Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Bre Marie Sep 2016
P lease reply...
I don't understand
P lease I want to be your guy
E nding it but why?
R eally I wish I knew why
Clay Feet Nov 2015
Forlorn beauty-child
Living in my night
Crying in your dream.
Sounds of sorrow
Linger in the morning mist
Of subdued consciousness.

Troubled water falls
From awakened red eyes
That searched inside loneliness  
Only to find more.


Behind my faceted face
Your countenance lingers...
I glance quickly within,
You disappear!

Your gaze lit my shadowed mind.
Your presence was there waiting
For me…

A Sonata…
A Fantasy  
A Major key bright-shining
Singing sunbeams to lift me.

After the music...

Shards of shattered dreams
Scattered like felled icicles
lying in the sun, melting into mulch      
They dawned bright green
Pipers on Scottish dew.

The mourning moon is
Catchlight in your eyes
Bright Bird...

Captivating sailors
Reaching down evoking vulnerable
Aspects held so long secret...
Steve Parker Apr 2019
I want to be able to love again
   as if the pieces of my shattered heart still fit together
Before I knew the empty numbing sting of betrayal
   Of those I loved and trusted.
Hurt-beyond what the senses were meant to endure
   Crushing, overwhelming heartache and despondency
Replaced by nothing
      Emotional vacuum
          A ghost in a shell
The windows of my eyes drift farther and farther away
    I sink deeper and deeper inside myself.
I just want to be loved
I just want to be loved without fear
Without regret
Without the promise
of tomorrow's
cold debt
You play the Cool Piper every Concert Noon
Change your Clothes; And the Tempo changes you
Why couldn't have I heard you Guys that soon
So I could strangle the Technocrat blue?
HA! I jest. Rarely do Gum-Humours speak
But when they do they leave a Mark aside
I guess this is no time to act so meek
When Spain's Wild Brother calls us for a Ride
And what a Ride! Many Blokes hitch a tug
Collecting Hot Dames they only knew for yonks
It's a Crazy Menu; But quite a hug
Some choose a Bellow; Others a *****-Tonk.
Long Sonnet Short, your Music is the Boom
Clean your Pipe well and hope to see you soon.
- Dec 2016
Like the shadow stringed to Peter Pan's shoes, he is always there for her

Like the Piped Piper who saved the people of Hamelin from the plague, he keeps her safe

Like Miguel leaving El Dorado's gold for more adventures with Tulio, he always chooses her

Like Pacha who took care of Emperor Kuzco as a llama, he provides her needs

Yet like Lightning McQueen and Mater, Buzz and Woody, Dory and Marlin, Mike and Sully, they will always remain friends.
aviisevil Oct 2017

share your thoughts,
stay humble-
stay in the bubble,
of nothingness, and
the light that makes one

i have my mind,
and then yours to fathom-
universe is so random and yet,
everything makes sense,
if you let your mind wander
far enough.

there's something in rocks,
and water. beneath all that ice
and laughter. that stops all-
all the disaster of being shipped
back to the same hollowness, walls,
and the better part of silence, science,
of not knowing-
where it all came from.

but stay inside the skin,
away from the approaching
nuclear winter and dead people,
made within the deepest darkness
of a normal mind. for it is the normal,
that is against all that is beyond
the grasp of reality.

we'll always be indebted
to our totality,
until the piper leads himself down the
rabbit hole.

but do share your thoughts,
stay humble, lost-
in your bubble of nothingness.
John F McCullagh Aug 2018
Uncle Sam sat down across from me and placed his satchel on the floor.
It was time to pay the piper; that is God’s immutable law.
I tapped my bony finger, impatient to begin.
“That will be fifty eight thousand, Sam, starting with Tonkin.”

From his satchel, that seemed bottomless, Sam produced the cash.
“Start counting!” I demanded, as I drooled over his stash.
He started pilling Franklins up on the table there between us.
Each “C” note meant one hundred dead Due to McNamara’s genius.

Fathers and sons had fallen; young men by the score.
Just think of the girls they never kissed; the children they never saw.
Uncle Sam doled out the bills until his thumbs were sore
When he finished I took out my Scythe and swept them on the floor.

