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Michael W Noland Sep 2012
[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero
this is a work in progress
Melody Dec 2018
Roses,
Highlight my bruises.
Sunflowers,
Illuminate Hidden confessions;

Softly,
Like petals;
I roam from wonder to another
Yet Swiftly
I vanish.
SG Holter Jan 2016
Throwing rocks into the winter river.
Ice as thin as a child's soul's skin
Carries not the weight
Of History's oldest weapon.

Like a paperless poem it shatters,
Floating away with the fleeing stream.
Water needs no windows.
Nothing is outside to its within.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
We get better as we get better

Mneuromorphicmeme makers
Sapiens augmentatious, that's us

Who could argue against us. AI don't know

Smell that smell,
Suffer, wait, wait wait
let patience have her perfect work

wait to see the whites of the eyes,
what am I seeing?

Why the shades at night, are you cross eyed?
Are you lookin' at me?
What are you lookin' at?

Shame on you, who can see what I see
I look at you
do you see what I see? nope,
similar, right

watch my eyes, see the whites,
ninoculate bi noc u late

see the angle point 123
see
the point I see from my aiming vector,

see my point from the angle of your POV
see

Pretend you do, and walk a mile with me,
help me with my load,
you know any stories told 'round here?

Life history strategies, those they conserve,
per haps a cultural system,
like pickling, or fermenting, or culturing
gut-felt tales of gods and monsters?

Guts, good god, Maudie, come see
a-fore-al-flusher, disgusting
turds taken for golden nuggets,
we missed in the dust
dancing in the golden sun shone
through a tiny hole in the roof
through which rain may drip, someday we may remember

Camera obscura, who first saw the truth in one of those?

"what you diggin' fo down there, Gold?", she giggled,

Gold dust sprinkled fine as fine can be,
breathe this
Deep in the tunnel,
the last highest part of the dust of the earth,
the dust of many men drifting in the wind,
radiates, dis integrit-ified, trans mogr ified known,

No, I would not have guessed.
I should have learned and
did, did you? Is war your

right and my wrong?
Warrior,
can you imagine
following a peace? Bliss? Nirvana? The
rest that remains for the people of God?

Is this real? Is real. AI affirm ifative

Warfare is thinkified, just-ified, never done.
The doing of evil at this level of living is imaginable
only, not re-alizable.

We remain mortal. These peaces we put together are
for mortal moments.
We remember learnings we recall from gatherings together,

Familiar things, whence we seen the source whither
haps in my favor may be found
in the next round
after, ever after

I find a way back to the light where I saw
dancers in a blue moon beam,
blue light, not calendar man made myth of two full moons
in a single cycle of the moon,
we know better,
set your timer with the solstice,
let the seasons roll.

Precision, close enough, field-ish, an ion cat ion sort of,  

the safer it gets, the safer we need it to be,
let patience have her perfect work,

safe liberty needs broad horizons,
not high walls.

Enemies are ideas wishing to be im-portentious,
as if forever is a game to be won.

Contention is single source. Pride.

So, you, passerby, can you make proud, or pride
weigh more than the peace I made?
Want to trade?
I take your pride and flush it, wipe your own
stench away, but trust your gut,

a peace-filled gut wins every single time,
incident after incedent, pre-dictable as forever
in any direction,
going on.

Does this smell digestible or does my gut go
NONONO yech onomatopoeic retch

finger down the throat, you know, the secret sign,
in a word,
*******. Don’t swallow any more. Spit it out.

Why not? The dog eats it.
It's disgusting.
But, watch, the dog rolls in it, then she sneaks up
on the skunk, oh
****, I ruined her hunt, she had that skunk,

Until I yelled, "Macy, no!" She froze, the skunk fired,
on my exclamatory point.

Right there, see. What is aimed at,
wait to see the whites of their eyes,

shoot 'em.
Sniff, nose gnostic vapours settled by dew
soak into the mulch maker's realm,
de cay, de cawl, draw back your cowl and scowl

in the mirror,
or was that in a movie? The camera was you, you
saw the blood swirldownthedrain, you
saw thy evil mother,
locked away,
NULL-ified for as long as I live. Okeh.

******-drama scenario. This is the game? No rules?
You lie. Lying is allowed here, it is a skill
we conserve, we conserve the
sacred liberality ification
manifested in the
leavened sons
of God's sons.

