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"posters" poems
The mushroom The unfolding instant of creation (fertilisation) not an instant separate from breakfast It all flows down & out, flowing but that instant: not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating merging in cool slime splendour a crushing of steel & glass & ice (instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide) far-out splendour heat & fire are outwards signs of a Small dry mating ~~~ event in a room event in space a circle Magic rite To call up the godhead spirits, demons The shaman calls: “When radio dark night…” We are eating each other. ~~~ The Voice of the Serpent dry hiss of age & steam & leaves of gold old books in ruined Temples The pages break like ash I will not disturb I will not go Come, he says softly an old man appears & moves in tired dance amid the scattered dead gently they stir ~~~ I received an Aztec wall of vision & dissolved my room in sweet derision Closed my eyes, prepared to go A gentle wind inform’d me so And bathed my skin in ether glow ~~~ Drugs are a bet w/ your mind ~~~ The cigarette burn’d my fingertips & dropp’d like a log to the rug below My eyes took a trip to dig the chick Crouch’d like a cat at the next window My ears assembled music out of swarming streets but my mind rebelled at the idiot’s laughter The rising frightful idiot laughter Cheering an army of vacuum cleaners ~~~ Mouth fills w/taste of copper. Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters. Gyro on a string, a table. A coin spins. The faces. There is an audience to our drama. Magic shade mask. Like the hero of a dream, he works for us, in our behalf. How close is this to a final cut? I fall. Sweet blackness. Strange world that waits & watches. Ancient dread of non-existence. If it’s no problem, why mention it. Everything spoken means that, it’s opposite, & everything else. I’m alive. I’m dying. ~~~ 1st wild thrush of fear -A phone rings There is a knock on the door. It’s time to go. No.
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17.7k
Jim Morrison
Explosion
The mushroom The unfolding instant of creation (fertilisation) not an instant separate from breakfast It all flows down & out, flowing but that instant: not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating merging in cool slime splendour a crushing of steel & glass & ice (instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide) far-out splendour heat & fire are outwards signs of a Small dry mating ~~~ event in a room event in space a circle Magic rite To call up the godhead spirits, demons The shaman calls: “When radio dark night…” We are eating each other. ~~~ The Voice of the Serpent dry hiss of age & steam & leaves of gold old books in ruined Temples The pages break like ash I will not disturb I will not go Come, he says softly an old man appears & moves in tired dance amid the scattered dead gently they stir ~~~ I received an Aztec wall of vision & dissolved my room in sweet derision Closed my eyes, prepared to go A gentle wind inform’d me so And bathed my skin in ether glow ~~~ Drugs are a bet w/ your mind ~~~ The cigarette burn’d my fingertips & dropp’d like a log to the rug below My eyes took a trip to dig the chick Crouch’d like a cat at the next window My ears assembled music out of swarming streets but my mind rebelled at the idiot’s laughter The rising frightful idiot laughter Cheering an army of vacuum cleaners ~~~ Mouth fills w/taste of copper. Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters. Gyro on a string, a table. A coin spins. The faces. There is an audience to our drama. Magic shade mask. Like the hero of a dream, he works for us, in our behalf. How close is this to a final cut? I fall. Sweet blackness. Strange world that waits & watches. Ancient dread of non-existence. If it’s no problem, why mention it. Everything spoken means that, it’s opposite, & everything else. I’m alive. I’m dying. ~~~ 1st wild thrush of fear -A phone rings There is a knock on the door. It’s time to go. No.