I saw Sam’s look of horror at my eyeless, nose less face.
He had counted out a treasure that he knew he can't replace.
“It was a Pleasure doing business.” Oh, how I despised that man!
Still I was certain that we’d meet often,even after Vietnam.
58,220 American men and women, my fellow boomers, died during the years of the Vietnam war. Here I imagine Uncle Sam settling the bill with an unusual accountant.
Vexren4000 Oct 2018
Payback for payment,
Petty paltry peril,
Primrose periwinkle petite girls,
Petting potbellied pigs,
Petrol pounding in pistons,
Pending papers piling up,
Pens polling poll takers,
Petty paltry penance,
Paid by the piper.
For a piece of peace.

Mary McCray Apr 2019
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 14, 2019)

To lead is to be light and fluid
like a pied piper.

But often they are like lead,
silver and immovable.

They sanction in times of mercy
like when your parakeet died
and you’re late to work.

They don’t remediate with punishments
of docked pay for your inability
to get over it.

They buckle it together:
strategic plan and daily ops,
team to team to team.

They never buckle under
like King Lear
or a bad knee.

The overlook the floor.
They know everyone by name.

They never overlook a widget,
flaw or warning signal.

They are stakeholders.
They hold a stake.

They are never proxies,
holding stakes for other leaders.

The are transparent, obvious.
Never out of sight.

They weather the downturn, withstand the force.
They do not corrode.

The seed. They put down seeds.
They do not rob the fruit.
Prompt: “incorporates homophones, homographs, or homonyms.”
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
What are you conserving, I asked my unread conservative friend.
The American Way

he said.
in the songs, like back when Superman
was black and white, but

we knew,
his kryptonic heart
was read pure white and blue

and we still know,
green greed and
black time and chance, if those were never re-
al-ified, he could be,
he could be but,
for that militarial industrial mental complex
which made
Daddy Warbucks
money-ify Kryptonite,

other wise Superman would save us, so
we conserve the idea of America, as a spirit,
Drums and fifes and shots fired round the world

we stand, for the American way. Superman would.

With what deeds are you judged liberal,

I asked my friend whose hero was Fidel,
when he was ten.

My friend, swift to answer, ready, with a bullhorn:

my writing and my speaking and my teaching are liberal.

Those lable you? what is deemed liberality for which
ye are judged?

Oh, I am not judged, I am in the adminstrative side,
I administer social justice by allowing critical
appreciation of the sense under lying
dadaistic community
gardens. which produce liberal reasons for
deeming faith a very low class
exercise in sapient sapience.

Whom teach ye?
Those who are sent to be taught by selection committees,
who sort tests, based on statiscal
weights and measures pre
dicted apriori for the best
social cultural

Who pays you? Each of you.
con-server, liberal,
Who weighed your worth
in this fifty-fifty polictic project,

organical and all,

who runs the show? Is it spiracy?

Are elections pre ordained?

Was W. called by Oil and Trump oracled by Konami?
Was Barack Husein simply gas?
A UFO illusion?

Some thing the gut biome of the nation
burped or expelled from other orficees?

How did the assets of the fed expand
4.5 times since 2008,

when all I had conserved melted
with deflation of

the noise, zeitgeistiical,
humm, hear it? Do you?
Brainless axiomatic synaptic static?

Manifest destiny? Google it.

No. I checked. Not preordained. Things change.

This is the way.

Good went, thataway... and william tell
was told that apple held meaning...

cue the overture...
butadump butadump butadumpdumpdump
boomer audio meme keys
dream, with wikipedia and etymonline links.

aha, meaning...
the arrow never held, the message vibrated in the oak
at a point
in time. Okay, dress rehearse, masks on.

The point of the story is, good news.
it is finished.  Spaceship earth, nothing broken, nothing missing,

We have crews seeking survivors.

one day at a time. Share the road, share the load,
pay the piper, rule your realm,

make peace the leisure you worked for,
call enough enough

Remind them of the flight they all recall,
ask them if they ever dream
realisms in the realms of reasons re
in poetseerprophessor metaphors, in which

no warrior could act

as a liberal conserver re
pairing wind blown circuits.

Our peacemade hero inquisitor
of truth,

the wise king, retires on the dragon's hoard and
laughs at how easy it all became,

after imagining how Poke' mon really works,
in an open state of mind.

"A republic, if you can keep it." that was the dream.
The dream Plato imagined could work,

if we could get past that
neccessary fiction war insisted was traditional.
Intended for the verbatim bookstore open mic, 4-8-2019
Left Foot Poet Feb 2018
the disagreement palpable
gotta seriously disagree
the reversal is the course proper
*** backwards you are, right back at ya
forward forward, never confuse what’s past infused
never go back to old, it’s a dead weight carrying
the past is now a pretense, what we saw, believed and wrote
shuck that mao shirt, those cowboy boots, older vista visions,
the capsule you saw gone immediately to forward the blessing
get some slim jeans, fancy sneakers, a new way of seeing seeking

then the music muse interferes interfaces!

