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Ashley Chapman Sep 2017
Sandwiched in layers of liquid crystal display,
Encased in vats of plastic,
                          
                            we
Voyaging in data-spheres, plumes of digital play.

Mindless,
         In the soup of silicone,
                            
                            all
Myt­h-makers,
         Pouring over electro-spawned
         networks,
                            
                            fall
Workers,
          In the buzz of bits and bytes, of
          megabytes and terabytes,
                            
                            down
Everyone
          Far from the wood, the brine, the
          mud that caked us,
          In tighter and tighter
          digitised  projections,
                            
                            click!
‘Like me’,
‘Share me’,
‘Leave your comments.’

Messages smoothed out in polymers,
Beyond reproductions of ourselves,

                           enter:

Deeper, delving in the mire of dream-conscious,

Now a waking voice,
          Hardened, digitised, recorded in
          bubbles, in drives, in clouds:
                        
Numb numbers of numbers numb,
                          mirror.

          A platform slotted home:
The motherboard!
          To record the echo in the hollow
          of our Being.
Wrote this a while back. It was published in The Tunnel Magazine, which was great. Anyway, hope it gets a wider audience.
In the digital l-and
We l-ive in
Mistakenly automatic
One pointing at a chest of tools
Eyes on i
No soul can tell a part a weakling metal


Robots robbing robbers rich
T-error terrifying t-errorists
Artist gods and goddesses
Sharing platform to unleashed gifts


Mint hue bubbles squeak
Fizzy dizzy violet haze
World head to toes spins
Any day it spins coins in change


A quiet girl is sinister
Siren of mystery or future
Robot is your mirror
Peach chin with teeth filter
No innocence and glitter litter
Guilty until proven the latter


A quiet girl a terrorist
Error mouths terror twist
Terrorist from the orient
They hide in between every end
Disguises they cover in
Racist as problem solving


Smile girl watch
A fake smile and eyes
Skin of steel so is her
Heart made alloy
How it blazes to the touch when heated
Oh it bites fingertips as it's cold
Hair resting on the curve of her spine
A woman's hair only breaks if it tries to grow


What she said
Tell me if you can tell us a part
Warning tears borne from her crooked eyes
Robot and soul
Terrorists from t-errorists
No soul knows either
Tattoos or memory shall identify you
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Bryan Dahl May 2018
Street performers.

Busking. Panhandling. Begging.

An artist’s most submissive position.

Music’s all-powerful mystery beholden to pocket change.

Until a blind man, guitar in hand,

On the Blue Line platform,

Plucks from an unsuspecting heart

An unmistakable theme-

“What can you say about a 25-year-old girl who died?”

One bill and some coins in his collection basket,

A mysterious, gentle reminder-

Dynamics come wholly undone.

I drop in my all-powerful dollar,

All aboard the train.

Down here, I will

Write for the first time in nearly three years.
CK Baker Mar 5
Pilsner cap switch blade
tie dye and piccolo
greasers and freaks
with platform feet
muscling in
on the bow legged hoofer
tapping
Bursey Hill Tram

Diamond tuft console
mullets n' ****
angels and saints
(unrestrained)
appropriately trimmed
as 3 mile wreaks havoc
on the nickers and
fighters of penn

Bangers and home boys
hookahs and sheiks
hostile geeks
breaking knuckles and jaws
on the caners and skinners
who are locked
and grinding the root

Desert boot foothills
boardwalk jeans
rainbows and sea fairs
and psychedelic dreams
(the platinum queens
jamming it hard
on the jade room floor)

8 tracks
and fender packs
the hottest summer days
psychedelic haze
center hall, graffiti scrawl
(sinister yet refined!)
covering the subtle
yet striking third ****

Brunswick cues
and red man chew
350 blocks
(on a solid Chevy - stock)
monkeys and beatles
and laugh in scenes
pastel dreams
from the long and coveted
velvet scroll
chichee Dec 2018
I'm writing a love letter to all the stars I've never seen. Blowing sweet nothings into your windmill hearts. A sickness in the bones with the way some of you make me work for it.  Rustic Blues in my toes. I want to be a list of further crossroads, because we're all chasing something glorious.You're no glowsticks or fireflies but the headlights of a speeding train and all I know is I am nothing without you.

