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Kristaps Nov 2018
Palaces of ****** souls
have green neon text frames
standing sideways like arches;

divine arrows, they guide
the paternal flunks, the tar-soaked offspring,
the lonely and the business bunch.

Here in these palaces, all sin is a freeze, all
lust is a spin.
Fairy lights are often flagged in a net,

to catch mischievous mares flinging
themselves against the glass displays
of overpriced clothing shops.

One finds when wondering the perpetual
lines of restaurants and cafes, the vastness of them
having a motherly touch, for

these palaces, they stretch like the sky and
they spread like the shepherded
fire ants of Gaia herself



And when ones welcome is overbid
they need only to follow  the
evenly laid out,  sorrow yellow street lamps

and bite their cheeks and bare the frost
for soon the polluted lux will lead them to
an overnight joint, a limbo of sorts,

where they can breathe anew.
On those red leather sofas- fast food
or the district kind- when the night seems

to crawl on its final limbs,
they'll lay and slip into sleep.
Some say they never do wake, that they

wither with the moon and then
haunt the attics of the dance halls
where they swirled and laughed and lived

in a previous life.
Ozioma Ogbaji Apr 2015
As beautiful as the famed city of Atlantis
Gloriously flourishing in her perfection
There is a place where my soul and heart is
A perfect place without grief or deception

Where my heart is always merry
And peace blossoms like the cherry
The sun smiles at me gently caressing
My body as the birds sing melodies-
So beautiful they keep me guessing-
The beauty of future melodic memories

Like the Cedars of Lebanon
Beautifying the palaces of Ethiopia
Purity, love and perfection adorn her every season.
This place is within me; this place is Utopia
winter sakuras Jul 2018
There is such a place, you know--
one that transcends time and space
and visions of what you're supposed to resemble,
and the limits placed by the digits
of your mortal age.

I can feel the presence of it
in my bones,
where the sky is never ending and liberated
and the sun and moon
can openly converse and love and exist,
without the rules of superiors
who like tragic love stories and twisted histories.

Whatever you decide to do, whatever you decide to feel,
there are no restraints
to keep you from the prospects of flying,
or dreaming,
or embracing things that you had to
let go of in another existence.

There is no fear, confusion, or awkwardness,
no doubts of not belonging,
of not deserving to exist in such a place
where your soul can be pure,
and being able to thrive
without having to try so hard
anymore.

You don't have to try anymore to
be a good person,
because you are one.
You don't have to struggle to hold on to yourself,
you don't have to feign ignorance
or enlightenment.

You can breathe and smile openly,
and every smile is so breathtakingly beautiful that
you glow and transcend above all heavens
and insecurities.

The ground is soft and supportive,
giving way to your feet, that no longer
feel so tired and heavy from having to labor to live,
or from constantly running away
from demons and voices
that tear at your conscience and soul.

No, you can now feel as light as air itself,
soft feet running on sunkissed clouds that
formed from tears of happiness.

When it rains,
you don't have to take cover
for it has already washed away all your sorrows and guilts,
guilts in the forms of hot, suppressed tears
in the failures of your lost ambitions
and stolen discoveries,
guilt from turning away, even when someone
asked you for help.

You can forever venture out here,
to unknown, misty, thriving islands and majestic palaces
far away,
you can do things you never got to do,
for you don't have to pretend
to be someone you aren't.

You don't have to live each day questioning
every single telltale of life.

You don't have to wonder anymore
about why the world can be
such a cruel place,
no matter how many rays of hope
reach into the darkness.

You don't have to wonder anymore,
because here
such misery does not exist,
and the ruins of a good soul
dance as a renewed, enlightened being again.

Above all,
you don't have to live someone else's life
because here, you find yourself
over and over
and over again.
07/09/18

The Green of this particular Nirvana is a component that allows you to love and live freely, with no restrictions or heaviness of people weighed down by the world, and themselves.

Here, you are liberated from the faults of others, and the faults of yourself in a time and place where you were ignorant and lost.

Here, there is no society to degrade you. You can exist solely in harmony with nature.

Edit: Wow, I can't believe this poem got chosen to be the Poem of the Day! I've never received so many likes, comments, and feedback on any of my poems, so I feel overwhelmed, but very happy. Thank you for taking the time to read my words; it really means alot to me <3 <3
Vicki Kralapp Oct 2018
From my earliest remembrance,
to this hour I have maintained,
I've never been contented
with a life of the mundane.

I’ve sought to spend each day in life
in search of curious things,
like art and education,
and the richness that they bring.

I hope to write more poetry
and share my verse in print,
and with my use of written word,
paint art with shades and tints.

I’ve been to many distant lands,
but yet my heart implores,
I seek out farther mysteries,
our planet has in store.