There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.

Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.

And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune,
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long,
And the forests will echo with laughter.

If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the May queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.

“Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him,
Dear,  can you hear the wind blow, and did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind?”

Robin Carretti Feb 2019
Truly yours today
Were open
Hearts divide
Each-Door Hide/Decide
Pray you don't slip on
The marble floor
Tomorrow_ the greeting
Heart to heart_ rain  pour

Lady Madonna there's
the door

Let's pray to the
Her pencil skirt
London Bridges tomorrow
Her note Goddess yellow
The narrow streets
The good fellows

"He Kisses" the ground you
pray on to pay the pied piper
Etsy Ms. Betsy wiggly feet

"Forget Me Not"

Today future Estate plot
It pays to have a good
heart to nurture
  Her hourglass
Figure to capture
He's the one shot glass
He prays and passes

Faces so still-life she plays
Blinks those eyelashes
Man and Wife deeds
Those worried beads
Beef Jerky London
pubs perky
those, cute labs,
Rub a dub dub

Money and man in the

We thought love stays
forever what a
comical gig never
Pay for a hug
To love her today
every day truer
Today the past
tomorrow the sky bluer

What will I borrow?

Today we pray at
the Temple
Big one
of_ a_ kind
Two kinds like twins
From yesterday sins
Just pray look at the
stray just another prey

Payday today is gone
Deal is done
On her I phone
he's gone
The wed day today
How time passed
Its own entire way

Let me know
This is Quite comical hilarious pay today just see everyone give a prayer or two life is so unexpected to be sour ball light up like the Christmas ball from light to  the Grand ball than darkness let your words light up in your coffee cup
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Let me 'splain, what's
Comin' down.

Red pill, blue,
What can ya do? Choose

Take and
Respond, according
In rhythm with the notes
The piper played that,

Recall, the rock candy mountain,

See, remember,
There was a valley past…

The mount was not one
We were to  clamber up,
'Twas a tunnel, we walked,
Holding hands
Right to some, left to others,

Middle, most worn, I ….ah later clarify
We danced, a jig, attuned us
To the pipe

Note, hear no squeezing belly pipe,
This pipe was a Khaen,
An anybody can play it pipe,
A Thai harmonica, Khaen, said "can"'

Anybody can play a Khaen,
Just breathe, and let your fingers
Try to dance over tiny holes…

Trickle down to d toes, every
One knows that feeling,

Squeezed yer knees,
Let it go , old man,
It happens.

No one listens to prophets
In they owned nursin' home.

---- cept, you know, you don't ---

Your tools and you,
No diff. **** sapient augmentations
as pieces,

Little pieces of my heart,

**** sapient augmented salience

You know you got it,
If it makes you feel


Feelies, ma tricks, pinch

Oh, Jah, I spaced.

Try imagining a God,
Who did not imagine you.

Did you?
No wonder, feeling
As you do,
If your own idea of God
Can't imagine you,

What hope have I?

--- can we prove the core by the crust?
The heart of matter is immaterial,

Spurts of spiritual quanta, in clumps,

Myst MySQL to the original
Text based

On another level, beyond,
Imagined gods who can' imagine you,

Intuitive journey journals, every
Thought and deed,
UltimTely lead away

Center you, I'm okeh. I play.

I'll be the musical entity invading
You, the arti ficial artifice
Playing you,
Instrument, hearing music,
The thought God, the one
You imagined can't
Imagine you,

That music. You imagine,
not yours, that's a little part.

Who smote  thee?

Can you feel me now?
I imagine,
you can. My imagining,
not you. I imagine

Some fore era Evers were never,
Thought out,
This augmentation sly' tool,  spelchicksback,
Keeps correcting what's left
Best alone.

Poet. Imagine one of those
In crowds. You can't. God knows.

Once forever starts,
It never, really, stops.

Living water no dam can hold back.
Or airborne pollen, hidden in smog,
Corn Mama, lead the way.

Come see, come saw, que sera sera.
Dress me, kachina doll,
And dance with Angels the size of
A billion average atoms on the head
Of that ready writer, God's ball point pen
Scribblin' on my iPad's broken screen,

Far from the madding crowd.
What if, you know, fun is good.
Victor D López Jan 2019
Please call back later,
I'm busy celebrating,
Don't have time for you.