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87
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep In a similar way as his father of one And actually, also my father did too Of those bitter, big cancer scourges Which always come in unexpected In this short enough life, a bit early I've known him ever since first, when We were knee high to Dad's shotgun Throughout our small neighborhood We would all roam to see and look For ***** toads and such other fun Without any known end in our sights We often, came all together, at once In his parent's, little Clovis back yard In the under ground, in our deep dug Wild little clubhouse of our new pride Approved by our jealous Dad's stare Made all by ourselves, with great care Eight by eight, with three feet of deep Shagged carpet floors, walls around And places to hide stuff with those **** magazines we wished to remain Unseen by our parents, although they Surely lived through similar wild times Black lights , fluorescent mod posters Fans to cool, while there in the deep Kept the place comfy, from several Hot summers in New Mexico's heat Staying nights over, in conspiracy we Came colluding, while hoping no fame This place was our place, of known Refuge from all of the big crazy, with Frightening world still yet to come Giving us our youngest freedoms And also so much being in trouble As kinda neighborhood hoodlums Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower One of us in care would climb With binoculars to see the dark night With our pair of walkie talkies held Warn the others, carousing around Of any plight, in appearing headlights Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith My other brother by another,  Buddy Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris One other member, as second cousin Who actually, was my very first kiss When it was hard to aim, lips to miss All bound as one, by made up signs And part of something called PSO Which, if you don't know well, what it Truly means, then you were definitely Not a part of the so very high bliss Which we suffered through so often Kevan's true nature is clearly proven Finally, most completely, at his end In the nature of his wonderful loving All his family, who also so loved him And all those other parties to trouble Who also so loved, really all of him ©  2017 Jim Davis
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May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
jbdvet75
The Clubhouse
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep In a similar way as his father of one And actually, also my father did too Of those bitter, big cancer scourges Which always come in unexpected In this short enough life, a bit early I've known him ever since first, when We were knee high to Dad's shotgun Throughout our small neighborhood We would all roam to see and look For ***** toads and such other fun Without any known end in our sights We often, came all together, at once In his parent's, little Clovis back yard In the under ground, in our deep dug Wild little clubhouse of our new pride Approved by our jealous Dad's stare Made all by ourselves, with great care Eight by eight, with three feet of deep Shagged carpet floors, walls around And places to hide stuff with those **** magazines we wished to remain Unseen by our parents, although they Surely lived through similar wild times Black lights , fluorescent mod posters Fans to cool, while there in the deep Kept the place comfy, from several Hot summers in New Mexico's heat Staying nights over, in conspiracy we Came colluding, while hoping no fame This place was our place, of known Refuge from all of the big crazy, with Frightening world still yet to come Giving us our youngest freedoms And also so much being in trouble As kinda neighborhood hoodlums Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower One of us in care would climb With binoculars to see the dark night With our pair of walkie talkies held Warn the others, carousing around Of any plight, in appearing headlights Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith My other brother by another,  Buddy Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris One other member, as second cousin Who actually, was my very first kiss When it was hard to aim, lips to miss All bound as one, by made up signs And part of something called PSO Which, if you don't know well, what it Truly means, then you were definitely Not a part of the so very high bliss Which we suffered through so often Kevan's true nature is clearly proven Finally, most completely, at his end In the nature of his wonderful loving All his family, who also so loved him And all those other parties to trouble Who also so loved, really all of him ©  2017 Jim Davis
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61
Over a cup of morning java Scanning my daily mail I came upon an advertisement sheet *That exclaimed in BOLD rainbow pastel* Grand opening of a store that has everything On the corner of Daisy and William Tell The one thing I saw that interested me Is they were having a back to "60's"  Hippie sale Of course I stopped what it was I was doing Hopped in my Lexus and left right away The excitement had my heart all in a flutter This I guarantee is going to be a good day They weren't kidding when they said they sold it all I'd been wandering the store for quite a while That's when I came to what it was I had come here for Before me in trippy little colors, the hippie aisle So I bought me a couple colorful hippies With my 25% coupon I was able to save The Hippies even  came with a bonus Fresh cut flowers and Jefferson Airplane tapes When I got home I showed them to their room Black light posters and colored beads hung from the door As luck would have it I bought an Indian hemp rug From Pier One just the day before They taught me transcendental meditation While I taught them both how to bathe Their lessons broadened the mind My lessons the nostrils saved I soon had a groovy little hippie pad In which organic vegetables and enlightenment grew We'd sit around crossed legged in a  purple haze at night Playing psychedelic tunes on our Kazoo's And I was pretty good too! Who Knew! Yes, a house of happy hippies Is a happy hippie house indeed Especially when Wendy Crystal Sky...Yes, that's her name Brews her famous dandelion tea I highly recommend the purchase of hippies I couldn't be any happier with mine Sure beats the punk rockers I got on close out last year But that my friend is another tale for another time...
