? the ***** to guillotine
that crap... the cat playhouse in the living room?
should have guillotined that... why not **** them off
before all that "adventurous horizons" crap of Ms. Caterpillar
turned actress, formerly known as Mr. Model
with a burp and get it away and done with?
well... i was born in a bigger ****-hole than this,
to me Romford, Essex, is like mother-******* Hollywood...
oh ****... i think i just shoved my ball-sack into fresh cement...
heave! heave! heave! n'ah, that ****'s stuck...
i think i'll compass the **** out of all Irish Catholics
along the way to the Hammadi Library; duh, nimwit!
(and a) shotgun! me get ******* first(!)
on our way into a Brighton pier photo-cubicle to get a passport
photograph for flight MS804...


                                                      ­     wankers.
Kushal Oct 2018
In my spare time I look for quotes,
Words truly worthy of note.
Love is where i land,
Looking for thoughts with an outreaching hand
To tell me I'm not alone.

I think hard and fall deep
As i stare at these words,
Envisioning what they speak.

"I'll tell you what love is," they say.
I agree in a way.
But it always leaves me running through a Labyrinth in my mind,
Searching for the love that I wish to find.

What do I want that's worthy of note,
That someone will someday see,
And feel the emotion in what I've wrote?

"Love is stupid. It's illogical. It's broken. Yet somehow it's the most fulfilling feeling there is. Love is when a smile is enough, and you'd do anything for it."
Sabrina Kent Nov 2012
My hair falls in waves that curl around and
 frame my broad shoulders,
my clicking clavicle, and the beginning of my body's
latin waist

My hands, calloused, cracked and bruised
proclaim that I have lived a hands on life
I have struggled with weights
ten times my size both physical
and emotional
that I have dropped the reins
on an unruly horse
grabbed mane
and held on for dear life
terrified, excited
our nervous systems communicating
her centuries old wisdom  
in the marrow of my bones

My hips do not know how to be silent
as they walk
They flow in movement like a snakes serpentine
leaving statements of "I am here"
in the desert sand
My body walks into a room and these hips shout
I, me, my womanly body is here
together with my waist they etch out an hourglass
of time
but my body... is timeless

My feet that walk away from you and most of your kind
Wide and arched they have helped my body flee your kind's
prodding, squeezing, clasping grasp
many a time

My tongue short, smaller than most
that did not say what my body collectively
begged and pleaded for, for such a long time

Do not touch me, my waves of curl,
my outreaching shoulders, my latin waist,
my outspoken hips, my survivors feet.
Do not touch

because
Its MY BODY
MY BODY
MY BODY
Paris Adamson Sep 2012
a whirl of exploding stars
fears her dissolution into vapidity:
all her planets will drop off,
      drearily
  deciding
infinite nothingness over boredom.

dense lenses, telescopic eyes
pass over Cimmerian smears of sky.
distance misses her outreaching gravity:
      dismissively
  desultory,
unaware that darkness is not empty.
Tim Preston Oct 2014
Confused Signals
Between jokes and true pain
My heart's just outreaching
For your love all the same
No negative intentions, inside what i've said
Just playful stupidity from within my head
My own words, just let your thoughts go
Yet I cannot seem to just let it flow
Flow out of my mind like driftwood in the sea
But this love is infinite, between you and me
My own insecurity, mixed up with my fears
Since no one has ever loved me as you do my dear
So forgive all the nonsensible things that I say
My worst nightmare is if you walked away
So i'll learn to think free, and just let it flow
Before I disappear in my mind's undertow
Living in fear or worry is something you can't do
And there I was,
Suffocating under a pile of rubble,
Breathing painfully,
The dust, pain and suffering all a muddle.

And I saw people passing,
Some walking, some laughing, some running,
But there were others,
Lame, crawling, broken.


But everyone passed,
Some looking directly at me,
Reaching out voiceless,
But they never saw.

And there came a point where,
Pain couldn't be distinguished,
With the hurt of being ignored,
And my outreaching hand went limp.

Night and day,
Day and night,
Dust, rubble, all becomes grey,
Nothing seems to worth the fight.

But fight I needed to,
Because all the suffocating,
All the hurt and pain,
Didn't **** me, how much I prayed to die.

And plank by plank,
Stone by bitter stone,
Rock by crushing rock,
I rummaged through.

With my broken body,
My severed limbs,
My aching heart,
and my shattered soul.