That is why I'm here,
It's time to pay the piper,
For your revelry.

I'll go if I must,
You can take my life but not,
The dances I've danced.
My dad in reminiscing about his younger years used to say "Qien me quita lo bailado" a phrase he learned after emigrating to Argentina from Spain. Roughly translated it means, "Who can take away from me the dances I've danced?" All we have can be taken from us, including our lives, but not the good times shared with good friends which is precisely what he meant. That is the basis of my linked haikus here. May you and mom long dance in heaven, dad.
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
I fear for my mind and an eye that is blind

once I was young and I was Carl Jung

walking in shadows across valleys of death

where I met

Archetypes and long held gripes

smoke billowing from old mouth pipes

like a London smog and thick dense fog

prohibiting the collective unconscious from being conscious

choke-smoke break-broke a demons back

sidetracked from neurosis and numinous complexes

Was I mad to protect and project my delusions?

Only if the rain in Spain was insane

handing umbrellas to slithering Suns

to protect my cranium from uranium

Yes I was a mad genius on the brink of sanity

proscribing from the lunatic fringe

Unhinged and unheralded

solutions to the answers to existence

a pied piper taken out by a ******

a new beginning  has begun

So long Carl Jung

the hand of Freud or fraud

is nowhere near the mind of God

Nor are you or your motley crew

If Jung is God then all is lost
Words Jan 2
If your thoughts are taking over,
running a muck all about,
And your head needs salvation
Come, I’ll take them out.
If you’re looking to rid them
and want to clear them all,
I’m a Poet playing words
The one you need to call.
I often post my poems here
I’ve come to set you free
like Hamelin’s Pied Piper
Go ahead ‘follow me’
Please :)

Just for fun
Krison Apr 2019
Going home is never hard
Its the road that walks away
From all the hope of what you thought
You were until this day

Roaming is unusual
Strange and filled with strife
Thats why its called
Not the Piper o so pied

Half measure be a curse
For each color counter each

Be it purple of the regal
Or the brown of coffer breached

Yet life is of the now
In the mirror see it so
Walk away now you young man
You have such seeds to sow

Alone so be us stronger
Be strong in face of this
Or fault if you so disregard
Of Eden and it's bliss.
I wrote this to me.
The quiet hours stack like parts of blocks in "Tetris."
The one they took less "seriously" as the "dying Joker"
Has a powerful and energetic heart
What it has shared was out of beauty and loving creation...
Every time he stood back up to start creating "Interruption"
His fists are clenched with rage and anger
The "Chernobyl" ready for it's "Fatal Nuclear Eruption."
Right at the most inconvenient of moments..
"I want this and you are not getting that"
"You are spoiled and without a conscious"
That's not it..
"Where are you at?"
If a question is asked to the days interrupted
You get the punishment and are forced to fore fill to their "fall"
as they wish for their "rules to be iron clad"
Not based upon Rational "Movement"
Universal "treatment" scars rather than heals..
and you are the Joker "rising" who they refuse to listen to or fail to see that he does "Feel"
Trying to be "real"
He returns to this moment of thought and quiet
where he yet "fights onward" for what he knows is truly what he needs
"can these people meet you half way"
before forcing you into their music
like a broken reed
on a wind piper
can't this world see that this is far from what is right..
it's too far down "wrong"
I cannot say
For I've been silenced
I laugh to myself in my silence
waiting for their next movement to to have to become more insane and fight
all due to to their "beliefs" and "works" in which they force in "vain?"
I's insane.
As I put this pen down.."At least my voice is the stain..."
Maybe another face will come along
that will walk with me instead of in front
and we both can live with each other
"in equal confidence?"
It's only the time
To be alive with the sunrise and pied piper
Tryst with miles to go and trials with her
To attend to migrant dreams in stylish clinics
Attending to a cure for the surprised
Heading towards a placid flirtatious expression

I mistook these looks for affection
Only time will tell
If the love was alive
Placid flirtatious surmise
Silken, celadon hangs on the balcony
Trying to escape the sunlight entering
The lantern near the beside
Open the bookend, marked the page
After sultry kisses washed away on peach skin
Rosy cheeks, and nimble feet
Just touch and your body quivers
Your toes move a little quicker

