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Robin Carretti Jul 2018
She moves with
      Grace
The Gracious meeting in denial
He's the baron of beef delicious side
Reproduction picture full slide
The most
   Casual face

Met the eternal masterly
    Artist face
Saying Oh! Grace
The other side of midnight
     Mask Face
She could overjoy anyone's
Heart in the right place
    Deceiving Face

The miracle of love principles
Such skepticism could it be overjoyed realism

But a hell of a time with heavenly bliss
What a shock when he gave me my kiss
His Crooked face to longevity nose
Hiding place A-Rose

Beachy trance-set face

Highlands of Scotland,
anybody would want her
     *Joyful face


He's the baronial
Secluded caves but risky dives
The turn only If?? I
could turn back the time
The events strictly
confidential

Her apple cheeks bathing suit
He is picking her fruit
So soothing the fiddle
Tinman whistles the ladies harps

Their medieval moment's help!!!
The swords  bust to his manly chest
Sleeping Inn New castle west
Their best bedrest

The cupboards open overjoyed
invitation decorative cans
Of greens, pinks, purple passion

And flourless chocolate cakes
Powdered lips love his reaction

She was seductively awe-inspiring
The top hills of Ireland grass
vividly raised her legs
The bowl next to her
The Rose blush wines
Bare it Fruit and figs

The baronial tug of war wigs

Melodious birds the
Grand One
The thousand piano words
Overjoyed but
under the {Baronial} weather

So lordly new threads tailored
White-collared
carpenter pants
Men of the herds
She's the
Caron French boutique

There ****** desires
The creature within
Wildly mating like critiques

Her perfumes so extinct
mysteriously
Overjoyed her heart
So cultured violin strings
Dollhouse Castle to restore
With her unique touches,
he wanted more

The steps tiring like a killed deer
every muscle he could hear

Over elaborating how people are dating
With a  stamped from the very
heart  approval
But hard times such laboring
Sitting in her
overjoyed chair
His face all Scrooged
no gifts of flowers
What are the odds of this pair

Over and over again her rainbow
her sensitivity we need longevity
The  endless walls are caving in
We are not so overjoyed by
this monster garden
She had her first breakdown
Going up the
Jack and Jill Ireland hill
In the longtime what long run
Way too short
It didn't come from above

The vintage oldtimer
radios sitting
together with
family listening
so long ago
So commercialized
The crazy shows
Where do you really want to go,
you just want to shut everything off

He called her the powder puff
Waiting for the nocturnal star
Those scrubs and hot rubs shower
Over my knee-high boots so in
love cahoots

Oh! It's her
The smart student
Owl Hoot whats to boot
Eating her shepherd's pie
so lordly full lips word-me
Ireland Holy Land
of love and beauty

Overly scrupulousness
The time of blessings

But the baronial loved to be
overly entertained
And she would sit there  
Blue-blooded royal dishes
Got flushed away no wishes

Oversimplification
Like the hardest love
of multiplication
The ****** overstimulation
Over embellished
But you're still positive
overjoyed
But why did she
want to vanish

Over-programming
    Web-Face
Destroyed her
Apple jubilee computer

Spiritual Zen
Or new lover Amen
Ever touched by Ireland maidens
Like the crimson and clover
I do believe in the
Four leaf clover Face

Like the only thing she picked
were the weeds
More beauty of life and deeds
Or tons of sorrow wondering
how she
would feel tomorrow?
We will never know
Overjoyed by so many things have the beauty Ireland is amazingly beautified or everything feels unnecessary gloomy or horrified you rather pick of ripe blueberry or cherry or blackberry living like your in the castle being summoned on by the Scrooged type Baron
rachel g Sep 2014
yesterday my feet rested comfortably on the bar of someone else's chair
and my eyelids slid heavy and the world seemed slow
a graph of survivorship curves glowing blurry on the whiteboard
and then words slid from behind a neatly trimmed white beard
". . . .as our bodies are programmed to die."

as our bodies are programmed to die.

thousands of miles away
one gleaming thought against a murky sky
(that's how i imagine it anyway--murky, cold,
stagnant air)
a frantic explosion of lean muscle power
and a body launching into the lake.