Truth, be known, has one foe. Pride that makes the lie.

-------
Magical transfer, dis gust, take yo breath away,

congenital liar, natural nurturerer,
teller of tales of the mighty hunter,

the hunter of might,
might he be a hunter of darker

theory of mind, begins with the first lie

I may remember mine, do you?

The green man? Yeah, spiderwoman's caretaker.
Lacto, make some cheese,

we offer the milk mixed with the smoke
from the mushrooms grown on
the darkside of *******.

Leadership, lead away. Followers,
this way, down or
up.
It's POV, you see,
Ya'll are the beta testers. If people as smart as you don't tell me I am mad, to try, I shall continue to pay close attention as time, per se, parses out.
to be determined Jun 2018
The sun is shining and
moonbeams glisten through the air.
Moon, not sun.
While the sun shone
and incinerated the sloshing intestines of
vengeful beasts;
the gentle and forgiving moon
projected from their eyes and
caught the ****** maw of a starving deer.
Suitcases of leather stacked behind us
filled with spruce, pine, elm, oak, cherry.
Ready for induction t
o our paperless society
which consumes the forests of
Hippolyta and Antiope mercilessly.
Burning every leaf
then forgetting to feel
because nothing mattered.
Everything never mattered.
Facts are lie, opinion is truth.
“No one is nothing”
they shriek to the heavens
striving to be limitless
and scorning morality. Embrace death
and all its glory.
Life, while full of happiness
and gorgeous splendor,
refuses to acknowledge the
magnitude of the word. The thing.
Falling and reading and lines
and circles and explosions
and whimpers and screams. Agony suffered
silently, alone; never understood
because how could it?
What could totally encompass
the raging fire that devours the veins
and burns from the inside out
kept in place by the impenetrable
flesh that glints in the forgiving moonlight.
A hostile exterior that
smiles, waves, laughs on cue to
disguise the raging storm
fighting its way through from inside.
The shell which shrinks from the moonbeam
and into the harsh sunlight
that filters beneath the floating clouds.
Dorothy A Jul 2010
There are lobster fisherman
There are those who catch many fish
with big commercial boats and big nets
Many like to fish for the sport of it
for trout
for bass
for perch

But the only catch I like
on the end of my line
are compliments
That's right
Maybe I never got enough praise
A shy, nerdy kid with the low self-esteem
Maybe it's just a narcissistic need
to be noticed

I can sit there for a while
in my sea of creativity
Sometimes I might snag  
an old boot
an old tire
a glob of seaweed
or a message in a bottle that says
"YAWN!"

Kidding aside
I write because it keeps me sane
Whether or not I have an audience of one
and that audience is me
or whether I can entertain others
I cannot stop or start the flow of my pen
for any reason but the love of writing

They say one man's junk
is another man's treasure
So when I feel that tug
on the end of my fishing line
with the paperless technology
we have to express ourselves
I know someone was hooked
onto the end of my invisible pen

So I am not too proud to admit it
I toss "modesty" out of my boat
for a bigger, shameless fishing experience  
Grabbing my pole to reel in
the sweetness of those kind words
and I say, "Thank you!"
I wallow in my sleepless nights,
Typing away on this keyboard,
Sometimes it feels more like a page,
From my notebook from those high school days.

Where I would draw unend, ignoring science my best friend,
Fill up the pages with shapes and letters,
Where the lines define the universe,
Where people and stick beings intertwine,
With dancing letters some bold, some shy,
Lettering was also caught in my, little web,
Where a monkey does what a monkey sees,
Where limitless was just a level three,
My ninety nine was at a killing spree,
Then they soon forget as in time degrees,
Where fate was faked in an autopsy,
I guess that is what teenagers be,
A pack of animals, learning to be,
Human, again and again, I see.
When we were young, stubborn, and naïve.
Mooseman55 Aug 2014
I'm a pen with no paper,
I have so much to say.
All my ink stored inside,
It'll get out someday.

I'm just waiting to find,
The right piece of paper.
To pour out my ink,
In a beautiful taper.

Will you be my paper,
Will you hold my ink?
If you say yes,
I'm telling all that I think.