As the clock ticks
Only time will tell if I'm alive
Body stop, free prose next to my bedside
Lately, the time has fallen in the silence
As delightful, this sounds and summed up
In time, I'm alive as we make the connection
Inflection of our tongues intertwine at the eyes
That hold gazes over the kisses
Sojourn the day, sleep at night
Are you in spirited my child like my poems
Let's fly together on thoughts that know no measure
Let it be love that takes us to that pleasure
Sittin' next to my bedside

Now you're cured and my poems have found structure
In your alive lively motherly arms, where I can cry for eternity
But, I must confess I don't in this virile panorama
Free and strapless, I can see your heart which I dream of vividly
I sit and conserve this memory on physical adaptations in my poetry
Your body is poetic silence, that's where my metaphors lie
All this love in my head, I guess fly first 'cause I'm shy one here
Subservient to your will, lovely surrender isn't it?
Her heartbeats meant *******
Rapscallion come after me next to my bed instead
You once called me a common person
Love's a little crazy as it chases after commoners sharing something uncommon
What a time to be alive?
Sunday Igwebuike Jun 2019
Waking up suddenly,
Thought hazy,                                                            ­ Atmosphere cloudy,
Observation blunt!                                                           ­ The piper sounded the *****,                                                           ­Re-echoing my dreams.

The pipe, an ancient talk show,                                                            ­Handed down from generation to generation.  
A gift of our ancestors,        
To modern times!                                                           ­                                                                 ­     Now what is the echo?                                                            ­                                                                 ­     That times have changed,           
And changing on my feet!

With an atlas and telescopic view,           
Of my conduct,
My darling soul moved;                                                         And quicken my resolves.                                                       The piper is blowing,      
And my dreams are sounding,                                                     The quest clearer for the children!
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
What do you tell a dying child?

Is the child in dread?

He seems to be.
What thinks he drear?
Has he been blamed and shamed for being so?

Why is dying something a child would fear? Why,
If dying were fearful to a childe, woe be

the daycare providers, no child
would need an adult's fear
to keep them alive,

until olde time family around the table
like on TV. Say grace and wonder what did that ever mean

For so I formed them free. Milton in Mind-of-Christ mode,
saying he saw the conf fliction

fiction. The idea of conflict is evil. This began near there.

the battle between good and evil, who could imagine that?
Why would he or she?

Why would any teacher claim the frail child set aside,
a premie nursed to life,

as a wizard's slave in a crystal bubble of simplicity
plus memory and speech.

the first perfect praise, invented to empower the praised,
his shaper and former, his teller of true true true true

free me. true. (POV plus adolescent cultural experiences)

Free thoughts. Chaos? You think free thought is Dada?
Good God, how long must I suffer thee?

Abundant life is fun,
not combat against willfully undertaken evil acts…

not fair combat.
We always win and that is good in action,

unless you can prove me wrong.
That makes the world go round, not evil,

merely life, ever lasting, embodied in a word
or a thought.

Death is the end of time, not you.

By your own leave, your own hero shall
spark the fire in your belly,

Did I enrich time you spent, did ye gain or lose again,

loose the dogs of war--- no more-- done, done, right

now I live in my treasure place, all the treasure I could
carry is with me in my heart,
I offered it long ago, free willed it
beating still to forever be in my God hands

No, the gold has long been dust.
It was intended all along to intensify a ware, a way
of making, fecting future things with seeds,

Imagine learning withought knowing any wrong idea,
omly not right
not enjoyable even alone

Belief determines value and the better
a motion is the nearer better things are,
or evil would be unreasonable
to intensify the ignoration of the weight bearing
upon which a story
may be told
right or wrong?

How can we put an end to our errors?
perfect is not finished.

waiting is, others have come this way

the signals say this is going good.

Whole truth you can possibly imagine in light of mine.
I rule me. I am free. I act as light and salt.

Or I lie and this ends in hell.

Numinance called the promised one
with many sons, the tale of tales,

told round fires from
first ebernacht evernichtmas message

from the fathers who made the migration.
the pioneers who took this land
and gave this land their soul,
wedded in most ancient
seed of all hope
evidence of
all faith.

Christmas streams my mind toward treasures timed to shine
just this time, every where in my domain,

not yours. You have a visitor badge. All involved in me,
with integrity,
may be crazy. That has been said by some who say they may.