I stood up,
My silhouette against the scorching sun,
Among the ignorant passing by,
Its a new day.

And I realize,
Hundreds of thousands are under rubble,
Some even more than I have been in,
Some barely making it.

Maybe I can make a difference....
What we see is ourselves, and what we don't have and how much we think no one  really cares, but the world has more problems than just us. It does not revolve around us. Maybe if we just care to open our eyes and  start seeing instead of just looking, things would be so much more different.
Hollow Sep 2014
Where are the outreaching hands today
Where are the smiling faces
Where are the steady feet and the bright eyes

I dream to dream today
I dare to believe in happiness
I will sing today, one note higher
I will touch hearts and mold memories to be thankful for

Where are the kind words
Where lie the poems of beauty and nature, nurture and soul

I promise light today
A sliver of hope across a sea of dreary stillness
Today, I draw a new breath, fill my lungs with joyful whispers

And your ears are the target

I love you all
Erin Little Jun 2010
Tell me I’m brilliant

For the fibers and threads of my mind have recently tattered themselves
Leaving an array of unfinished thoughts and suppressed emotion
Piling up until my worth has been completely displaced
A tower such as I needn’t have limits such as these
However, I have recently become accustomed to the cruel realities of the world
Where everything exists as a number, high or low
Acquiring these numbers prompts man to do back flips, cart wheels, until he knows all he can possibly know
I stand with man on a platter of judgment
Look at me through the glass and assess how transparent my eccentricity is
Whosoever fabricates their lives should be cast out, but how often is this really done?
I stand with a number possibly too small and maybe too outreaching
It all depends on what the powers are teaching
The numbers leave no room for speech or rhythm or character
This is why I choose word as my craft, in hope that everyone can stand on that judgment pillar and feel light upon their shoulders
And breathe slowly into their souls
And say that the world will oblige me, whatever number I hold in my hands

I have not been put in this world to give into such demands.
Sarah Aug 2015
I stepped into
a book store
with you
and saw the hanging
words
up to the
ceiling,
overhead
gazing down at
me, the
oddity in
a bookshop

and to the back
of the place you
wondered.

to the
dusty corner
of a shadow where
you finally
called my
name.

Then as I peered around the
shelves of a
thousand pages,
my eyes
found your hand
outreaching,
pointing,
to the end of a
corridor
where a
broken
golden frame
of butterflies
sat uncared for
in its lonesome.

and against
the glass, I saw
myself, my face,
my reflection in
a coffin holding
the decorators of
the sky and then

the shopkeep in his
boredom choked
"she's found
the dead
butterflies..."
River Aug 2015
Vacant Streets
Barren homes
Concrete rubble scratching beneath my feet
Am I all alone?

Towering viridescent leaved Giants
On the other side of the road
Wind swiftly whispering hollow secrets
Into the grove.

I intently observe the grooved bark of a tree
What species is it?
I don't know, but I would like to know
My eyes scrupulously make their way up to the reaching branches at the very top
Next to this tree I observe is a tree stump
It doesn't look like it was cut with precision, it looked like a flash of unpredictable lightning chopped it right in half
Incapacitating it to no longer grow, ragged shards of raw inner wood
Now blackened with death.
The difference between the stump and the outreaching tree was one proliferated while the other did not due to death.
I felt my heart in my chest and arteries transporting blood to a part of my mind neglected and depressed
As the realization swooshed and then swelled into my heart,
that these conditions of my mind and circumstances were not forever
But temporary lessons
Yes, that's all these bad things are,
Temporary lessons
A tree can be cut but if not cut through all the way to cause death, it will grow around that cut, and everything else about it will eventually become bigger than those few times it experiences pain
The key to all of this was to move forward, grow
With limbs outstretched to the sky.
stone the bear May 2016
What's your favorite part of firework show?
Definitely, the night sky's glow.

the finale is the best of all,
leaving us all
in utter
awe.

B
U
T
T T

What's your favorite type firework?
Is it the weeping willow
falling like twinkling snow?

Then the light can cover your shoulders,
As it falls, fades, then eventually turns to go

Id
ont
k
now.


Do you prefer the firework
that leaves you with only a lingering smirk?

What's your favorite type firework?
Do you appreciate the stars as they burst?
Do you like the ones that make you curse, first?

Popping, screeching,
while outreaching.
Leaching right in front of your eyes.
Smithereens smothering,
singing sorrowfully, it longs and
cries?