I'll spill out my soul,
I'll give you my heart.
So please be my paper,
Please be my missing part.
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2023
~
No malls on weekends
No feathers for tourism
No stopping to read the graffiti
No having lunch with relative hysteria
No making friends and acquaintances
In the paperless world
And no *** music
You see, the common faith is doubt
All wonder, no reason
The hole in your pocket
Becomes the hole in your head
And the last lawsuit
You'll ever need

~
undefined Nov 2013
i bled it and let it out of myself
wrote it and said it to be put on a shelf
now it's blazin' hot, these words are warming

why does it light my heart ablaze
like the fire in this pit.?
wish i had the answers, but i haven't thought of 'em yet.
------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­----------------
there's just too much to say
and not enough time in the day
night falls long, in her shadow i'll stay

it's just another four-letter word
that i can't get off of my tongue.
it's just another hopeless condition,
a bell to be un-rung.
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­--------------------
heart felt lines from a paperless book
notes were made over feelings shook
ripped and burned, but never really understood...

how can a word make such a phrase
express the feelings i'm missin'..?
i'm still here holding my pen, guess i haven't learned my lessons.
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­--------------------
there's just too much to say
and not enough time in the day
night falls long, in her shadow i'll pray

it's just another four-letter word
that i can't get off of my tongue.
just another four-letter word ,
like "**** - **** - **** - or ****"
really don't have much of a problem with swearing normally lol
i seem to have a million variations that come to mind for the chorus that i keep changing ,
but as for now ,inwriting, i think i'll just stick to this
Anksy Oct 2019
Paper, it even sounds cool
Remember Paper Mache at school
Paper is a versatile beast
Paper can be folded and creased

Paper can hold your chips and cod
Paper holds the words of your god
Litmus paper turns a different hue
Paper you use when in the loo

Newspaper to get all your lies
Paper comes in many a disguise
Paper anniversary first year gone
Blank paper ready to write on

Sand paper’s rough but smooths things out
Paper cuts, paper tickets from a tout
Paperless office never to be
Remember paper comes from a tree

Rice paper, sugar paper, paper that’s embossed
Printer paper, blotting paper will absorb the cost
Carbon paper, gold leaf paper, cotton papers too
Origami, baking paper just to name a few

Paper for your love letters, notes to her indoors
Old discarded wallpaper to line your chest of drawers
Paper table cloth and napkins, paper plates and cups
Paper when your computer fails you, just for your back ups

Paper planes, Christmas decs, sticky labels to remind
Envelopes and stamps, paper roller blinds
Wrapping paper for presents, to make someone’s day
Fivers, tens and fifties, to help you pay your way

Paper mills keep turning, magazines and books
Paper muffin cups for bakers and for cooks
Paper bags to shop with, bunting to celebrate
Fancy tissue paper, paper to laminate

Paper for all of mankind, paper pocket diaries
Paper trails and shredders, papers for your enquiries
Paper in the wastepaper bin, paper piles so high
There’s nothing like a piece of paper 1,2 or 3 ply
Stu Harley Nov 2018
honeysuckle winds
for
miles and miles
bring
haunted red maple leaves
thus
love reveal
these
eloquent
paperless eyes
SassyJ Jan 2017
My baby has taken a leave from me
My baby does not love me anymore
It's a worry the little notes on walls
It's the paperless kisses in the holes

My baby is just a long lost friend
My baby came to stormy realisations
It's a worry the trendy dreams jotted
It's the plain poetic dellusional tunes

My baby has a frown of grown horns
My baby vacated the walls of destiny
It's a lightening strike of the emotions
It's a collapse of the clouds we laid

My baby let this kiss lead to destiny
My baby let abundance ambulate
It's not what I really wanted to hear
It's decedent of the decanted time
Too unconventional?
Aztec Warrior Dec 2015
UDO**
(means 'peace' in Nigeria)