I'll stand on the edge of the platform, and call you starlight.  

The writer's paradox: We only exist when we are read and I think I've found my mobius strip. Twinkle me stupid, New Year feels like I could do this all over again.
To all the people who have supported me- Matt and CE Green, Merry Christmas to you all.
Sam Bowden Dec 2018
Shucking oysters is a dangerous task.
Only skilled, determined hands may apply.
Why so dangerous a task you ask?
Well, let’s see?
There’s the salt, the grit, the unforgiving need...
the slips, the stabs, the you and the me.
Our boats rock along a forlorn sea.

Sitting on the dock of my mind,
the sun's rays slap me sober,
as it refuses to set for seven hundred thousand nights...

Patiently present in the moment, I am, totally attuned to the task at hand.

She's anything but simple,
this complexly succulent woman I've stumbled upon,
Unearthed I have, with my bare hands.
Rugged exterior, jagged edges,
a clear warning for all to see.
But a gorgeous glory awaits the determined, the brave, the patient,
I have faith...

I have faith in such a glory beyond legend,
in such beauty beyond reason.
Just because something feels like a miracle,
doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
For if jade kissed a pearl as it slipped into the sea,
it still wouldn't rival her beauty.

We are a meeting of minds that could unfurl for all time.
As she lines her eyes in paint,
and stains her lips like crimson art.
She's always ready for war,
launching a thousand ships in my heart.

Like the Greek Odysseus,
I've sailed upon contentment's shore,
sipping your wine and eating your grapes,
now I only want more.
Eros, the bittersweetness, is clawing at my door.
I want to live with you in the gap,
between consumption and desire,
between winter's ice and between summer's fire.

Unknowingly I have,
peeled the wall paper from her frame,
where ancient tapestries shown from beneath,
a secret no man could keep.
The scars cut deep into the fabric,
marks of carelessness in love.
The family ties that tear,
the tears of lovers once here,
now there.

Warmth gives way to wind,
and fire gives way to need.
She pulls me close,
then pushes me back,
rocking along a forlorn sea.

And like the sea,
she breathes life into me.
A great roiling tempest of the heart,
with a fury that blows reason from the mind.

Tame, tame, squeeze...    l e t   g o.
Give it...       t i m e.

Still though,
questions fray at the edges of her mind,
and yet,
with the passage of time,
the sea will settle,
the tide will recede.
I have faith in love.
And faith in me.   

Sure footed I am, even as we,
not yet a "we",
dodging rain drops,
dashing through the city,
hand-in-hand, we don't slip.
I think thoughts, but bite my lip.

And while I sip, I think;
“She's anything but simple,
this dandelion seed,
floating in the wind.
Walls up, head down,
a determined doctor,
a surgeon steeled for the journey,
thawing beneath me she is...”

“The most beautiful immigrant I've ever seen;
On the platform of her mind,
she longs for a home, leagues from her homeland,
while I scratch at the dirt of my own.
Do I belong here?
Does she? Do we?
Where is home? Security? Acceptance? Belonging?
Who knows what the futures holds?
Allahu alam, not you or me.”

Uncertain of answers,
is this a mirage or a dream?
I can’t know for sure,
So I take heart in the Unseen.

I crack the oyster open,
and swallow it inside.
I sip life's ambrosia,
and breathe in the sky.