But now my body slows me down,
like most as we grow old,
and though I try, oft I fall short,
of plans I can control.

So, to keep myself companion,
while I will myself to heal,
I’ve formed all my ambitions,
which one day I plan to reach.

Since I was just a little child
I dreamt of life abroad,
in Kenya with the Maasai tribe,
I’ve always been enthralled.

I've fancied a safari,
where the famous five are found,
a land where great giraffes stand tall,
against the setting sun.

But, it is the Land Down Under,
that is first among my plans,
and one day soon I’ll see the coast,
of Sydney once again.

My friends will come to greet me,
though a lifetime I’ve been gone,
and united we’ll share memories,
for the present and beyond.

I’ll go for walks amidst the bush,
and hear the magpie’s tunes,
I’ll stroll beside the ghostly gums;
with nature grow attuned.

I’ll tour along the Southern Coast,
drive past Apostles tall,
and see the sites of Melbourne fair,
with all its cultured draw.

Then off to Kiwi’s northern isle,
with nature’s beauty rare,
fulfilling dreams so long desired,
to glimpse the Mauri’s there.

Waitomo, with its glow worm caves,
and Rotorua’s pools,
with geysers, Eco thermal parks,
and Bay of Islands too.

As I make my way back to the states,
I’ll stop along the way,
to visit Fiji’s turquoise coast,
and snorkel time away.

I’ll learn about the culture,
and partake of Fiji’s fare,
and when I go, I hope to leave,
a part of my heart there.

The coast of California,
on my list of sites to see;
from the Wharf in San Francisco,
to the vineyards by the sea.

I dream of redwoods sure and tall:
the parks and smell of pines,
and stand amid the ancient firs,
lest they pass for all of time.

I plan to visit Florence,
where master artists roamed;
the heart of Tuscan Renaissance,
where da Vinci made his home.

I hope to cruise Amalfi’s coast,
with others at the helm,
to view the brilliance of the sights,
and others in the realm.

While in the South of Italy,
I’ll cross the briny foam,
and walk the hills in Athens,
where ancient Grecians roamed.

I dream of Amazonia,
where man has not destroyed,
and natives live within the wild,
with harmony employed.

The last one on my bucket list,
is one I’d left undone,
when first I made my maiden trip,
and I was twenty-one.

I’d hoped to see the Emerald Isle,
and England’s castles old,
Duke’s palaces and British Tate,
are marvels to behold.

I’ll drive the ring of Kerry,
and the magic Isle of Skye,
to see its Fairy Pools of hues,
and Highland’s brilliance sights.

The lush green grass of Glen Coe,
the Scottish hills await,
would be a lifelong dream fulfilled
when all my trials abate.

With this, my final dream fulfilled,
I see my list complete,
full circle with this Commonwealth,
my restless feet at peace.

But ‘til that time when I am healed,
and I can travel far,
I’ll dream of lands beyond my reach,
and one day touch the stars.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Robert C Ellis Jan 2017
The rebar skeleton of a hymn
Celestial rust sifting in
Skin and its architecture
Oh, the tectonics of Sin
Thrush lashed to husks
Lungs dipped with resin
Wine with gall, the Synoptic gospels
Recolored lithographs and
Rhymes of tinsel cord
Lost palaces of Tangiers
The Late Cretaceous fossils
Vibrate with fear.
Bows N' Arrows Aug 2017
Him
I met him one night in December...
close to Christmas Eve
When I walked in he had
candles lit and some
scotch for us to drink
His peepers are dark and squinty
His laugh is warm and lovely
His voice is satin spiked with honey
He drinks purple-graped-red-wine
He resembles Dionysos
Nature as a male
He works with cryptic messages
Amalgams and
his speach is a rainbow of
different languages
Could of sworn I've met this
man in some dreamy
distant place...
Palaces of concertos ringing
when I study his copper face
I had a restless wistfulness...
A particular soulful malnutrition
That eventually dissipated
in our bathtub conversation
I swear I would cross oceans
In the hope that we might
meet again
I understand he has a habit of
diving into fountains...
He dances with gypsies on
the street
Sometimes I fail to see how
someone as worldly as he
could like someone like me
I call when he runs by Vesuvius
I want his extra time
I always forget the 7 hour
time difference but...
when we talk it makes me smile
Paul Hansford Jun 2016
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages ***** and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Mary Gay Kearns Jun 2018
In the ashes of division hope ignited
Unity decided a new fate, in its wake.
My father lived in Chester Road,
Off Ladbrook Grove, eight children
In a tenament flat back to back.

The poverty of the forties are
Now palatial palaces, white pillared.
My father joined the army to escape
To marry and move to Streatham,
South London, to an Edwardian terrace.