Ashes to ashes,
how do you
prefer
to
fall
to dust
while you light
the night sky?
tsk


()
(())
((())))
(((()))))
((((( ))))))
((((((n))))))
I
I
I
V
dan d Oct 2014
At nightfall, gazing skyward,
he exults.
Godlike,
he projects himself upon the darkness.
At first light, gazing farther,
no sign of life...
Still
Searching for what he knows not,
and finding nothing.
Does what he seek even exist?
Did it ever?
Riddled with emptiness
beyond and within,
his search is in vain.
The void is a mirror
reflecting nothing.


Casting a swarm of machine seeds of a new life
Propagating like a plague upon new worlds
Far outreaching fragile flesh, touching new worlds
Inseminating celestial womb with our new life
David Betten Oct 2016
MOTECUHZOMA
            Now, Hungry Prince, let’s brace for weighty words.            
            You know that since our founding fathers’ reign
            Our kingdoms have been linked like tilting twins,
            Sharing the fruits and frowns of war alike,
            Two striding shanks, each foot outreaching each,
            My Mexicans, the eagles of this island,
            Across the lake, your leopards of Texcoco,
            Dainty Tlacopan third and least of all.

CUITLAHUAC
            But, since the death of wise Hungry Coyote-
            Your father- one alone has hitched the wind,
            One arm engirdling our fractious state,
            Which on one mighty truncheon hops her way.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Our Triple Alliance therefore is dissolved.
            Now must this galled umbilical be clipped,
            Tlacopan liquidated for our bullion,
            And you to trudge your solitary trail,
            With gods’ best blessings for your bond and bail.

HUNGRY PRINCE [aside]
            Oh, let my heart freeze up at this cold news,
            For if this tongue should blab the ****** thoughts
            These staunchless chambers seal inside my chest,
            The tyrant should extract this swollen fruit,
            And make my skull the drinking cup of God.
            Thus should I truly mirror this prodigy-
            A heartless sap, who’s plainly lost his head.

TLACAELEL
            Hungry Prince,
            Take aim at only what is possible,
            For you and I alike both know the fancy
            Of human justice only enters where
            The pressure of necessity is equal,
            And that the stout and rivalrous exact
            All that they can, the weak grant what they must.
            Of gods we do believe, of men we know,
            That by a natural proclivity,
            Wherever they can wield the whip, they will.
            This primal rule was not drawn up by us,            
            Nor were we first to heed its nascent call.
            The trail’s long blazed, and we do but inherit
            This trait, and shall bequeath it to all time,
            Content to know that you and all mankind,
            If once enfranchised vast as we are now,
            Would do as we now do.
                                              Exit all but Motecuhzoma and Hungry Prince.

HUNGRY PRINCE                                Thus it must be,
            Since thus you have declared it for a rule.
            And though this outlook seems the sophistry
            Of inharmonious and immoderate minds,
            Who will say ‘no’ when you have said ‘it’s so?’

MOTECUHZOMA
            Do not return, when taxmen come to call,
            And whine that I require too much of you,
            Since now you nod assent to my decree.
            You know the fortune of capricious war:
            Today for you, tomorrow it’s for me.                       Exit.

HUNGRY PRINCE
            Then revel it, old ruffian, while you may.
            Tomorrow’s but a fitful sleep away.                         *Exit.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
i can't utilise the internet with capitalism's source
of investment, i.e. i can't just leave it be
as the exploitative tool greeting
teenagers to spend - i can't just let the internet
become a callous environment,
i can't let it become a mediating tool of youth's
despicable outreaching
to communicate with the world...
for youth knows no dreams,
i can't let this new postage stampeding
become Mongol-likened overridden
with only youth as the sole experience
exampled;
the internet cannot belong to youth solely!
a near thirty year old in defiance to teenagers
welcoming 60 year olds to engage
while switching channels to their own choosing.
ronnie b Mar 2018
galaxies of freckles
stippled across skin
stretch marks
made of outreaching nebulae
eyes like stars
and minds holding
entire universes
children of the deep
made of stardust
and dark matter
and yet some find themselves
imperfect
Stephen Purcell Oct 2018
To those who wrong his chosen, he is retribution incarnate.
From his hands come gifts to those who help him on his path and judgement to those who hinder.
He is the light shining in the midst of shadows.
Lord and friend and shield and home.
A mirror of potential, a catalyst of those who strive to honour his esteem
A being of action and justice and the outreaching of hands.
His gifts seed life and his name brings hope.
Confidant to the world-weary and a gentle helping hand.
He is the Soul of the Protector.
Mitzy Jul 2019
Dream a dream of funbeing,
Live a life so happy,
With the one that makes you laugh and smile,
To see them dreamy and content.
To run in the paths of fantasy and joy.
To feel the water between your feet,
Holding hands in beamy sunshine.
They come, they go.
A misunderstanding too far,
A reckoning so tired and unfaithful.
Do they not know, do they not care.
For this heart so tender and kind.
This heart always outreaching,
For a love so lost and temptuous.
Ken Pepiton Mar 6
{strange to feel so understood
strange that I am not alone}
{{https://hellopoetry.com/cielnoir/}}