I'll crack The Pearl of Persia,
one kiss at a time.
An ode to patience in love.
Darianshae Jan 2018
Is it **** if you don't kick and scream? But you said no. But you drank ... it was your choice they would say so happily they found a crawl space to make it out for the future of this poor man. Is it **** if you never told anyone about it? Is it **** if you waited 3 years too long? You wanted so badly to run but your body didn't move throughout it all, so stiff you remembered. Why didn't you scream then is what they'll say. I wanted so badly to shout and run away. I wanted so badly to come out about this ****. But I didn't so, it's my fault they would victim blame. They would say since he has a platform, she only wanted attention off it. They would let him slide because after all he's so young and talented why would we want to ruin his life. Yet hers is already ruined .
The thing that hurts the most is the easiest thing to write about
Piyush Gahlot Aug 2018
Saw her first at cousin's weddinG,
She looked astonishing I knew where it was headinG
Escorting the bride she came in smilinG
My eyes got glued on her and my heart started poundinG.

Afraid of her brother but she agreed to meeT,
I got there first, where the buses fleeT,
Time and place was on her to fiX,
Excited, I reached before the clock tickS,
There I saw her waving at platform thirty siX.

Time freezed for a while,
Walking towards her a million thoughts ran through my mind,
Was that really her or someone else!?
But that same magical smile and my heart again melts.

Simple, yet pleasant I liked her stylE,
But the best thing was definitely her smilE,
I got lost , stammered in speech for a whilE,
She was confident and I got nervous blood profilE.

The place was new ,
None of us had any clue,
I was sweaty , the day seems hottest,
Perhaps the oddest in the whole August.

Black and white top and she blingS,
Leather sandals and those shiny earingS,
The watch was pink , hairs were perfect readY,
But **** her luggage was real heavY!

Got in a cab, and some comfy place to talK,
She was in a hurry, but i had all the clocK,
She was bold at the same time cooL,
And I was smiling for no reason like a fooL.

More time I wanted to spend,
But getting her home safe and sound was important in the end.
Got her a bus had to bid a good bye,
And my hopes of meeting her soon are sky high! :)
Met the girl for the first time whom I saw at my brother's wedding.
karin naude Apr 2013
How many more times do i have to repeat this pointless exercise of crying my eyes red and swollen due to a broken heart torn apart by grieve and regret.
How many times am i gonna dress in agony and despair and wait for the day to end. I'm glad when night falls. sleeping brings relief perceived. keep telling yourself this ****. The universe no longer listens to my repetitive crap of pain and lost glory days. I am 27 and long for my youth. How pathetic can someone be. Wallowing in self pity on the net for all to read. Is this my scream for help? this is the wrong platform don't I think.
How many times have i told myself the lie. I almost believe it. Just almost. Reality always brings me right back. Being in my twenties. I am plagued by indecision  fear and not knowing what to do. Feeling pressured 100% of the time. Finding no rest for a weary soul screaming for mercy. No, not love just mercy. You heard right. I will settle for the lesser and easier of the two. My God why have you forsaken me? I have asked this Q so many times. Still unanswered. I keep telling myself just make it to the next day time will heal my wounds and time will teach me how to beat my chest correctly without letting depression drag me down into the mud. Just make it to tomorrow. Be honest how many times have I thought about suicide only thing that stops me is what if i fail and i am left with a broken body. Lets be honest cutting sound real good now.
Emeka Mokeme Jul 2018
Wonders of the world
is too insignificant to
what you will experience
in your life for opening
your heart to receive the
fairest impressions of God.
You are the best gift life can
ever give to the universe.
Infused in you are the
unimaginable seed of greatness.
You are for signs and wonders.
Created and endowed with
enormous and immense abilities
to subdued and have dominion
over all things created.
Your words and thoughts can change
situations and make things manifests
from something for nothing cannot
give rise to something.
Thoughts are definitely something,
and your words are powerfully alive,
you only need to properly project it
into being to give it form and bring
it into your reality.
All things resonates to you,
whether positively or negatively,
depending on the platform you stand.
Everything responds to the octaves
of your vibration within the wavelength
of the rhythm of the pendulum swinging
circumspectively overly around you.
You can do anything you want to do
if you really want to do it.
But you have to learn how to do it differently,
because you are definitely differently configured.
You are an absolute dot stretched into being,
vitalised by the power beyond the ordinary
and full of grace of the divine light.
You are the light of the world.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Juhlhaus Sep 24
Animated by twitch of muscle,
Electric spark through live wire,
Humming rail and synapse,
Wheels spin at the fingertips of maybe
An ineffable humorist,
The mastermind of this beautiful prank
Pocketwatch of silver and gold
That explodes in the hand
And leaves you stranded on the platform
The second you go to check the time.
Mona Mohamed Oct 2017
Dear future self,