Notting Hill, the divided community
Chelsea and Kensington let it happen.
My grandmother moved to a new town
And this year we all watched on TV
Grenfell burn as an inferno in the dark.

Love Mary
In memory of those lost in the fire.Love Mary ***
Michael Marchese May 2019
In fantasy fallacies
Covetous malice is
Greediest deities'
Vanity palaces
Callous regarding
The weary and meek
The ostensible shepherds
Just wolves among sheep
Counting each of their
Unanswered prayers
Before sleep
Yet despair doesn't seem
To preclude
Pleasant dreams
Nor to render naivity scenes
To demean
What of logic and reason
Should clearly evince
They abandoned us long ago,
Haven't cared since
And their whereabouts
Unbeknownst
Mystery ways
Inexplicable how
They free will us
As slaves
The obsequious miscreant
False prophet faith
Inculcated in cults
Of a non-personality
Spreading its virulent
Indigent malady
Bow and prostrate yourselves
On your knees
Cowardly
Why fear what hasn't appeared
In the flesh
To be real
Why exalt higher powers
Except how you feel
Leaves me reeling,
Unraveling
Traveling
Gone again
Out to let go
And expose
Gods
As frauds of men
Azurel Oct 2018
Clouds like elephant skin,
And palaces of cotton candy,
Seats snoring softly,
As music wanders in a maze of
Honey thoughts and melancholy
Warm breath making hearts in the window,
Overlooking a sparkling sea,
As I dream of wings carved from glass
Searching for eyes to find me.
you are the generative one
the seed of infinite aspiration
palaces are built in your honor
patterns of movement and measure
can never upstage your immobile empire
your nobility is inherited
its inherent in the smallest flower
its a form of dynamic retribution
for simply becoming conscious
is never really all that easy
so breathe and surround yourself
with memories of meteoric impermanance
the tragedy of seeking in your reflection
a relief from all this suffering
is symbiotically all-perceiving
that life is neither necrotic nor entropic
as every cell is erotically pulsing
and longing for its opposite
until it fully gives itself to love
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
daj, do wynagrodzenia: reszty.
daj: to niby: siebie;
a... dam... dam...
ale pierw: powiem:             to!
(ich) nicht werden
                  geben (ihr) das nacht!
first... i'll punch myself
hard enough to give myself
a plum-eye: ******* pacifists...
and then?
    then i'll strap a trouser belt
to protect my knuckles...
and then... then...
                    then: we'll "talk":
who might find a translator
ready...
   god...
i'm gagging for a
knuckle exchange...
        almost... itching!
like i might await
a shaving... from a Turkish
barber... in Essex...
of all Danish palaces;
and why would i want to allow
consort with these women?
considering the fact that
the russian ones believe in trans-national
grievance taxation:
of someone... who hasn't...
actually died...
              you know what?
*******...
suffer...
       watch me wipe my ***
with a satanic smile
ennobled
by a coulrophobia...
excesses of vogue
                      atypical models...
how is it... that...
coulrophobia doesn't translate
in reverse?
  and what's up
with the black privilege of
jass music, akin to white mozart...
as...  
  sure as ****, the drum would be
the first, and only thing,
prior to the people learning
the ******* clarinet!

oh drop me your ****** ***
holocaust dead bomb
on a polish ***...
     i triple, quadruple dare you!
you *******... ivory coast
   centipede!
               i'm *******...
as watts: wild-eyed...
       unstrap me from this
"unreality" of conversation...
then undo the internet banking...
and the rest of it...

             not adam watts!
    glitter & doom....
who?      tom waits...
oh **** me... blue valentine?
if that's not a **** with me
album... what is?
                 live circus?
        
do i look like a ******* ****-
(see the hyphen?
it's a prefix... the english are
lazy sometimes: couldn't,
i.e. could not,
remnants of shakespearean
english...

       i'll always cite macbeth...

  time, thou anticipat'st my dread
exploits: the flighty purpose never
is o'eertook, unless the deed go with it.
from this moment, the very firstlings
of my heart shall be
  the very firstlings of my heart.
   and even now, to crown my thoughts
with acts, be it thought and done.


it's hardly a racial slur, ergo...
why so ******* sensitive akin to a french
footballer or a ballerina?
   ****- (hyphen! hyphen!) ergo a prefix...
as already mention:
no, no...
   it's not: no iraqi ever called me a pa-ki
      (pákí)... yeah...
and you never called an afghanistani an
afghan, ever, no?
   pure camaraderie in that part of
the world... all the way... yeah yeah... yeah...
-stani (suffix) is sometimes missing
because... the english like to shorten words...
e.g. why is daniel: dan,
why is matthew: matt?
  why is muhammad: mo (farrah)?
                                    ******* pansies...
police your circumcised penises fiddling
english teenager girl, first,
come after my vocab. justifications: after;
savvy?