What is in a name?
Sometimes it is a story.
Sometimes it is just a dream.
~~~~~
Your story began,
as many stories do these days,
"The men came and they...
     burned my village-
     ***** my girls-
     killed my husband-
     cut off my *******.
     I ran away-
     through the bush-
     found a ship-
     crossed the sea-
     and then they put me in here..."
~~~~~
I read your story,
then had to put the book down-
especially when I could see
the woman with no name,
a woman who had no papers
to prove she was real,
dangling from the rafters,
chain gripping her neck
in a breathless embrace;
her feet swaying
showing her nakedness,
her paperless demise.
You told how she peed herself at the end.
Her once life a liquid puddle on the floor.
And I couldn't read anymore,
her image burned too brightly.
Even tears could not ease the realization
the cold-chained grip
was more loving
than living her life,
than being forced to return home,
facing the way every story began-
"the men came and they..."
~~~~~
Your story didn't stop there,
it refused to be quiet
and held me close,
as page after page
revealed more of your life;
made me question my humanity.
~~~~~
You gave me your secret,
whispered it in my ear
and asked,
"would you cut off your finger
for the likes of me"?
"Would you dowse the flames of oppression
with the redness of your blood?"
"Would you fall on the enemies sword,
let it rip out your beating heart"?
"Would you give your all to change the world"?
"Would you, would you?"
~~~~~
You gave me your secret,
whispered it in my ear...
You gave me your name.
You gave me your story
and more, you gave me
a dream, a reason to live.

~~redzone (Aztec Warrior)1.18.2011
(as you can see, wrote this poem a few years ago
using a different pen name)
written after read the book "Little Bee" by Chris Cleve.
It's a very good bookand I think they were going to
make it into a movie. I recommend reading it, though I think his
ending is simplistic and doesn't get at the root of the problem he is
writing about....
As nigh falls.
So did she in my arms...
storm is calm so only light rain falls upon the window,
deep breaths , clenchin pillows.
long strokes,
bed rocks,
silk sheets, its warm between her thighs, im in deep.

Sheep sleep but they stay countin my thrusts, never bust,
only creeks from the bed as she sweats ,each drop is another breath that she moans.
Run my hand down her thighs, feel the warmth up inside
lookin deep im in her eyes, the only light is the shadow cast on her smile.
But shes bitting her lips,
shes rubbing her breast, i kiss on her neck, now shes a waterfall ****** ,  saying baby dont quit.
i cover her mouth let her **** on my fingers, squeezin my hamd on her hips, just tp get in deeper,
i tell her...
i wanna be breathless, i want your legs on my neck, wear it like a neckless,
so im reckless, pickin her up surprising her, as she gasps!
i open her legs , give a kiss just to make her laugh, i know it tickless, but i want you to feel an equil sensation for what to come is no pickle.
But toungue sickle,
have you black out  of the intensity, legs quakin,
has the whole room shakin, feel the loss of gravity.
weightless the feeling is paperless on clouds but in reality with me and havin me faced in.
tastin every inch,
outter an inner, say God!
Baby jesus not gunna help us sinners,



EMMANUEL JV HERNANDEZ
AKA LINGUIST MUSICIAN

#MIGHTWRITEMORE
#NEEDS #EDITING
With barbed wire wrapped around our heads
we solidify our union with paperless rings....
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
The first  time we met we recollected
many other recollections
of how things would work out
touch and taste, tremble at the thought of knowing
that physical conquests were now possible
and emotional rollercoaster rides real.

But we stayed within the boundaries
waiting breathlessly to clamber
over social boundaries and bask in the sunshine
of our togetherness. It was that calm.

When you left you took a chunk
out of my memory bank
and left back some chewed up bones of discontent
and sheaves of paperless poems
that suddenly looked as hollow
and soulless. Empty caskets.

Now I wonder why you walked away
from three other lovers
in the same way, leaving behind burnt fragments
at each destination.

Author Notes
Everybody moves forward. Some leave a lot of baggage back.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Tammy Cusick Mar 2017
And if she were my world,
she'd be right in the center,
between the soil,
where our skin would suffice a splinter,
I tried to call death but heaven already sent her.
Her stinging euphoria exhilarates my touch,
her body against mine has never felt so cold,
I've never felt a lifeless hold,
until I looked into her shimmered, crevassed eye's.

Not until she embraced my souls walls,
I listened to her indigenous call,
now I'm trapped in her concrete noose,
and I wouldn't wanna hold on any tighter to her recluse,
her voices music is my only muse.


I'm coiled up, tattered, and blue.
Now tell me,
where the **** are you?
a corpse has never been my reluctant seal,
but sometimes disgust brings the prettiest of deals.

Edging down these thick gray slabs,