On a scale of one to doormat,
How prune are you to accept?

And have you been proven wrong,
Or is it still the worst you expect?

Have you learnt walking the line
Between pessimism and optimism,
Or have you lost your wits?

Have you made yourself lasagna,
Kept track of your ***** laundry?

Eating enough green,
Or still lazy to get up when you're hungry..

Is time as life altering as it sounds,
Or plain old yesterdays that represent nothing?

Have you bribed your lucky stars,
And found that perfect timing all of a sudden?

Are you even still writing,
Or left the platform for greater poets?

Still doing things half-heartedly,
Or finally filled the gap where the lines are dotted.

Have you witnessed a miracle?
Washed yourself of your ever present dissatisfaction?

Acquainted the many selves that you are,
And finally released your thoughts from their abstraction?

I know there's no finish line,
Or at least we won't be here to behold it.

But I hope you're far ahead,
So you can slow down a bit.
CoolLen Aug 2018
O blessed night I am feared
For I am a black man who can't shake spears thrown at him on the daily.
High courts let us get clipped by Brutus- clipped by brutes in fact a loose noose can hang you from any platform
Oxygen doesn't transcend class
Eric wasn't the first nor last unable to Garner breath
I... Cant... Breath.
Bill Cosby's first words after sentencing
Sandra Bland's last thoughts before being propped up
I ride around my city feeling Gray inside, DEAD inside wondering if convenient transportation is worth my life.
Othello ruled this nation for eight years yet noble souls are still treated as peasants.
I mean if all the worlds a stage, then why do they play us only when we're players or when the play, us.
Carlie Leonard Jan 2016
The heat and oxygen course through your lungs like a temporary flame

One sweet dull second of numbness

All they can see is an empty vessel; an unstained body, with from the looks of it, not a care in the world

But they are simply decomposing from the inside out

No doubt, they will be a platform of overt despair by the end of the night

The sight will give a writer something to write about, an empath something to cry about, and a lover something to worry about

Destruction is infused in every cell of their body

When it comes down to choice, there is not one

It feels to them as if the days inevitably, and relentlessly, cease to end in the immense amount of pain instilled in every ounce of their being

Dreading tomorrow as if it's a terminal sickness

Once you have lost hope, it seems there is no fire left to burn

The time that they have left in the world will be filled with cheap cigarettes, Irish car bombs, and lifeless friends

Closely comparable to a dying tree; close to expired, and still so beautiful
Jose Gonzalez Sep 2016
I am a traveler commuting on life's rails,
going station to station.
Disembarking at different destinations,
each time spent differently.
The car can be claustrophobic with passengers,
suffocating me in anxiety.
Other times, just a few of familiar faces,
friends, families, locals, daily riders.
Some talking, of life, nonsense, all or nothing,
each making their way.
There are times of light, above ground and of sun,
the rest tunneled, falsely lit, dark.
The sights of open land, buildings, and of the day,
the faces of love, hurt, hurried and grind.
Day in Day out this cycle goes on,
different,yet the same.
I am part of this mass exodus to get somewhere,
yet my commute is my own.
At times I arrive with many at the platform
bustling towards their tasks.
Trains for life come and go, expresses to locals,
roaring with noise, movements, purpose.
However, there are times i am the only one there,
Occasional train, in silence, alone.
Those are the days that my commute seems fruitless,
leaving me to wonder,
Have I just been passing it all by?