or a gypsy?
   by now...
     i'm looking like any
traveler...
and the world...
       forever resembled
a world,
  in the confines of
      a claustrophobia...

but... if there's a bigger concern for
a world...
  and a freedom...
i want a bare knuckle fight...
a black eye...
namely...
you bring  BOXING GLOVE...
and i'll bring...
     a LEATHER BELT...
wrapped around my knuckles,
and the wrist...
    like i might care to give
a second attempt to smile...

ah... the men... who care
about minding, if not in the least,
keeping women...
      bye bye, bye bye...
       and i've allowed myself
to know my grandfather...
as i did the slap in the face...
and...
the key question:
in the unfathomability of counting
the 32 / 4 ratio...
alas... one fist... one smile...

and countless... dentistry encounters...
because?
   because the rest?
the cultural artifacts of a today?
  lost to h'americana...
            as i might have wished...
for my prior genes
to make an autobiography
in **** germany...
  
   what?
  
      well... obviously: the oops.

no, for the crescendo...
you know...
           i'm getting this funny vibe...
gott ist tot... it's not really spectacular...
nietzsche really believed in eternity,
to the point where he pointed:
what does science offer, only old age...
what does religion provide? eternity...
oh nietzsche was big on eternity...
   gott ist tot is as unspectular as:
is it: how to do you pronounce x,
or is it: how do you pronunciate y?
debate:
              everyone says around here
the former... since no one wants to be a *****...
pro-nun-ci-ate (pro-nun-cíate)...
   might as well replenish the vocab. bank
and replace the word with:
how do you elocute z? / recite)....

gott ist tot / gott ist tod...
    "same ****, different cover"...
you know why i believe in god?
    not the christian reference points...
salvation blah blah, saviour and hide & seek blah blah...
n'ah... where would i derive all my vocab.
hunger if not from him?
   some men derive their vocab. from
women or gambling...
            i am not in the position of their
luxury... so god it is...

            primarily though?
               god is metaphysics...
             ergo? his judgement is not clouded
by metaphysical questioning...
it's impossible to receive a metaphysical
answer from a metaphysical question
when engaging with a metaphysical
ontological paraphrase of one's own search
for meaning in this mortal frame...

oh sure sure, my belief in god is as juvenille
as anyone else's belief in humanity's
clarity when it comes to jurisprudence
and its application...
    i've experience "jurisprudence" once...
drive-by phone theft...
me and three fwends...
   i catch the number plate...
i tell one of my fwends to note it down,
police station, report, culprit found,
a sit in at a barkingside police station
looking at mug images,
spot the ****** (it was dark when the mugging
took place, photographic memory, **** happens)...
a court session, australia is playing england
at the ashes (****, i missed it)...
in court the defence lawyer shows me
another picture of the culprit...
back then photogrpahs had dates
attached to them...
the photograph? over 4 years old...
i tell him: but this photograph is 4 years old!
how can i identify if this is the same
person: i, myself, will probably
don a beard in four years time!
      a simple slip-up...
        now that i have a beard:
it's so much more fun than growing your
hair long... i hated the nickname
chewbacca back in high school when i was
growing mine for a french braid...
i walk out of the court,
come to terms with the detective...
and i see the same hunger in him as i see in me...
will justice be served?
highly unlikely... since the victim
didn't recognize the *** in the mug-shots...
justice was probably not served...

   and this is how god plays into all of this,
hell or heaven, blah blah...
man created the figure of domina Iustitia
as blind... god created death to be blind...
justice was never supposed to be blind,
death was: the unfortunate deaths
of teenagers in car accidents,
among all the other freak accidents...

clouded with so many metaphysical questions
i don't appreciate man's ability to adhere
to jurisprudence without being
subjectively contaminated...
i have more belief in an "imaginary"
god than belief that strains me to belief
in man's sense of justice...
          the nuremberg trials are a rare exception...
but only when the culprits are
unabashed and fathomable by a collective
sense of pride... a blidness...
i believe in god, because i'd love to experience
the judgement of a post scriptum of
metaphysics...
  personally? i have been wronged...
heavily...
            i will not name names....
i know when and how i was wronged,
and by whom...
                2007... Canterbury...
      i won't name names: i'm not a rat...
man is too clouded with metaphysical questions
to begin with, god isn't,
he's a metaphysical ontology "bias"...
which is why, he is primarily a jurisprudent
answer...
   i'd love to experience divine jurisprudence,
hell or heaven are not of my concern...
and i don't imply divine jurisprudence
associated with the polytheistic take of
jurisprudence via a solipsistic mechanism
of a minor god and the person in question
without the hurt party...
in monotheism the god is solipsism personified...
these days: also the personna non grata...
so no... gott ist nicht tot...
            he's a personna non grata...
i just don't appreciate the human *******
of law, law governance...
   come on, in england you can receive
an a.s.b.o.s. for your cockerel being too loud
in the morning, your dog barking...
           would you trust man with
jurisprudence?
  a woman was cleared of the ******
of her husband
       when she hammered his head into a pancake:
over an abusive relationship...
police, weren't, "there"?!
sure sure... the hammer will do...
i believe in god without a sense of reward...
i just don't think man is capable of
passing justifiable laws...
no man could ever pass the eternal laws,
gravity... 100°C for the boiling of water...
i need a being  who has groundwork
in eternal laws, in unshakeable laws...
the ten commandments aren't:
you shall not...
   more... maybe, you shouldn't...
they are the most pristine jurisprudent
laws available... the: maybe you shouldn't,
eh, chappy?