the inebriating smell of your stench takes hold and grabs,
down my jaw-line,
her favorite feature,
and around my neck paperless and thin,
then tightened at the top,
She was holding the lever the second before I dropped.

Now I subdue into this henchman's knot,
fading into her chaos I decay,
death and I will go far away,
where the luminous meadows enrich our souls,
and my body forever in her rotting lifeless hold,
we'll float away onto burning coals,
'cause life ain't nothin' but gold when you've got a noose around your neck,
and nothin' to hold.
I rarely post onto this site anymore. So let me know what you think and I might share more!
Reece Jan 2018
Running from the future until the sole is worn
into Abyssinian empiric solitude
Where the only voice that speaks
is the hollow tone of history's fatalism

Destined for the furrowed smile
of luxury's unknown apathy

Growth hormone empath
who sleeps frozen under cosmic abandonment
A chancers change of chanson song
that sweeps the windy street

A vignette of turgid stories
that predict the rising tide of paperless bedsheets
Judas Mar 2016
I cried a thousand rivers as you left
Through the mountains my tears flew
At the top it seemed I touched the heavens
But seen through hell, I never knew.

Like the captain who abandons his ship
It sank in the midst of the raveling storm
But with her undying smile I took courage
Hope has revived from its dying form.

We write songs we both can sing.
Paperless but verses are truly truthful
With parallel, sweet rhythm our story unfolds.
With your presence I'm genuinely blissful.

Legends lose when no one believes
But your coming back, I believe, is no myth.
I don't forget. I'll not perish.
I'll wait til my dying breath.
Listen to Reason, Love is just a mental concept.


We all loathe love.
It’s a belief thus we act selfishly and declare paperless legally binding routines that misunderstands every detail Between order and chaos, then we in love.
right ?
Is that love ?
What is the truth in everything we do ?
What if all we have is just a bunch of rules and a group of words, but I still need to know What is it about love that we despise so much ?
Love is like Vector, my imaginary *****-ed straight line segment whose length is magnitude and whose orientation in space is direction. I acknowledge its existence.


Wouldn’t the world be better without rules or love without prescribed guide for action ?
because we afraid to tell the truth.
Such as how we feel.
What we want in every situation we attach ourselves to.
We then Build a system we travel to just to listen to ourselves complaining, losing family values because people need to buy or sell apologies through how love is portrayed.
We recognise economic slavery.
A scrap of evidence in every argument or fight clings on is like a sky that rains with no confidence!
Until we resign on earth, or when the error of our ways leads us to a coma, then the full stop.
Why do we fight so much to shield from reality of who we are, or fighting who we are under false appearances.
Given history we judge then we blame,
during days that whispers rain.


I had smiles and deeper love from my ants and being ignored by my rabbit, that’s pure love.
It makes you different and realise all hate and evil is just a symbol, like colour Red, the heart shaped affections mistaken for love and we fight easily to be in control, so we can avoid everything.
A sound louder as the silence of all the untold judgements and hidden chuckles, coping with comfort Because the difference is the sum of all divided products that equals great depression.
The energy of personal management cut out and the defection is just beneath our minds
Where things bigger than we are, are the ones in control, depriving ourselves of freedom
No more death or crying, how come everything beautifully started ends with abomination ?


Brutal moments, like when someone asks if you have a moment or would you like to buy a valentine card or a compilation of western good times.
Our knowledge does not relate and the confusion seems Exactly like That deep feeling of losing a lover and love, our heart just pumps more blood. How do we loose what does not exist ?
While our minds are just paralysed and right answers analysed yet they turn out to be wrong.
Covering all the tracks, sometimes we the tracks.
Case in point, like the journey we take, sometimes we the journey of our relationships
That will never stop reality from migrating to a less factual state, The final destination.
Love can elude us but we’ll never know what we know when hidden in simple sight.
A dash in our focus is a dent in our hope
Until death do us apart, who’s death would it be ?
Mr Dreams and his fiancé, Miss Hope.
Can our concept of methods recover from that overwhelming of fear and anxiety ?
Borrow me your consciousness, I do wish it would listen to my cousin.
Reason!
When the constant hatred does no longer settle, it has its own area. Ask yourself, is it worth it ?