Walking out of sleep, into
-- noonday sun
-- post atmospheric river
-- deep gray-purple days past
editreadyreaderprepresent-tensing

noise directed traffic, trending
psy-sci-psilliness dissing

ontological first thoughts, first
stretch, and last yawn,

seeing some connection from
former time to formations now
serving purposes proposed as ifs.

If duty calls us, and we have ears
discerning us as those called, hearers,

saying nothing, listening -
acknowledging life, itself, is not ours,
not experienced alone, ever, after we

agree to merge ourselves into me,
the leader, left-foot first, marching
ants selecting territory to sift for worth,
ax-el-
what good can I find to do, in response
to differentiation, feel the touch of other,
bump spring gentle
level speed to fills and tunnels

others, advisors, certified professional
advisors of the unfinished, unpolished

ones, you and me, creatures of literal

evanescence, perhaps never appearing,
glimpsed as in a zen riddle, popped
when a country kid asks who
tamed the bull… the ox

yes, I see, says the country kid,
I understand, you think oxen are
natural, that limits your wisdom.
-----------------
But of the tree of the knowledge
of good and evil,
thou shalt not eat of it:
for in the day that thou eatest thereof
thou shalt surely die.

Now, hear this, as a stranger in that garden.

Make up a mind that may as well imagine
having access to this single window lens,
in a fly's eye/

see me see you, sit tight. Bee, alright,
flea'ld be okeh by me, ye'll see,

what ever two or more of my kind agree, we be.
'pon acknowledging

the reality of energy, and us being, small,
upto a point.

We break the wave function and drift, pointless

reasons for the faith we take as granted, we think

we have a full portion, rationally, fair share, we think.

But few are free to find time to take words as power.

We agree we means primary person acting as one,
in the spirit form we form as we read, and write,

and hope to hold
the gentlest wind in our fists, as we expand
as breaths, and breathers, nameless alienated minds,

cohere, at once, each point possible,
once…

------------------


Old Jobe, and me,
we considered the works of God,
we saw all the noise and storming

contenders for worth of your loyal
adherence to a plan from a committee,

a party platform, from which leaders,
may stand and look into tomorrow's

victory over all wrong thinkers, leading
away from the best way for all of us,
we, the part-takers in policies of common
wealth taken from the losers to use

for the betterment of all mankind,
losers included, of course, abort no

unwanted child, let society eat them alive.

------------------

Rush to publish, shush nidicolous muse,
Peace awaits inpatient perfecting grace

- long form war, for goodness sake,
- so simple a child can participate,
- the game of life under standing
- constituted authorities established,
Under God, by God, and you
you,
good citizen had better believe we've
GOT GOD, and the entire dairy industry
on our right side, and our enemies,
on our left side, we are destined
to rule over, as gold over silver,

and plutonium ove' all.
Y'all'd know if I lied.
Some ideas are poison,
some are radioactively poisoning,

as life imitates art, foul miasmatics, sniff.

Uric acid industries, good side hustle,
set pots to **** in behind the pub,
public minds congregate to process,
fermented bread purified water,
into precursors for alchemists.

It was a profitable enterprize.
Vertical integration, however…

even then, there were regulators.

Identity, registered voter,
have you read your party's rules for us.

What must we hold true to trust
the committee of good for us reasoners?

Whereas, conjunctive fact fixer, that said,

It being the fact that; inasmuch as.
While at the same time.
While on the contrary…
------------------
Rushing to  betterment, settling
for plenty good enough, betting

on welfare shared by knowing users
of the tools we used
to build the channels of commerce
and learning used to make living easier

inventing means of exchange, symbolic
worth determinants, worth of cows
after…

blah… no mas.