he was 17 and in that moment gears somewhere in this world shifted,
numbers were crunched and
some profound device processed the seconds, linking and unlinking them with an automatic, well-oiled certainty

he was 17 and the number on his football jersey suited him like wool socks on winter feet
his stride under the lights a weekly prize to all hungry, bleacher-ed, washed-up life-hunters bundled against october-night chill-streaked skies
they drank hot cocoa and he took three sips of gatorade

he was 17 and his smile
and his curls

and we all hear about hospitals but
this feels different because
he was 17 and suddenly,
instantaneously
his body was just a beep
and his skin turned the color of the walls

first the ICU painted quick brushstrokes across his wrists
then it stopped giving a **** at all

and the water rushed endlessly, heartlessly.

when I shift through memories and
find his seven-year old face in my mind, i remember a gap
where he'd lost a front tooth and i remember sunlight streaming behind his hair
it was valentine's day and he gave me a small smile and a silver charm bracelet in a powder blue box.


i shifted my feet
heard the snap of a binder closing
and all i could think about was
the oversimplification of words
and survivorship curves
and 17 years


and
and

piles of numbers spurting from a computer

and an echo of a splash.
this felt strange for me but for some reason i needed to write it. and though i don't like dedicating or even offering any explanation of my poems, this one's different, so i'd like to say that
this one's for MC.  he was a boy that glowed--so bright that even elementary-school me, who didn't know a ******* thing about glowing, figured it out.

they're right, man. they aren't bullshitting anyone when they say you were a selfless hero--you were the minute you entered this world, and even though you moved away years ago i remember you with this strange pang somewhere inside. i wonder if you'd remember me too.
Dhaara T Apr 2017
The way forward
From left to right
From the bottom, upwards
Version 1 to 3.0
We progress
In hope that we're improving
Enhancing
Building up
Refurbishing
Innovating
But are we, really?
We come a full circle
Only to learn
Life was never complicated
in the first place
We made it so
In our pursuit of oversimplification
Not all updates/upgrades are forward-looking, even if that is the intent.
Onoma Mar 2015
A glass elevator
...stalled...
  
Self-solvent
sky-high-ocean-deep

matte­rless
mind

&

the oversimplification
of plainclothes
miracles

~Homecoming~
Just because everything is as it needs to be
doesn't mean that humans act accordingly.

When one reads: "Everything"
a ballet of meanings begins to dance before one's mind.

Is it every particular thing that exists?
Is it a metaphor for the universe?
Is it an oversimplification? An over-generalization?

The way I interpret it is "the way of Reality".
Our dream-scape of a reality.
Our Cybermental construct of the realm we've inherited.
--
Everything is just as it must be
for our reality to be as it needs to be
yet we act in corrupt, selfish, unsustainable ways
and expect everything else to keep up with us.

It doesn't seem to work that way, my friends.
Though we are the spawn of it, and though we observe it
we are no higher nor lower than anything we can observe.
Obadiah Grey Mar 2016
Gimbal eyed and shrugged -
at rooks caw and ravens croaked
shriven threaded dawn.

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

Syllabically
­Oversimplification
Abomination
Xander Kyle Jun 2017
When you say all lives matter I hear black lives don’t;
An oversimplification of a phrase that held meaning
Your statement was never questioned
You just broadened ours until the guilt lessened