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 6:48 AM UTC
mike-hauser
Hippie Sale
Over a cup of morning java Scanning my daily mail I came upon an advertisement sheet *That exclaimed in BOLD rainbow pastel* Grand opening of a store that has everything On the corner of Daisy and William Tell The one thing I saw that interested me Is they were having a back to "60's"  Hippie sale Of course I stopped what it was I was doing Hopped in my Lexus and left right away The excitement had my heart all in a flutter This I guarantee is going to be a good day They weren't kidding when they said they sold it all I'd been wandering the store for quite a while That's when I came to what it was I had come here for Before me in trippy little colors, the hippie aisle So I bought me a couple colorful hippies With my 25% coupon I was able to save The Hippies even  came with a bonus Fresh cut flowers and Jefferson Airplane tapes When I got home I showed them to their room Black light posters and colored beads hung from the door As luck would have it I bought an Indian hemp rug From Pier One just the day before They taught me transcendental meditation While I taught them both how to bathe Their lessons broadened the mind My lessons the nostrils saved I soon had a groovy little hippie pad In which organic vegetables and enlightenment grew We'd sit around crossed legged in a  purple haze at night Playing psychedelic tunes on our Kazoo's And I was pretty good too! Who Knew! Yes, a house of happy hippies Is a happy hippie house indeed Especially when Wendy Crystal Sky...Yes, that's her name Brews her famous dandelion tea I highly recommend the purchase of hippies I couldn't be any happier with mine Sure beats the punk rockers I got on close out last year But that my friend is another tale for another time...
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41
We cut trees Then make papers Where we write posters To not cut trees. We make money To buy everything But by having nothing We let money make us. We arm our troops To build peace Yet the same weapon Is used to destroy peace. We sacrifice our health Just to save money Only to spend it all To save our health. We destroy forests To create cities So that inside them We can make forests. Our lack of knowledge Leads to ignorance But the same is true With knowing too much.
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May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
larry-potter
Ironic
We cut trees Then make papers Where we write posters To not cut trees. We make money To buy everything But by having nothing We let money make us. We arm our troops To build peace Yet the same weapon Is used to destroy peace. We sacrifice our health Just to save money Only to spend it all To save our health. We destroy forests To create cities So that inside them We can make forests. Our lack of knowledge Leads to ignorance But the same is true With knowing too much.
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24
They enter the café just as some sappy pop song is playing They order then immediately hug Embrace Swaying to one side, together, like the wind Encircling the leaning tower of Pisa Then teetering to the other solstice Foot to foot, smile to smile, hand round skirted waist Forearm resting on his tall  blazered shoulders This is forgivable in the young Those teeny-boppers with defiant hair-cuts and posters However, he has peppered hair She, though voluptuous and tanned, Must be in her 30s. “Affair.” My cynical devil snickers, between sips But I sit mesmerized, and for the first time ever Envious. The chairs and the tables somehow seem more distant The song  now sounds as if it’s funneled through some crackling phonograph The very light disentangles itself from stones It’s as if a sky has opened up in my chest Flying high overhead,  one lone raven, Its slow shadow Gliding across my heart Oh, how I miss you 5 states away I see your smile on magazine covers I vaguely sniff your scent on passing women Yet you remain elusive - immaterial, haunting,   While this visceral assault Leaves me bewildered - empty An echo in a chiaroscuro cavern   Fading for thee
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Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
alessander
Letters from N.M.
