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Alexandra Provan Sep 2015
I want to tell him
that I’m scared,
that I’ve been here before.
And that the last time I felt potential like this it imploded;
I imploded.
But I don’t want to taint it,
You see I’m still hopeful
That maybe this time
Won’t end up laced with maybes,
Or what ifs,
Or open wounds pouring blood onto paper.
That maybe this time,
just won’t end.

I’ve not quite worked out whether I think it’s beautiful,
Or stupid -
The human capacity,
And pliancy,
And longing,
For love.
Saul Ramiez Jul 2012
Flamboyancy and wit
     Such things are of attribute
But one can only imagine!
     Imagine that there was this.

Aphrodite has walked
     On your toes
But then to imagine
     That life would grant
Such fortune as to be
     Graced with such misery

But this Flamboyancy and wit--
     Where can I find it?      
Where must i go; but to
     The ends of this world

No--

You see, this Flamboyancy
     Found in all it's buoyancy
Among my mind, it
     Found all it's Flamboyant wit
Just treading by; and then
     it sat at my side in
All it's marvelous, buoyant
     wight
In all it's marvelous, buoyant
     wit.

So locks of perfection,
     Crispy and brown
Armored at the teeth
     I wouldn't say more than
Could be meant, but I meant well
     As it was a fancy

I've touched this crisp and
     It is, but the softest--
Just the greatest of all
     Things--
Setting the standard
     And there
It sat to my right...

So there's this elaborate Charm
     Such flamboyant carelessness
This luxuriant eminence
     Of pure intellect
Sports-y and adequate
     Not in my reach

But this Flamboyancy and style!
     Such wit in her words
Such grace in her laugh
     Such power in that mind
And those witty words are
     Sharper than paper
For paper cuts hurt more than
     The broken bone
And paper cuts can hinder
     more than crutches

And Beelzebub does the devil
      Set aside,
For hers stare is innocence
      That moves mountains
As the hand of God did
     And melted Hell's fire
As the ice from Pluto might

Yet no Asclepius is of help
     At the sharp pound of her eye
You'll land in a comma
     You'd dream of more grace--
Like an angelic Succubus
     That kills with innocence

And this Flamboyancy,
     This wit--
It sat right at my right
     But my inept pliancy
Will find itself in a buoyant
     Force of a thousand
Jedi and of a strength that
     Only the proper charisma
Could ever properly
     Sustain--

And until such appears
     I'll just worship that allure--
That accidental allure
     Of Universal forces
As that of which is found the second
     Iron is formed in a Red Giant

Nothing else would
     Please me more...
Steph Portuguez Jan 2020
She persuaded the curvature of the seam. A dressmaking utterly agonizing, to reach the smoothness one must perceive, it has a regret with the difficulty of repetition of a trend.

Her foul purport carbonated the clear intent. But an impecable illustration did provide them with the warmth they intend.
The cycle lacked precision but their pliancy was a treasure so **** filled with her preciousness.


Velveted silk portrait embraces and confines a cause within a retrospective, a muse divides with a major uproar, one with the furor of nature uncontrolled.

The spell of glamor enchanted the failed dorks. They daydreamed fuzzy temptations to achieve their doomed ******. Of their antagonised exchange was born an incurable rage. The vexed source became cursedly recruitable for their loveable tremors, she had no knowledge of their cultivated adoration.

This will be our temple to our redemption and acceleration. It has consumed us all, encased conscious with translucent locked up doors.

The excitation has endure the incommensurable, the deluge did occur in the future. The scorn we throw to each other is acceptable if I desire to engorge her, it'll wear off your vile will, it'll grant me her savoury thrill.

Velveted silk portrait I beg you not to demise and ascend. We'll ravage the essence of your pure command, although, our adoration is the realest love spell.

I was snarling when I saw you embosom him, it felt like you were entering something delightful and never ******* ending. What was behind the blinds it wasn't supposed to be appreciated, we were always stood in a horizontal line and pulling harsh, all acts performed were a praying for your preference.

Velveted silk portrait, we encouraged you to revoke your beauteous den, to an addictive merriment. We'll howl with devotion to this new founding arts, her paint sparkled in the now dusky lane. A palace never menacing to our welcoming, an unfair entrance to the terribly but tender embodiment.

The gladness finally dragged us to our unfair refinement.
JP Goss Sep 2019
Joy is never pure,
Never homogeneous anyway—
Too many impurities have intermixed
With happiness for it to be meaningful anymore—
I see your face change
But I don’t see you smiling—

Joy is the negative of the negative
Ever climbing toward the total emotional zero; its double,
Rage, its ground state, it, a climbing-toward
Intolerant of the pliancy of a forced feeling of a positive—
I see your face change
But I don’t see you smiling—

While trite, joy does not stand on its own,
Infirm, quarantined, a hopeless pandemic—
And that’s what makes it more explosive than any bomb
Deadlier than anthrax and poverty combined—
I see your face change
But I don’t see you smiling—

Rage draws the lines along vulnerable fault lines
Of a marble statue, its friction like a whetstone
Tempering the war-machine of so nomadic a sensation
A scattering of the borders, invasion of the homeland—
I see your face change
But I don’t see you smiling—

We take our torches, uplifted, to the rows of headstones
And set fire to the desiccated grove of sprouted hands
In prayer from chapel to crypt; let darkness fall on the path,
Let hatred **** the forced smile—
I see your face change
But I don’t see you smiling—
Brilliant light and sound show
not disappointing forecasters promised
outstandingly uproarious performance
powerful winds rage
against the machine
embark to score prestigious

chart chopping hit
pliancy of heavy
boughs sorely tested
ear splitting cacophony
presaged coming fury
within safe shelter of B44,

I hunkered down
analogous to brave soldier
avoiding deadly crosshairs
imagining villainous turncoat
targeting yours truly, now
considering me enemy ****** fire

body instinctively crouches
against impending "FAKE" battle
suspected collusion trumpeting
thunderous applause issuing prelude
betokening nonpareil symphonic
unscored cacophonous rendition,

where pliant limbs
deign to welcome
impending stormy "Daniel" reign
impossible kickstarting boots
on the ground impossible mission

mere mortals cannot hush
their lame clout ineffective against
weapons of mass destruction
unleashed by Gaia
forcing immediate recall
atavistic survival skills

tapping into fifty shades
gray matter within
primitive brain stem
long atrophied primal beast,
an individual object lesson
desperately summoning

emergency measures
lest life and limb
whiplashed to pulp
by furiously roaring winds
fierce howling tempest
reminding 21st

century **** sapiens
merciless Mother Nature
intolerant toward global indignity,
perhaps foregone
watershed of extermination
points ship of fools be ******!

— The End —