No one need apologize for the crimes of others
I know you never held a gun and you love all the same
But ignoring just breeds ignorance so things will never change
All lives may matter but day after day who is the prey?
Turn on the TV, it’s another black name
black lives matter blm
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
because what could be worse than
a coulrophobia?
       a clown grinning,
                not wearing any make-up?
catch me some time during
the week doing just that,
            perched on a windowsill...
****, if ******* won't laugh,
might as well scare them
      to adopt investing in diapers...
at least there's a motivational
tool in place to
                       mark a loss of a
    couch potato...
                                 but you know...
when a woman dons lipstick
and eyeliner...
             everything else a man
does subsequently is treated
as war-paint... azure woad...
               but can a clown not wearing
any face paint actually smile?
pe(h)pe(h)? what's your take on this?
heeeeeeeeeeeee....
    and then that Bolognese grin...
churn, chirp, choke, or spoon?
                    well, you know, make-up...
after a while your get to explore
then Norman of what makes
people edgy...
                       smiling without
using face-paint is one way to go about
things...
                         some dare call the
oversimplification of poker game tactics...
     so where did i put my
tux to attend a ballroom spectacle
of: wish those chandeliers did a
Newtonian apple "trick",
                 minus Volatire's poetry...
       spotting a clown grinning without
make-up is probably as rare
as spotting a woman wearing no
make-up, flirting...
                          call sasquatch,
or some apache stoners,
                        we'll throw some dice
into a cobbled alleyway corner
and pretend it's chess...
          because at that point
   a question is propped:
                    does counting really matter?
       fear has hopes,
                  love? something
in between a wheelchair and arthritis...    
sure: nazareth, cow bell added to
     son of a dog...
                and the dangling crucifix...
because no one has actually
investigated the nag hammadi
library, and not seen
         the trigger of st. thomas'
gospel...
                    last time i checked:
the church wasn't exactly interested
in archeological findings either...
                   due justice:
word for word, and no words above
the vicar...
                 back into
dinosaur bone findings...
             **** it, just give me the
sunglasses and allow me to dream about
jamaica.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
what's the "real'' difference between pedagogy and ideology? don't know, but it's probably equivalent to: a bunch of dwarfs among a bunch of children... spot the ******* rottweiler.

the "problem" with individuation
     on a level of pedagogy -
it's all fun & games to be attired
in a catholic school uniform -
rebelling against the "suggested"
attire by wearing a black
shirt, when otherwise expected
to attire yourself with either
a white, or blue shirt...
          and so you can breed a sort
of people that don't really have
a high school narrative
               akin to the h'americans...
who cling to high school fueds
without engrossing themselves
in the years as if: they ought to be prized...
yet there is a problem...
   at school a mantra hovered over me...
the mantra was ushered in like
a ghost, and it clinged to me like
a spectral mushroom...
          
you are different,
   just like everyone else!*
it's hard to craft an individuation process
with this mantra hovering over you...
simply because there's a question:
different to / from what?
     where's the that that i'm supposed
to align myself to,
while simultaneously
            not aligning myself to that?
i honestly can't be bothered
to play a second game of pedagogy...
because ideology is just that...
    i have to be ******* myself silly
in thinking that this requires an
oversimplification...
        you are different...
just like everyone else
...
               which is a quirky paradox
that hovers over you
  when you're supposed to wear
a school uniform...
          because: how can i?
          well, at least i can escape the hell
of having to cite high school
"dramas" in my later life...
            is there anything memorable
about it, prior to infusing myself
with delusions?
   not really...
                  the ontological basis for
the existence of memory is
bewildering: no wonder it needs
   the surrealism of an "education"...
        seems more pardonable to watch
rust form on a shipwreck...
       because what can i actually "keep"?
it would be a natural answer to
amass a large number of things
  to counter the fact that:
           i'm trying to hold a handful of water
in cusped hands, when it
comes to remembering something;
but i do retain my list of riches
  in terms of a: past experience...
      and i cling to these artefacts like a tyrant...
         but i am not fortunate in
that i have been given a debilitating mantra -
i guess:
   the point when you stop blaming
yourself is when you curl out of the egg
that the "guiltless" people like to shove the jack
back into a box of solipsism...
oh yeah: they're also real...
        i hate the gimmick:
   the only person you can blame is yourself...
tell that to the Auschwitz survivors:
           'cos i'm also not buying;
not having to blame yourself
is the most liberating act of punk;
ah, but to mind: the misnomerism
         of narcissism -
            and the general ambivalence
regarding "immaturity"...
    trust really is,
  far harder to fathom than truth...
because there's no abstract to hide it in...
back to:
   what the ideologue doesn't understand
is that: there's no second (attempt at)
                                        pedagogy.
why on earth would i rob a person of
   their moral duty merely question?
   a person without a moral sensibility is
               also a person without a question:
morality - a guideline worth
  the abstinence with respect to
                                    having a choice;
versus the regret of not having it in the first
place.

— The End —