       i just don't like playing the thesaurus game
on the more tight-knit game
of "passing" the wink-wink of Solomon's
judgement...
please, **** me please,
i'll eat 20 raw herrings in a cream sauce,
slurp 30 oysters,
eat 40 strawberries on a hangpverl
eat out about 50 harem virgins
like a castrato if you ask me, nicely,
**** camel cockey:
lucly i landed on a black gold slurp
with plenty of bangladeshi slaves:
******* of riyadh...
     what did muhammed tell you?
you camel jockeys / sand *******
have clearly forgotten...
******* arabs: short attention span...
you need to remind
the retards...
the dajjal would come from the east...
a palace of gardens...
well obviously the prophet wasn't
thinking about genghis khan...
            
  hmm barbarians...
vikings, arabs: yet so inclined to like poetics...
funny, that...
the civilized peoples banished
the poets...
            the ruling class and their cushioned
people: sacrosanct sycophants...
wankers, basically.

    the hajr? muhammad spoke of the dajjal
coming from the east,
and the east being a city of gardens...
where isn't riyadh and where is mecca?
isn't riyadh east of mecca?
was the dajjal to come from the outside
of islam, or from wtihin?
      last time i checked...
sh'ite islam isn't friendly to sunni islam...
if islam was the one true religion...
would have a shcism have occurred?
i don't think so...
   a persian would never bow before
an arab... that much os true...

oh i believe in god...
given how man practices jurisprudence...
is it some sort of, a, thesaurus game
i wasn't told about?
to me the human quest for jusctice is
a thesaurus game...
man is incapable to pass but one,
eternal, law...
he's great at nuanced laws...
laws allocated to sports...
i mean, **** me, cricket?
the best vocab. you'll ever pick up...

even god isn't as pertinent
in making the sort of music associated
with the limited alpha-to-beta
of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G...
wow! seven... seven?!
how many heads does the beast
of revelation have? oh... 7!

i'll stop tolerating islam, and start respecting it,
when it, acknowledges its presence
as a character study in the book of revelations...
then i'll just move on,
having made my point...

until that time comes...
    it's 600 years shy of becoming what
degenerate christianity has become,
oh and it's ripe...
it's gagging to implode!
600 years and wait for it to become
the next secular vasal conglomorate...

the warning muhammad gave
about "the best from the east"
was in point of question:
   a reference ti gneghis khan...
more like ibn saud:
  thst fat diabetic one eyed ogre...
and the legacy of decadence he left
behind...

saudi men with slavuc girlfriends,
buying up pink cushions and *******
chihuahuas...
**** after ****...
  you know the three slavic proverbs?
1. better a sparrow in your
hand, than a dove on your rooftop?
explanation?
better the small joys at-hand,
than impossible possibilities out of reach....
2. a drunk can spot east,
past mecca, whenever honing
the safety of his own bed... even at night...
not much of a proverb...
3. i don't care to rememeber...

once toleration comes into play,
i will, respect... just a waiting game...
i'm pretty sure no iranian will
bow down to a sunni camel jockey...
i like proud *******,
it implies: there are absolutes,
un-moveable goal posts...

                      if you are ever to bind yourself
in supporting a "side" outside a sports' dynamic,
always the outsider...
always the outsider... in this case?
the ****'ite islam brigade...
       the persians...
the sunnis can shove it...
   *****, bones, whatever....