They enter the café just as some sappy pop song is playing They order then immediately hug Embrace Swaying to one side, together, like the wind Encircling the leaning tower of Pisa Then teetering to the other solstice Foot to foot, smile to smile, hand round skirted waist Forearm resting on his tall  blazered shoulders This is forgivable in the young Those teeny-boppers with defiant hair-cuts and posters However, he has peppered hair She, though voluptuous and tanned, Must be in her 30s. “Affair.” My cynical devil snickers, between sips But I sit mesmerized, and for the first time ever Envious. The chairs and the tables somehow seem more distant The song  now sounds as if it’s funneled through some crackling phonograph The very light disentangles itself from stones It’s as if a sky has opened up in my chest Flying high overhead,  one lone raven, Its slow shadow Gliding across my heart Oh, how I miss you 5 states away I see your smile on magazine covers I vaguely sniff your scent on passing women Yet you remain elusive - immaterial, haunting,   While this visceral assault Leaves me bewildered - empty An echo in a chiaroscuro cavern   Fading for thee
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33
The posters said tomorrow At eleven on the dot The Mishkin Brothers Circus Would be here ....on this spot There would be no carnival or midway Just one tent and three rings And all of the excitement That a good old circus brings There would be elephants and lions Trapeze artists overhead Dancing dogs and ponies And zebras painted red Clowns of all description Answering to just one man In the center of the circle Was Mishkin brother....Dan He'd run the show for twenty years Gone from town to town to town In one day they would get set up And in two, they'd tear it down One day to show the locals The circus still was an event With magic, form the Barnum Days All housed inside one tent The sideshow barkers and their geeks Were not with this fine group Dan Mishkin had assembled Only the finest circus troup From Russia he had jugglers Knife throwers, just the best ******** riders from Decatur Along with all the rest Fourteen trucks and trailers Pulled into town the night before Breaking ground once they arrived Working right through until four Just old time entertainment No travelling gypsy band was this It was the Mishkin Brothers Circus It was something not to miss The show was started promptly At twelve o'clock, like the sign said A parade of all the players And the zebras painted red Two shows and it was over The whole routine began anew The field was once more empty Gone was the Mishkin rolling zoo A year from now, we'd see the signs And we'd all go to the tent To see the Mishkin Brothers Circus The best money ever spent
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Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
roger-turner
The day the circus came to town
The posters said tomorrow At eleven on the dot The Mishkin Brothers Circus Would be here ....on this spot There would be no carnival or midway Just one tent and three rings And all of the excitement That a good old circus brings There would be elephants and lions Trapeze artists overhead Dancing dogs and ponies And zebras painted red Clowns of all description Answering to just one man In the center of the circle Was Mishkin brother....Dan He'd run the show for twenty years Gone from town to town to town In one day they would get set up And in two, they'd tear it down One day to show the locals The circus still was an event With magic, form the Barnum Days All housed inside one tent The sideshow barkers and their geeks Were not with this fine group Dan Mishkin had assembled Only the finest circus troup From Russia he had jugglers Knife throwers, just the best ******** riders from Decatur Along with all the rest Fourteen trucks and trailers Pulled into town the night before Breaking ground once they arrived Working right through until four Just old time entertainment No travelling gypsy band was this It was the Mishkin Brothers Circus It was something not to miss The show was started promptly At twelve o'clock, like the sign said A parade of all the players And the zebras painted red Two shows and it was over The whole routine began anew The field was once more empty Gone was the Mishkin rolling zoo A year from now, we'd see the signs And we'd all go to the tent To see the Mishkin Brothers Circus The best money ever spent
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52
~~~^♡^ black light posters lava lamps purple haze and mega amps bright **** rugs in pink and green long straight hair or Afro-Sheen go ask Alice how time flies starships blast off In her eyes yellow ribbons in her hair Vietnam Scarborough Fair beaded curtain leather n lace brains are gone without a trace Mother Mary let it be flower power love for free you can find a cause to bend but it's hard to find a friend psychedelic music blasts what was "groovy" now the past soulsurvivor 5/10/2015 ~~~^♡^
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May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
SoulSurvivor
psychedelic
~~~^♡^ black light posters lava lamps purple haze and mega amps bright **** rugs in pink and green long straight hair or Afro-Sheen go ask Alice how time flies starships blast off In her eyes yellow ribbons in her hair Vietnam Scarborough Fair beaded curtain leather n lace brains are gone without a trace Mother Mary let it be flower power love for free you can find a cause to bend but it's hard to find a friend psychedelic music blasts what was "groovy" now the past soulsurvivor 5/10/2015 ~~~^♡^
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36
There's this special seed inside of us That glitters, shines, and grows Planted by an equally special person One that everybody knows. The one that woke up early this morning And downed their coffee for the day While you dig out your favorite shirt And they keep their nerves at bay. The person that decorates for new children Hangs up posters and note cards Tacks up the yearly alphabet trim And clears the weeds from the school yard. Stands and greets equally nervous kids Hands them name tags and a book And hopes that their anxiety melts away To be excited like they should. The history and math books open Pages are assigned They're there to help you through it To make problems easier to find. To journey across another dimension Of equations and butterflies alike That prepares you for ACTs ahead And tests that you'll probably dislike. Well, that's all fine and dandy All these books and passing grades But what's more important is the seed inside That's planted in your brain. The seed that fuels your drive to learn Creates a light to help you grow Makes you crave another book Acquire everything there is to know. And I know a certain farmer That specializes in these seeds Who wants to make you reach the top So you'll realize everything you can be. These farmers go by 'teachers' The most amazing you can find Because of them, I try to be my best So I thank my teachers for their time.