---------------
measure for measure, reassure me,
nidicolous commiseration,
promi-sorry noted aliegiance
conserved determined formal
arrangement of shared woe and weal
- we authorize these changes, we think.
let us imagine, set an image of our wedom,
we… the ready readers granted all meaningful
words ever read by our massively parallel process

of gaining means to branch out and make shade.

Trees, Bees, Toads, Children

Who do I think we are,
who do you think I am,

what do we agree is true,
what do we do to prove it so?

If it is true, any it, we use it.
If it is not true, we see it so, because

we do not trust those ordained to lead.

-----------
Bring measure, come fair trade with me,
take my offering, think it linked to God,
the spirit entity historical Jesus called Father,

when he asked
forgiveness, as with all our debtors
debts, dissolved as gnosis knots
snot-nose brats can have
for a thank you, missed, to whoever
made truth the way life makes us take

at certain instances where signals merge

at a certain round-about in Montana,
we forget forgiveness generally given,
we take if as granted, as we should.

So… with no evil intended, good happens

for all who know not what
we are doing as we survive our helplessness,

and discern the order of effort and participation,

ruled by lines drawn long ago, proper and right,

my peace, my home place, my self assurance,

good by my own estimation, nothing missing,
nothing broken, all things, at scale working
together to gather the harvest, year after year.

-------------------------

Let us project an image we agree to see, knowing
we are showing what we hope to make you see,

a reason for your efforts to be joined to ours,
for your right to influence the rules we use

to keep enemies enemies and workers working…

---- Republican Evangelical shot across my bow

Quantifiable worth of one
person, weight of one person's wish
to willingly partake in persistent life,

life after all is said and done to come this far,

to have taken communication
from the Babel excuse for our misunderstanding,

to these days of Google Translate,
and Assisting Intelligence Coherency, here we be,

now, or never, as we must be to breathe
and have our being orbiting our normal ordinary star.

On the ball we all live on

some rule, some obey, say they who rule.

Those who rule themselves,
obey or stay beyond the reach
of proper societies, as such,

far from the maddened crowds,

herds of humanity harnessed
for war, for defense of local
wealth in terms of valued
conditions to which we become
accustomed, ordinarily following

the leader, as in the children's
games of emulation, marching
as to war

"With the cross of Jesus
going on before… glory, glory…"

Pied, perhaps, are we, on power.

We publically profess to all the world,
say those voting for Donald J. Trump:

We believe in American exceptionalism.

{eh, except ye believe, and say, I see, and
I agree, to this entity inviting all, except those
who are forbidden by religious ties, from knots

to hold yoke to cart or plow. Free souls,
lost in old bet you regret that nows

sould in spirit to a conception, love your enemy.

Refuse to partake in war, deserve no part
in the victor's loot.

Die in dispair, or let go, lose it all…

See the hand hold
a finger, or a toe.

Watch a babe locate a nose,
or an ear, or recognosticate

a familiar face, smiling.

We think, as common, completed
successful sprouts from random
spurts of natural gumption, urging us

reproduce, take pleasure, participate,

in using up our sources of sustained
existence atop the only gravitating thing
equipped to host us.

Chance, and timing, chaos in orderly

coordination with wind and water,
rare fair weather in early March,

beware the Ides, nay, not this year,

March, she came in like a lion,
dumping a whole winter's withheld snow,

at once, reminding many, we are very small.

Reminding few to thank foresighted good luck,

we chose to build upon actual rocks, solid
state soil free to consist as structure base,

for anything two or more of my kind, agree
to see as possible, seeing as believers do,

we must mean the rooting through the fruit

falling to become soil substance for next year.
be seed settled

Be not deceived, as a command, presupposes
reception, once,

be not deceived, many voices in the wilderness

cry this is the way to become lorded over, follow me.

Waveforms collapse, sometimes.

The principle of superposition
of waves states that
when two or more propagating waves
of the same type are incident
on the same point, the resultant amplitude
at that point is equal
to the vector sum
of the amplitudes
of the individual waves…

Slowslooo slide into home. Tune

to zero beat, co hear silence
unbelievable yet evident to any hearing it

as we exhale, in recognosis, this is that

state of mind,
combined,

we free spirit informants,

conforming ourselves to norms, imagined

before the concept of wave coherence formed
in the mind of man kind,
common access
general available knowing,

when, on earth,
as it must be in heaven, if we imagine happiness
constantly overriding common knowledge,
-stretching our hold on the joy of living
chirality insisting we not let our right hand know,
what our left is imagining in this outreaching way,

Beggar's banquets, ***'s rush, breathe

with first reason sought, breathe out,
breathe in, no idea

not a clue, nothing random, but this bubble
we have our being in,
as a liposome time bubble,
when we pause, to think about it….