                   ****'ite islam i can
fathom, even respect,
sunni islam i just tolerate...
  as much as iran takes claims for the
big satan in ref. to h'america...
well... if h'america supports the infantile
saudi arabia, who's to blame them?

you know that polonaise joke about
about the pacifism of jews in
2nd world world war poland?
the joke ran along the words:
weren't the jews shooting the nazis
using crooked elbows (rifles)?
they always seemed to miss them,
taunted into walking into gas chambers,
the ******* hobbits...

          what? some bolshevik Brooklynian
jewish rada is to spare me
                 the pay-up diffrential
telling me, i was wrong?

  as i said before: the nazis lamented
when the warsaw uprising happened...
no, st. paul's doesn't stand proud
because, because...
   even with the blitz...
                 the luftwaffe were told:
you drop a bomb on st. paul's: firing squad...
and when notre-dame de paris -
last time i checked...
   the nazis didn't luftwaffe the **** out
of paris... did they?!

                  the nazis weren't mongols;
no people so well versed in chanel in terms
of their military being so well
   suited & booted could ever make such a
                              architectural sacrilege...

what?! people under the silicon curtain
are gagging, begging even: for nazis!
can i be the first?!
i just want to please the hungry!
if not punk then moving swiftly into ska...
am i the first?
   siliziumvorhang...
well, **** me... from under the eisenvorhang...
what's with these neo-communist pseudos?

and the hebrew god?
a jealous god... so a god with the knowledge
of the existence of other gods...
why wouldn't a jealous god have
no knowledge of other ("imagianry") gods?
to be jealous of only one's own existence?!

3 / 1: that's the ratio....
that's the only ratio... 3 times i experienced
love at first sight:

when i fell in love at first sight...
malina, samantha, janina,
priya....

equal measure: isabella of grenoble...

in reverse:
magda, promis, ilona, kot (i forget her name,
7 years old, first kiss, you can be forgiven
to forget, she had two twin sisters
and she was the senior,
her fasther drove a distribution truck,
milk, i think)...

****, i actually mismanaged
that ratio...

i believe in "a" god...
since i find too much of human jurisprudence
to be riddle with the thesaurus...
i don't think man can pass
law, he can "suppose so"...
but he will never pass the sort of law,
made forbidden,
or absolutely allowed....
i don't believe in a god akin
to the sort of a pontous pilate god
where i'll always find myself
outside of punk evolving into ska...

         mind you...
i'd hate to be trapped within
the confines of an atheistic exclusion zone
of intellect,
      to be trapped in nothing is one
thing, but to be trapped inside
the confines of an atheist's "nothing"
is quiet another....
i don't like being a hamster inside
a cognitive wheel of another...
   god is the jurisprudence spirit,
man the metaphysical spirit...
and i would very much like to stand
in the light of divine law being passed
to finally feel my shadow...

kult: brooklyńska rada żydów...
  not familiar?
  i forgot punk a long time ago...
esp. when californians came up with their
version, ergo? ska...

i'm currently taping a film
about the silesian vampire...
how strange, that the prussians came
back into the ***** of the polonaise...

growing a beard is so much fun!
fiddle after fiddle: and no violin!
atheists bore me
as much as the theistic hags
who's only ambition are
the thrill associated with Sunday
h'america and cinema...
               i can imagine only one
heaven...
where i am blind and given
               a large library of music.
Yue Wang Yidhna Oct 2019
Time in each realm is a ‘living entity’

The collective consciousness

Branching into streams for each being

Or rather, each SOUL



For it is TIME

The consciousness  

The awareness of change

Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss

That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief

And

Even Desires for possession



What remains is the eternal

The everlasting

Love without loss

Hope without fear



In Etahphh, the entity of time

As cliche as it is, is

Literally a river

And the streams of consciousness

Literally streams



Perhaps

It would be far more interesting

For us explore the planet Tarphah

Where the whole realm itself

Is a gargantuan elastic fabric

And it is in itself

Time, space and

All of its living souls



Or the perpetual

Self-devouring serpent

Of the Twin Neutron Stars

Where time and all events

Are in eternal repetition



But those are for another day

For time is dying in Etahphh

The eight side diamond shaped

Sandy planet of golden palaces

And crystal blue

River of Time and

Streams of Consciousness
Chronothánatos
By: Yue Xing **** (Yidhna)
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
--=
I wrote this quite spontaneously, and heavily influenced by Doctor Who and Fringe, if you're a fan of the two shows.
I composed the entire nine page poem in one day, and:

I have come to wanting to ‘disown’ this piece of narrative poetry. The poem is completely original of course, in some parts you can’t even find lines identical to it; it came to me in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. I wrote it within one day, edited mere letters within it, left it alone, and was satisfied. But the ideas within it, or even the narrative structure, and the storyline is far from original. In fact, I could say, it is quite cliched. I was heavily, heavily influenced by what little science fiction, and popular astrophysics for the layman books I have read or watched: from  books by Stephen Hawkings to Kip Thorne, from HG Wells, to countless Doctor Who novels, and as for television and film, from Doctor Who itself, to Fringe, to even Interstellar. It troubles me to think the poem is merely the result of recycled ideas, for it is still thoroughly my creation, however unoriginal the core ideas and symbolisms within are. Like all that suffers from imposter syndrome, I have a deep rooted insecurity of being seen as a fraud, a mere thief of ideas. Thus, I must explain myself, explain all the thoughts that flowed through my mind when composing this piece of poetry:
(I am not a student of science, so please excuse the possible complete nonsense of this work, if it is not fit to be a science fiction poem, then please view it as a fantasy.)