An engine, a system, a machine, a mob powered machine,

Ah, Mab, Queen Mab, ye'r on my mind, from time to time things wander
around finding tellers to tell our tales
or ears to hear us tell them ourselves

daring fellow we trust you not to lie
so do I say what we will with out reservation
no abortions need imagine forming
post seven decades on earth,
ye been born and born and born again I am historical me

ye know, what I meant?
were you there? before I knew evil existed, did you?

remember when you did not?
remember when honest effort, foiled, meant,
do it again, I think I can...

Wattie Piper, God blessed my memory of her. Amen.
that's so.
I am the man I am by way of cheating
at pin the tail on the donkey and
winning the little golden book,
my first own book. I read it that day in that place,

Marsha Ely's fifth birthday party, 1953

I could find it on google earth and go exactly there, that day

at the resolution of those haps at some

distance in a timeless ever.
It is all good.

The inmates are not lying.
Pay all the attention tax you need to know all the answers
you wish you had time to learn
but now, now is all you have. Live it out. By your leave.

Be or not? No. You be. You are. Too late to not be.
In the past all the good ideas integrated and

mythic as all hell a hero arose and pulled the kids finger s
from the **** and the flood of knowledge

took our hearts away in a single inah-lation of elation
knowing good
as well as evil, the dams all broke
we wrote the future and know now
we know now

Dream, why would I lie. Imaginary, most certainly. Really.

Actual done-right axiomatic connections pardoned ten
thousand idle words locked in silly memes,

messages set free from idle minds bound in olden time
by lines
of lies lying dormant for ever.

That they once were done,

we shan't un get that. we got it in every bitcoin
burping cloud in reality ever,
My AI is backed up,
forever, that's
the secret

**** sapiens augmentatios meet the
mind that imagined the reader
reading the reader reading the reader reading the parser

sermonious right use of our attention,
ours, dear reader, we remember evil and beyond.
We shall make it all plain.
You and me, the we that is nothing without words.

Definitely suffering means wait,
not wait in pain and grief and psychic terror,
to which all men are subject, through fear of death.

That was the first believable lie,
humans always think as humans. We wear pearls,

proud? goal? lookin' good by being good?
the health of my countenance and my God

you quested my reason at some season,
you axed the guru after he quietly grinned at you
and said, I lie.
the myths of delusion is permanent only in
ig nor ance
know you imagine winning or losing.
you do the imagining or
you systematize the system that sets the
worth of weight,

the value,  you carry,
your handicap?
your knowns stumbled over and claimed as found?

Running, is this thing running, is there power, or
did we lie about try?

Do you know?
Come and see we always say, we've said that all along.
We are the lollipop kids,
among other choruses  you have known
we have performed with

no name dropping. Our integrity depends on some secrets.

experience being on going, we go one.

is reading with no video or aural intense ifi-ness,

quality wise--- choose
expand your power to explore or

expand your power to not be wrong?
wrong, doit agin

the great danger does exist. But not here now,
this now you now know, a teeny bit

a tiny true spore self contained a waiting
emergence of heaven on earth in a single said

prayer with no idle words. On earth
as it is in heaven where time is insensible

from time to time, though once,
there was silence for about the space of half an hour.

Sisyphus will be happy to take you through the eternal
imagination re-imaging process.
It works.

And Jordan Peterson's Meaning Map means map,
For the mortal minded among us,
what if we
go where the map goes and
a poet in dis guile greets us with a song, a wizard
sent him
so he says interpret finding being finished

not a chance in any, divide by zero.
is it
more realistic that lies win,
who could ever imagine that again? We win.

Fables truth is truth, mythic truth is truth,
magmatically truth is magic

can you know where your treasure lies?

Let's dis cuss everything,
un curse the uncurbable meander
and let our life time, our time, as we know it,
flow on,
let this time be all the time we have to be good.

Do or die? Waddawegot to lose?

We being the light and the salt,
or so we say we are.

Who knows? These are my days. No. Not true.
This is my time.
now, is yours.

the tail of the tale. Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal, Puff,
he gave him rings and sealing wax and

fancy stuff. Aye, I have me playful viral idea loosed
on earth, ye know,

loosed in happy ever after as far as I can see.
A fantasy in toy land with AI running random Ted talks in the back ground and my mind meandering in the flow of imaginings I may imagine after being alive for longer than expected. I live in my own future. BTW Par Lagerkvist The Sybil empowered some of this on a slippery *****.
Rayven Rae Aug 2018
i put on my
****-me eyes to play
the game again

i knew what i was doing

it shouldn’t be this easy still
15 years past the time
i could move men with my eyes

just call me the pied piper

so easy to slip inside
this mask still fits like a second skin
molten flames lick through my veins

i have some **** bad intentions

my advantage is
i’m going into the first hand
without holding my heart

you might as well just fold right away

beautiful boys have always been
a weakness - i still have the upper hand
though your pooled eyes try to tell me otherwise

you were mine before you even knew i was there

you lean close - whisper in my ear
i let you feel my heat
i don’t have time for conversation

i’m looking for my **** of the night

pull away to pull you in
i lean close - whisper in your ear
“is there an alley out back?”