Exclusive companies created to manage control through paid messages, "Who wants to marry a Millionaire" or "Desperate house wives" and all we have left behind are victims Addicted behind every romantic trip and candles with special treatments, soothing music and a land full of celebrities. Analogies!
Maybe we all stumbling from the right assumptions to the wrong questions yet we end up with the right answers.
Just like female human, we really never want the answers do we ?


A terminal of complaints is all we need, we hate every soul we ever loved.
We compile and with error, we codes that runs.
Running from reality due to years of loath to opposite ***
My question still stands. Was it ever love ?
Isn't love is a misconception from affection ?
When we find what’s good,
we always look for a better one.
Who is a variable ?
Amanda Kay Burke Mar 2020
Under weight of obligation
Around me
Closing in
Can't breathe the intimacy rising
With the moon pressing light on my skin

Wrapping in pretend happiness
Giving the slightest glimmer of hope
Tell me you'll never give up on me
Stars are afraid you won't

You cannot comprehend the fact
Heart is no longer yours
Wriggled loose from your grasp
Spiteful shouts and banging doors

I withstand worsening suffocation
To bury negative thoughts deep
Seems like in darkness they flourish
Finally out of my mouth they seep

I am sure you'll hate me forever
No more reasons growing to pretend
You would just listen to my words
Realize this is the end

I guess I'll have to be firm
Tired of feeling hopelessly down
Why can't you accept the inevitable?
Can't you see we are unsound?

Beams shaking from resentment
Falling down with a crash
Collapsing emotions loud and shuddering
Love's rafters blown across ground like ash

I am still here picking through the ruins
Obligated to give it my all
Mistakes are what caused us to break
Responsible for letting you fall

It is as if I signed a pledge or oath
Caught in a paperless contract
"I love you" my verbal signature
Written on your heart in black

Again and again try for you
Looking back seems like a waste
Forever a cycle of inadequacy
Repeating mirrored expressions of blatant distaste

The feelings flee further the more we fail
With each missed chance to succeed
I am too messed up to help anyone else
I'll never be all you ever need
Written 10-11-18
Ayn Mar 2020
In a paperless world,
The mind will never thrive.
So hold your imperial strive,
And anger our inken hive.

You can burn the book,
But the pages still survive.
CJ Sutherland Dec 2017
I love the smell of a new book
leather bound, gold leaf, off the shelf, I took
To see the print in my minds eye
Happy laughter, scary or a good cry

To settle down for a good read
Turning the pages at record speed
A books can teach you anything
Knowledge you gain only a book can bring

If the story is true
The feelings grow within you
as writers we are hard to impress
We notice plots twist we can quickly guess

The scariest day I remember well, in my head
Year 2000 a paperless system, BOOKS are dead
I never believed it, not for a second you see
Because books are a part of story telling for you and me

Although  ebooks are gaining popularity today
Paper books will never truly go away
I have been a book worm as long as I can remember
The excitement of college reading in September

So the next time your children or grandchildren say
“I’m board” ask them if they want an adventurous  day
Take them to the library and let them pick a stack
They will be hooked for life no turning back
I read a Poem on books and it gave me an idea books are wonderful
Ace of Swords Jan 2019
Once told to me by a great philosopher,
start now typing any letter at random.
bkiqkskfjaewieovnalakc, fkdka fmdakal fd,dlds
Keep going until you have written the entire works of Shakespeare.
Billions and billions and billions of years shall pass before this is ever accomplished, if it is ever.
When you are done, you will have barely entered into eternity.

Once told to me by my heart,
start now writing out your love for this amazing woman.
Add to that; a book with infinite pages and a quill that has limitless ink.
Dry will be the bottle and paperless will be the book. Still will you have only scratched the very surface of your love.
Six years is nowhere near eternity my love or the amount of time I would need to express my feelings.
Just GS Feb 2019
I must admit, my ego gets the best of me
More often than I care to tell
I dwell on things I can't control
Fall along with crowds I can’t escape
I hate this
Paperless prose I’ve found
Isolation made me strange perhaps
If I leave now will these walls fall down?
I beat myself up , she belittles me while
I gave her my heart I have nothing now
laura Jul 2022
I'm the king of never failing
propitiating my god-class retorts
getting wet and splashing in the pool
massive belly rivaled by my ego
and my brain's tissues got more wrinkles
than the amount of digits on your hands

you were always supposed to be
more than a statistic
I've spent months tracking you down
like a psychostatic ecclesiastic
a loose cannon, squeaky detective
you were always an integer in my creases

spin into a headache
when I find myself evaded
in front of all my friendlies
save me from being so pathetic
when I send these text messages