--------------
In my seeding mind,
reseeding reason to rationalize,

worth and weight, in ancient terms,
57 something tons of silver's worth,

a single talent of silver, once mentioned,
for scale,

to make a warring spirit acknowledge truth,
bow and pay obeisance, kow-tow,
or bolt
upright, how now

may we intercede,
in the spirit of mere words,
redeemed to base value in moral terms deemed

ethical, under these circumstances,
we are free to think this line of thought bought
dearly with the patience taken

to make it all possible at all, what? me worry?
- you may laugh, but take no anxious thought.

We are most alien of all minds, sacred places,

signaling knowers to know, now, time is as a dream,
only if you maintain consciousness of that fact, as art.

Now, consider life a game.

Your move. My move. We agree, we become

one of these things in the form of Paul's God,
all's supreme being spirit form of Truth's Way

taken, as granted any willing to think, why not
me, the stranger in paradaise, asking whom

do we imagine wise,
as the serpent, while remaining harmless,
of no effect, ill or good, either real, or not.

At our we level, we laugh at me.
I become the first beggar in paradaise.
I think we think we know, we meet
at the mean

and we play the balancing Sisyphean
paen to Science of Light Amplification

you push my buttons, I pull your thread,

we make up a mind, to get past this.

This is Ken Pepiton, as he sat in the sun,
thinking of Van Gogh's ghucking sunhat
self portrait,

and laughing at having dropped my name,
where he left his hat.
To all the poets in bemusement.
Satsih Verma Nov 2018
The musky night
descends slowly.
Mercury was rising
dressing the twilight.

You start eating your
nails, crossing the darkness.
I will not stop you.

The yellow dust had
settled, after you burned
down the family tree.

The icy bridge was
closed. No guest
would arrive.

The outreaching hands
were empty.
Time to shut the windows.
Moon was not going to knock at the door.
Satsih Verma Oct 2017
Take me in moonlight
when it is dark, outreaching
every ache.

I will not ask you anything
when you are on prowl in cobra night.

The womb crumbles.
Salamanders will not endure the flames.
Elemental soul wants to
stay in water.

Living in a wax palace
with honeybees inviting sparks.

My religion wants to change its name.
Cold touch, I will wear
a shawl of slaughtered scapegoat.
Don't call me on the name of a
messenger.

You know there was no
dearth of lies.

We shall meet when our hands start trembling.
Amiri Sheppard Nov 2018
Laughter of my travesties
Ruler of my fantasies.
Sitting in the stands.
I was my only friend.

Dreamer of a better life.
I just happened to be the dull knife.
While I sat in the stands.
I finally took the outreaching hands.
Qualyxian Quest Sep 2020
What are songs but dreams?
The depths of human wishes

Aquaman still schemes
He can talk to fishes!

I'm grateful for the teaching
We are Robinson!

Still I am outreaching
Before my day is done

                   Letters.
Michael Marchese Apr 2020
My turn for impeaching
Obsequious peaceniks
Are making me sick
Of these linguistic,
Jingoist sentiments
Leeching  
Off coughers  
And coffers closed
Like the schools
Teaching
Their culture supremacy
Remedies preaching
Their outreaching
White-washing,
Black-coded
Bleaching
Intentions
Descending to hell
All contentions  
Are quelled
And if any dissenters
Rebel
It is censured
As well
So extensions
Of interlope errs
On the side
Of the circumspect
State of affairs
Still divided
Itself like a house
That can’t stand
To take planned
Economic
Commands
From the man
And his red-handed
Caught in the act
Band of sycophants
Damning
The evidence
Flagrantly
Blatant
Blank-slating
The bank
Breaking laws
With impunity
Faking
More news about death’s
Final breath away
Pains in the chest
And unrest
Manufactured
As wrested from us
Is the last shred of powerful
Gods in which trust
Is soon crushed
Underneath
The hypocrisy,
Lies
Normalizing
Deceit
Can’t look me
In the eyes

— The End —