Through thought experiments, before reading up on it, I have concluded that the illusion of time stems from the awareness of it, from our consciousness. Apparently St.Augustine was the first to ever question the entity of time, and resolve on time being of the mind and not of the physical. (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/consciousness-temporal/)

Thus, the creation of the land in my poem of the river of time, river of conscious awareness of the passing and coming of change. Time is conscious awareness, as is birth, as is death. Therefore the river divides into streams of consciousness.

What is then core to the story of the death of time, is that, although the length of the circulation of time never changes; time, being a body of water, alters its viscosity. Time slows down, time freezes over, time stops, and time dies in a sense. (In my mind, this started as a metaphorically attempt to explain the differences in ages of human beings in the bible.)

When time mets its ultimate end, what comes of us?  Do we rejoice in eternity for the end of loss and sorrow? Or do we become the ghosts of ennui, ever away from true everlasting joy that must only exist beyond the threshold, unable to be reached without divine intervention.
Yule Jun 2018
Are you somewhere sleeping, or wide awake?
Please look up the night sky
think of how I— someone is occupied
by the thoughts of your sharp eyes
Be as is with the dim lights the stars are bringing

These summer nights never seem to play
the cold melody of the air
I am used to hearing
as I let my heart resound your name
Here I call, waiting for the echoes;
any signs from you— where are you now?

My dear, do not fret
You’re the only one I find endearing
Please pass on your worries onto me,
pour out your thoughts
until you’re left with none
Let me seep onto your skin,
play with the soft strands of your hair
Let me whisper you comfort
until the buzzing of the tiring white noise
after a long day from your ears reside

Darling, you are no less than any stars
laid onto the deep velvet sky,
Don't think otherwise
as you’re worth palaces
above the clouds up high

Do not listen to the shadows that tell lies,
just breathe onto me,
let me comfort you with smiles

Until then at least look for me in your dreams
If you’re needing comfort,
or just in need of a shoulder to rest
You can always lean on me
180603; 12:38 am

{nj.b}
TMReed Nov 2019
If a sky full of jagged teeth mashed
leeches drowning in their dinner,
towering trees without roots,
palaces wrapped in locked doors,
sages howling over squandered wine,
finches who hop in fear of their wings,
mice instructing owls how to wind theirs necks,
apparitions beaten by trembling fingertips,
and every other detestable thing
into clumps of negligible plaque,
Tell me,
what would I complain about then?
I'm sure I'll find something else.
You’re casket lies open ,
You’re bones have grown cold ,
In silent whispers the curtain unfolds .

The days of walking with you are now O ,
the evening shadows fade ,
for my days with you are gone now ,
let the yellow daffodils fade .

So soon you were gone ,
left me without care due ,
a broken heart ,
a closing door ,
an empty chair ,
without you .

I still look for you when the starlings nest ,
when busy people come home to rest ,
when the telephone,
just missed a call .

An empty house nights curtain draws ,
When God sprinkled starlight on heavens of old ,
Skewen towns lights shimmered like gold .

For you’re home coming awaits no table or stairs ,
no cups to wash ,
or socks to fold .
Where no child wails for his ma ma in the night .

Palaces of Gold for you my love ,
Heavenly songs of Gods great love ,
and though you lie in casket cold ,
just once more to hold you’re hand ,
for you to say ,
“I loved you so “.
Justyn Huang Oct 2019
The world is a hard place
with hard people
carrying theirs around
like columns on their backs
making it even harder for
them to know
just how much the world has
broken in their rubble

And some revel in their ashes
And some build palaces
And some think it's just fantastic
And some go on helping others
knocking weight off their backs

But never let someone fall so low
that they sharpen the edges of our trash
As the world is already a hardened place
Then why should I be so?
The need for kindness, being more soft
Naomi Sa'Rai Jan 2019
Icicle limbs
Frostbitten lips
Tell me if this darkness is as good as it gets?
No one said it would last a lifetime
I truly thought it would be hasty
Simply because this defeated broke down mind has been going crazy
Tell me if the abyss is any deeper than this?