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Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
kirsten-lovely
Farmers
There's this special seed inside of us That glitters, shines, and grows Planted by an equally special person One that everybody knows. The one that woke up early this morning And downed their coffee for the day While you dig out your favorite shirt And they keep their nerves at bay. The person that decorates for new children Hangs up posters and note cards Tacks up the yearly alphabet trim And clears the weeds from the school yard. Stands and greets equally nervous kids Hands them name tags and a book And hopes that their anxiety melts away To be excited like they should. The history and math books open Pages are assigned They're there to help you through it To make problems easier to find. To journey across another dimension Of equations and butterflies alike That prepares you for ACTs ahead And tests that you'll probably dislike. Well, that's all fine and dandy All these books and passing grades But what's more important is the seed inside That's planted in your brain. The seed that fuels your drive to learn Creates a light to help you grow Makes you crave another book Acquire everything there is to know. And I know a certain farmer That specializes in these seeds Who wants to make you reach the top So you'll realize everything you can be. These farmers go by 'teachers' The most amazing you can find Because of them, I try to be my best So I thank my teachers for their time.
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40
A bridge is a curious thing to cover. mile after mile of naked road - then a wooden box over stream or ravine. Why not cover the road instead leaving the bridge unclothed? But where's the charm in that, you say?   So perhaps it was fashioned for Currier and Ives or to embellish the music of iron shod hooves on oaken planks. Or maybe was built as a kiosk for fading feed and carnival posters and jackknife glyphs of amorous initials. No, all our covered bridges, imagined or real, guide our passage over deadly waters - holding us fast on the road and safe from drowning.   March,  2007
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Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
robert-c-howard
Covered Bridges
A bridge is a curious thing to cover. mile after mile of naked road - then a wooden box over stream or ravine. Why not cover the road instead leaving the bridge unclothed? But where's the charm in that, you say?   So perhaps it was fashioned for Currier and Ives or to embellish the music of iron shod hooves on oaken planks. Or maybe was built as a kiosk for fading feed and carnival posters and jackknife glyphs of amorous initials. No, all our covered bridges, imagined or real, guide our passage over deadly waters - holding us fast on the road and safe from drowning.   March,  2007
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17
Vote for him or vote for her, Vote for anyone you like, Use your vote don't lose your vote, If you believe in all the hype, The hype that's being pumped out, By politicians by the score, Posting posters and pamphlets, On your window and through your door, They're all after your vote, A vote to get them a job, Some are career politicians, Some are just there to rob, When the voting's over, And their seats have been retained, They just ignore the public, Till it starts all over again.
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Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
raymond-dickson
Your Vote
Vote for him or vote for her, Vote for anyone you like, Use your vote don't lose your vote, If you believe in all the hype, The hype that's being pumped out, By politicians by the score, Posting posters and pamphlets, On your window and through your door, They're all after your vote, A vote to get them a job, Some are career politicians, Some are just there to rob, When the voting's over, And their seats have been retained, They just ignore the public, Till it starts all over again.