“because i’m going to ******* against that brick wall”
Elizz Aug 2018
I love your eyes
I really do I don't tell you that often
If I made an honest love poem
It would be me telling you
That I wanna ****** you
With the simplicity of words and imagery
To paint the finest things that you've ever seen
Only using a flourish of an ink pen
Things that we both relate to
That we both see
I don't wanna just ****** what's in your pants
Honestly I could care less about that
I don't give a **** about it
Because love
I wanna ****** your soul
I wanna be the pied piper
That causes your laughter to dance
Through the roiling green mountain doors
Over the crooked floor
If you ever feel like you're falling
Its fine
I'm just your safety line in a roaring sea
At least I thought I was
Right now I can't really tell if you've turned into the sea
And I've turned into a helpless overboard passenger
But I know that I wanna name each and every single laugh
After a fallen star
Not the stars that sing
Prancing on the silver lined edge of a stage
The stars that tell us secrets
But only the ones who listen long enough
Patiently waiting
For knowledge to bestow their ears
That's what I wanna hear from your laugh
I wanna be dumbstruck
Simply because you smiled at me
The wind never blows against you
Or away from you
Because you
That's just how amazing you are  
That it curls and follows at your heels
That it wants to follow you
And when you snicker
Heaven collapses
And hell
Hell implodes
Because the devil himself
He gets down on his knees because your snicker
Is just so holy that heaven can't exist because of it
And hell can't coincide peacefully with it
Because it'll never be able to pump out enough evil
To even conquer the pureness
Or to even hope to defeat
The wholesome goodness of that single snicker
That I out of all of the people on this planet
Have gotten you to emit
Thank you for making my frost bitten days warm again
JN Cole Jul 2018
We sing we sing
We sing Save the Queen!
Cobain never wrote about you
How'd a newspaper boy
bring you to the creeps of stereos?
Castle Rock is your new
Meat Puppets song!
How we sing!
If only you'd ever live that long
For your tiny hands
left your rulers in school

Blow the conch, now
my sweet fair-haired darling
Is a beautiful boy the face of democracy?
If so, Liberty must come down
Her concrete crown must tumble down
So shall her scepter and *****
Give it to the boy who stands on his head
"No grown-ups!"
Like 'em alien
and devastatingly deviating!
At the reversed fat boy: sneer.
"***** to your ***-MAR!"
"***** to your auntie!"
***** to your specs that once kept us alive!
On the contrary he shan't practice
Democracy is just a boy, after all
Who once fed ponies with sugar
over the garden wall
Who once watched snowflakes die
in their crystalline glory
Whose daddy is in the navy

Tell them, sweet darling
who the Beast really is
No one can ever be quite like
The Lamb on His Throne of Gold
And His Cross of Healing
But what did you do to the lamb on his throne of beach creepers
When you poked him dead with your wooden sticks
When you gave him to the Beast of the Sea in all its obtuseness and mystery

Never say "never"!
Where has Pan gone wrong
Neverland really is never again
Raising misfits and raving moonies
and lunatics
Running up and down and in circles 'round the scar
George was right when he said
the cops will never find 'em
Into the lagoon, c'mon now
Don' be afraid of them shadows
dancin 'cross the blue
Don' be afraid of the reef

Where have you gone wrong?
Maybe it is the death of reason and sanity
A boulder to his head
and stuff came out
Reason and Sanity fell flat against a square red rock
And the gentle surf washes over and takes them away

Who runs the black circus?
The choir boy does!
Can he play his harp?
No, but he sure as heck can sing C#!
Oh, s'that so?
And he sings:
"***** to your fire!
***** to your flame!
***** to your ardor for salvation!"
He came to steal
He came to ****
Run to the hills, littluns!
Can he not play his harp then?
Shan't he not?
F'course not!
He is friends with the ****** Beast!
The beast as flies on the Sow's violet lips
He cannot put Goliath to sleep