I've searched through my vision and I thought my vision was a view
But i've come to realize that my vision was not in view
Icicle palaces
Rain and then there is sun
I've born my soul
Your flesh has won
You drink me like water
My tears are dew
But I'm so tired of yielding to you

Tell me if anything about us was true.
Antarctic shoulder that you gave
Put me in this despair I now name my grave
You chew me and spit me out
Bits and pieces of my heart on the floor
Glaciers become my feet.

Naomi Sa'Rai & Nova
In an age of braless nymphettes wearing lululemon
Who speak of unequivocal virtues
We seek **** role models and female superheroes
Ambition has no equal in all its atavistic ambivalence
Still we ****** our ******* feminine values into each other’s faces
Disrespecting our past predators and predecessors
And the pirate priests who prepared our souls for fiery salvation
In wartime circuses we are all pretzels and pantyliners
Who necessitate no changing stations for these gyrating giants of industry
And the gentle guardians of the spirit
With giraffe sized necks and human hearts that beat in their vulturous beaks
Who tear each and every naive feminine seeker into thousands of tiny pieces
Till all that’s left are precocious and imperfect targets
Seeking articulations of their convulsive
Nay, compulsive addictions to affection
With dinosaur sized scars and crocodile scales covering their erogenous parts  
We hide beneath a pile of beautifully styled business cards and good marks
Like we are a bunch of naughty children caught lurking in someone else's basement
Until the morning comes and we heed the need to once again impale our flailing limbs on another angry treadmill
While pilates preachers speak tender secrets from palaces of perfection
A hungry intersection of underwear and diamonds
When we finance our families’ vacation with blockchain investments
That eventually all end up feeding the same weapons dealers who control the world’s most vulnerable food chains
We are all deniers of the warnings of climate change specialists
Who liberate their minds with psychedelic toad poison
Moist as the dawn we overcame the wolves of oblivion
And covered up a significant number of Mother Nature's sounds that we abhorred for all the wrong reasons
Preferring fir-scented yoga rooms to an authentic forest floor covered in pine-needles, acorns, cones and a plethora of edible fungi
We’ve come to detest our own chthonic scents, senses and instincts
So we try to pretend that we've never sweat before
Exactly like a pile of compassionately discarded compost
Innocently left to rot in the sun for several weeks on end
So now for fun we back-bend over thundering volcanoes
Earthenware bowls asymmetrically formed in our souls
If all our pelvises tilt slightly to the left of west
Then the forest’s health is a direct reflection of our own faulty perspectives
And now you justify selling your soul for meager earnings
For next to nothing is always better than being wholly broke
Or broken holy or even sometimes just a little bit more hungry
Yenson Nov 2018
A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets
Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux
Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more
In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy
Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa

Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking
Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures
In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes
We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing
As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery

Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently
Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection
Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly
Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities
Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements

Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth
Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies
I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status
Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects
Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations



CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved
Don’t. call me a poet for my words have yet to form .
Don’t you call me a friend for my friendships art like the weather .
Don’t call me kind as my kindness knows you best ,for  the love in you’re eyes knows no rest .

For you’re thoughts are my ruin gin palaces of a decedent death .
My ruin ?
My ruin is to see you’re tears falling like rain drops ,
like thunder clouds in June .

Don’t call me you’re lover for our love cries out in the night ,
a cold venear of beauty and grace,
where darkness finds no light .

Yet here we stand alone ,
together in June .

Oh Lincoln is flooded with you’re tears ,
and I’m put out by you’re fears .

Ballasts. have swept by you in open seas ,
Men held to you’re riggin ,
have been brought to their knees .


And when you said I love you I mounted my horse and
Galloped away .
Call me what you might ,
a King a prince a fool ,
but to love you forever knows no bounds ,
no words ,
no rules .
Yenson Jan 2019
The air filled with discord on these killing days
I sat with Biko but did nothing to help but read Finer
Madiba sat busy in his cage mourning with the futile sages
In disquiet Lecture halls we called and voices rose higher
Then my errant pen rebelled and on paper fired in pent rage

Impertinent weeping heart wedded to agile immaturity
Spew words and scribble indictments bonanzas on fired lines
Tis the age of reason and now it's chimes for gospel solidarity
This is why 'n this is how to extract the sourness from the limes
Be it the irascibility of a fledgling's dossier handed to Authority

In that foolish morn and days of thunder the dye was cast
Vogue tirades in contemporary suits offers designer conclusions
The brothers of today embracing diversities in Structures vast
In palaces pigments open wide ensuing foreboding discussions
Flag immediately and contain for this is one that must not last

Biko sleeps peacefully with angels and rests in God's arms
Madiba walked free and danced freedom with all colours in tow
A nation finds itself with a bespoke tailor and plenty of new farms
Across the Atlantic a foreign voice was silenced and made to bow
For youthful innocuous tantrum yelling is not quite the ****** norm


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