© J.L.Gonzalez75 09/2016
* this is a rough edit... am not a poet, but just write.
ATL Aug 8
bed
wrinkled linens
lapping over into folds
as they cradle restless skin
both blemished and beautiful;
someone stood stiff behind a loom
turning flax to tender fabric,
a silken platform for dreaming. 
tonight defies their intention  
it is sandpaper,
and craving intimacy creates abrasion.
Sleep oft colludes with night
Pulls wool over my eyes:
By announcing itself anon
On my station's platform.

Evermore delayed to reach this vessel,
It refuses to hypnotize a compliant patient
Despite the dated rituals performed
For slumber to strive-to-thrive:

Prayers chanted in your name,
Darkness donned in your chase,
Silence kept vigil, sung as lullaby,
Consciousness sacrificed for your gain

Yet you refuse to sway me in my cradle,
Yet I lay squirming on your saddle,
Incapacitated by thoughts—untenable
Enslaved for their cause—unassailable

Many a sleepless nights were my penance.
Upon which, one of sleep's commandments
bequeathed...
To sleep: toil to reach the summit;
Inhale the thinned air
Exhaled by a content-shaped mountain.
Clinging to the edges
of a moving platform
that just refuses
a desperate diplomacy
Losing a grip I may have never once had

Retracing my steps
into familiar footpaths.
I'm constantly letting go
and always holding on.
Maintaining affection through the graze of rope.

Stepping onto my stage
of curtain call acceptance,
A grand finale,
a bittersweet sendoff.
Trepidation by the kick of a stool.

Salvation at the forfeiture of stability.

Gravity my only influence,
the one in which I'll always believe.
Written in September of 2019
Marla Apr 12
Perched above the world on a platform
envisioned for duplicitous insight,
gazing out as you seek within.
The cold railing beneath hands
and hard cement touching feet
let your body know you're not floating,
as much as your eyes may be deceiving you.

These places give us a sense of power.

But be wary,
towers are only as stable
as what they're made of.
lmnsinner Apr 2017
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line


~

all the lines of man-made yellows,
so tempting threatening...inviting,
the subway platform, the street curb,
the highway divide
the double parallel equal sign that has no solution,
remaining hopelessly empty,
defining the watery soluble
inequality of null


~~

The Fall Line

first heard the phrase months ago in Argentina,
standing before the c-shaped Iguazu Falls

the fall line
where the crystalline basement rock
erodes away the oncoming soft sedimentary,
there, where,
a waterfall is nature-gifted

so intuitive, so obvious,
what else to call the water's owned edge,
line of demarcation,
where we grow captivated,
mesmerized, knee weak,
traumatized and tantalized

knew that instant when spoken,
The Fall Line,
saw inarguable symmetry to so many lives,
would be a someday poem

selective service phrases stored and
someday up recalled,
a thousand, maybe more,
waiting for the confluence of
time and place,
to be a mother

letting my fluid sac burst,
giving birth to a concoction symphonic,
the emotions waterfalling, cascading,
the precision, vision seconds,
when words

pour, gush, surge, spill,
stream, flow, issue, spurt

~~~

silently crafted in the weeks and months prior,
the unconscious drowning in ache and pain
of suffocating drudge sludge of everyday living

all the lines of man made yellows,
so tempting threatening...inviting
the subway platform, the street curb,
the highway divide
the double parallel equal sign that has no solution remaining empty, defining the inequality of null


the vision infection of the majestic fall line,
so accessible in an instance of overwhelm,
cornea implanted, the sounding call of sweet blissful
whatever

one more additional addiction unshakeable,
jumping from fall line to fall line,
it's the game I am played,
but the controller
is not in my possess

for the joy stick that drives my actions,
toys with me,
the human fool jumping
from fall line to fall line,
unsure of what he desires,


salvation or saving
11/26/16
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