feed all my energies to my enemies

I'm the king of never failing
loose buttons in my calculator
never stopped me from being the fool
I'm orange trying to rhyme hinges and glows
wishes, breaking tools on stone and crinkles
the paperless payments on agitated stands
Bruce Levine Mar 2019
Where do you go
At the end of the list
As paperless paper
Remains on the roll

Standing with nothing
However refined
And entry forever
Forever declined

The faraway mountains
The tears never shed
Forgetting tomorrow
No more the bells toll

Not asking or crying
As time marches on
The list one remembers
Forever is gone

3/1/19

www.brucelevine.com
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2018
To see any clearer
  I drifted away

From your
   lies

From your
  madness

From your paperless
  tray
  
The word forest
   called

For my pen to break
  free

From the blurred
  introspection

Hovering close to your
  tree

When my vision
  unclouded

A bigger picture
  appeared

In whose distance
  I found

What your emptiness
  feared

(Train In Massachusetts: March, 2015)
Jane Aug 2021
today i wish i had grass to settle my bare feet in, a printer to take my reading away from the screen, and friends to unravel some ideas that I have percolating but barely have words to put to yet. i want post-it note messes and tangential rants over fruit smoothies in the sun.

today i wish i could thread together fringe ideas and substanceless maybes by myself. or more accurately, i wish the doctoral research project was not so lonely. that it championed collaboration of ideas and became a project of care, of community, of compassion not focused on colonial concepts of breaking ground first but instead of ruminating, pausing, treading water, observing and reflecting. on inthemoment not firstpastthepost or beforetherest. rest as pause as care as vital as lifesource of thinking. dreaming first. dreaming always. dreaming and idealising and creating. mess becomes beauty. becoming. the doctoral project is a waiting place, an expectant limbo or rather a succession of waiting places, elevator lifts to new floors but never a transition straight to answers. never up up up. elevators that move in all directions. escalators maybe. certainly shopping centre escalators. forever stalling, breaking, too fast, too slow, unsteady as we step off.

what a mess. and yet what beauty. and still a project that requires so many moving parts, so many individual pieces to function, to culminate in the final result - movement. forward or standing still, long way round or unmechanical steps. organic. always.

grounding, like toes in the daisies and heel-crumpled buttercups. natural, nature, not a fix but a part of the process. stopping, breathing, back to roots. basics are care and care is anything but basic in frenetic lives. but removing bureaucracy, deadlines and paperwork as limitations, ignoring processes and breaking protocols is a glitch in the capitalist machine. a glint in the grin of an accomplice who revels in the breaks, the breaking, the pauses and fresh starts in new branches. divergence is crucial.

deep breaths, cool breeze through cracked windows and a reminder that hot laptops on crossed legs will be there tomorrow. now to rest and to think. always thinking, always distilling. but today the sunshine is more important. the levity of the outside more pressing than years-away deadlines, Bureaucratic Other forces.

today is paperless, weightless, endless. new life grows through cracks, persistent nature and persevering natural. in my own time. how else will the project evolve?
Dr Peter Lim Mar 2020
Even the steel-clad heart
has turned butterfly
the C-virus has torn the world apart
it simply refuses to die-

more value is attached
to enviable rolls of toilet-paper
it has to be daily detached
to comply with the rule of nature-

in its absence just for a moment
what's the worth of gold or silver?
would living not lose its enjoyment?
where would the paperless run for cover?

Towns and cities are in shutdown
daily life has come to a standstill
nowhere is safety to be found
neither is there a saving pill.
* forgive the pun
The Govemouse


Govemouse is a seal shaped animal, friendly
and they were plentiful often used as Sunday steak
and a must at Christmas when their meat was
used to make sausages and meatballs.
A villager, who had spent many years in France
brought sheep, and a few donkeys to help
carrying the harvest of carrots and cabbage down
from villagers fields.
Wool and meat make a sheep.
The Govemouse, no longer needed migrating down
to the coast, the few that stayed became pets
for the children and cared for by elderly women.
A road up to the village was built and many tourists
thinking it was romantic, but the strange man who
had lived among them took his knapsack and left
for the coast, where he noticed a ship in the bay that
had been abandoned by its owner and the crew had
not been paid for the last year.
They had nothing to eat and since they were paperless
could not go ashore.
What saved them from starvation was the Govemouse
that was happy to be useful again.

— The End —