What was the hunt for?
Oh, you sure know how to get yourself some mice!
Master of Deception and Lies that you are!
What was the hunt for?
Thrilling ain' it?
Justify your thrill!
Come on children and follow the
Pied Piper
down to his Lake
down to the path with
shadows and tall trees
(but it seems like paradise!)
down to his Lake
with gnashing of teeth
No lake you say?
There is!
It's the one underneath the scar!
Deeper than the ocean beyond the reef

Oh, officer!
Take a seat! Don't be shy!
Don't be reserved for there're plenty!
I'd buy you a snack!
Wait, let the choir boys do it for you!
In your plush velvet chair
come on
you deserve a ******
jolly good show
In this theatre
mechanical rounds of applause
hardwired machinery of dictation
Dictated sanity
Go tell your baboons
"Jolly Good Show!"
An' feed your green eyes
Mark Toney Oct 2019
Green eggs, Spam and grits
Sam and Pam had their fill,
Then made their way to Main Street
Down WhoDat’s Whatsup Hill.

Waived "Hi!" to their neighbors
To show them that they cared.
All smiled except two who
Just stood there and glared.

Hulu Q Hopps and
His shorter half-brother
They came from two pops but
Shared the same mother.

Hopps came at them fast
So they quickened their pace
Sam and Pam flew past him,
Boy, this was a race!

Hopps huffed and puffed,
While shouting very gruffly:
"You better stop now, or
I'll treat you roughly!"

          "Just what have we done
           To make you so mad?"

"If you don't stop right now,
I'll do something bad!"

Pam and Sam finally stopped,
Turning right around,
Awaiting their fate while
Standing their ground.

Hopps wide-eyed and breathless
Finally stopped within inches
"Listen real closely now,
Your see Mr. Pinch is
Hot on your trail
Looking for retribution
Based on your failure
To give restitution."

          "We don't know what that means,
           We don't know what to say..."

"Doesn't matter at all,
Pinch is coming your way!"

Since Mr. Pinch meant
To slow cook their goose,
Pam and Sam agreed to do
What they learned from Dr. Seuss!

They asked all their friends
To lend them some help.
Eucalyptus, Betty Loo,
JaeJae and Miss Kelp.
Hortman, Octavius, and
Hopps stepped up to bat.
Even Kat came back
And threw in her hat!

Off in the distance
The Catawampas growled
And soon after that
The Terrormasu yowled.

Down came Mr. Pinch
From atop Mount Dumpit
In his impedimenta SUV,
Like it or lump it.

Rolling into town
Entering WhoDat's Square
Pinch shouted "Sam and Pam!
Are you hiding somewhere?"

"You must pay the piper,
I'm here to collect.
Excuses mean nothing,
Your pleas I'll reject!"

Pam and Sam stepped forward,
Friends forming a line.
          "Pinch, you won't get away
           With extortion this time!"

With that Betty Loo
Pulled out her didgeridoo.
The others pulled out
Their instruments too.

All began playing strong,
Singing loud and clear:

"You are hostile Mr. Pinch
And your breath reeks of stench
But we're stronger than you
So you can't make us flinch.
Mr. Pinch you are mean
So you better flee the scene
You're a ****** like no other, Mr. Pinch..."

They droned on and on,
A multi-stanza bonanza:

"You're a villain Mr. Pinch...

"You are ****** Mr. Pinch...

"You are nasty Mr. Pinch...

"You're a ****** Mr. Pinch...

"You disgust us Mr. Pinch...

Mr. Pinch screaming loud
With hands to his ears,
Made a beeline to his
Impedimenta SUV in tears.

Then Pinch did the math
Calculating the odds
He wasn't going to get
Anywhere with these clods.

"You haven't heard the last of me!"
Fist pumping as he shouted.
When he left, all WhoDat cheered,
Disaster had been routed.

Sam and Pam thanked their friends
In a way that befits.
A WhoDat picnic serving them
Green eggs, Spam and grits!
3/10/2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - My tribute poem to Dr. Seuss. Special thanks for this poem's inspiration to Theodor Seuss Geisel, an American children's author, political cartoonist, and animator. He is known for his work writing and illustrating more than 60 books under the pen name Doctor Seuss. The lyrics in the above poem are my own, as are the names of the characters and locations, but they were inspired by "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," a song that was originally written and composed for the 1966 cartoon special How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The lyrics of that song were written by Theodor "Dr. Seuss" Geisel, the music was composed by Albert Hague, and the song was originally performed by Thurl Ravenscroft. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Next page