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16
looks like another night alone a heavy eyed boy moving heavy boxes into your home “i’ll see you tomorrow, love, when the light is new” never felt as good as waking up next to you but the way you crawl into my bed each time you come well both those heavy eyes and i become undone and you can blame it on things like running away online, lost and found, reward, posted today and wanted posters hanging around town yeah, you’ve been around town and i’ve been waiting up for you but lover, i’ve gotta put you down drink until that mark on your neck starts to fade purple never looked good on you anyway
0
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
kelia
national donut day
looks like another night alone a heavy eyed boy moving heavy boxes into your home “i’ll see you tomorrow, love, when the light is new” never felt as good as waking up next to you but the way you crawl into my bed each time you come well both those heavy eyes and i become undone and you can blame it on things like running away online, lost and found, reward, posted today and wanted posters hanging around town yeah, you’ve been around town and i’ve been waiting up for you but lover, i’ve gotta put you down drink until that mark on your neck starts to fade purple never looked good on you anyway
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14
I wrote a letter to my 12-year-old self and It went something along the lines of “Love Yourself” but counselling office posters read the same things so I ripped it up. See, I used to think that I could fly into the Sun and it would feel like a warm hug, nothing So drastic as incineration Then I saw what could happen to pallid skin on a hot day and my mindset changed. I wrote a letter to my 10-year-old self and it Was more like a warning, (a red light is flashing, don’t fly into that tower) Don’t let yourself become cynical Don’t forget to call your grandmother Don’t get so caught up in making money that You’ve forgotten what it means to be a kid You should be doing loop-the-loops around That tower, Roll upside-down, see your city like a bird. Don red, bleach your apron, do something Radical to it. This has become the unsung song of your life You’ve forgotten to live.
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Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
kk-1
maturity
I wrote a letter to my 12-year-old self and It went something along the lines of “Love Yourself” but counselling office posters read the same things so I ripped it up. See, I used to think that I could fly into the Sun and it would feel like a warm hug, nothing So drastic as incineration Then I saw what could happen to pallid skin on a hot day and my mindset changed. I wrote a letter to my 10-year-old self and it Was more like a warning, (a red light is flashing, don’t fly into that tower) Don’t let yourself become cynical Don’t forget to call your grandmother Don’t get so caught up in making money that You’ve forgotten what it means to be a kid You should be doing loop-the-loops around That tower, Roll upside-down, see your city like a bird. Don red, bleach your apron, do something Radical to it. This has become the unsung song of your life You’ve forgotten to live.
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24
Timbeck Tyu,  Timbeck Tyu Great City Timbeck Tyu Coloured Walls Nicely Painted Arts and Drawing Everywhere Artifacts on every crossing People's representatives feel like king Magnificient buildings here and there Bridges and flyover everywhere Toll tax booth here and there Statues standing everywhere Banners hanging here and there Hoardings, posters everywhere Malls and Hotels here and there Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere Citizens always in Crisis Struggling with poverty Economical condition bad Politicians has gone mad Nationalism in Slogans Here and there hooligans Real nationalist are renamed They are called anti-nationals Corruption is on the peak You need license to speak Crowd imposes censorship System respects the crowd Mouse catches the Crow Everything on the show Real news not covered Real issues are untouched Fake news are implanted Press and Media on sale Laws are being twisted Burden of proof shifted Culprits are honoured Innocents are hanged Farmers are in debts Their families are starving They can't even pay their loans Neither Principal nor interest They either commit suicide or land in jail for not paying loans Hospital competing with hotels Doctors busy in making money Patients treatment is on Sale Get cured only if you pay Stray Animals on the rise What you can do if you cry? Black money in circulation White money is called pollution Rapes, Murders and theft on rise Law and order is on the papers Lawyers are with Politicians Politicians are with Criminals Criminals are with the Police Police is with the Capitalists Only the God is with the victims That too only, if he really exists Population almost exploding Environment full of pollution Fights and quarrels here and there Religion and faith always on stake Caste and Classes everywhere Race and Religion everywhere Common people struggling for food Saints consuming wine and drugs Rallies and protests uprising The system has turned deaf Goddess of law weeping and bleeding Judges busy in process law and rules Timbeck Tyu,  Timbeck Tyu Such a great city Timbeck Tyu Have you liked Timbeck Tyu? Want to live in Timbeck Tyu? If you liked, Timbeck Tyu Want to live in Timbeck Tyu First apply for passport in your country Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late Visa's are limited so take care
0
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
shivppal
Great City
Timbeck Tyu,  Timbeck Tyu Great City Timbeck Tyu Coloured Walls Nicely Painted Arts and Drawing Everywhere Artifacts on every crossing People's representatives feel like king Magnificient buildings here and there Bridges and flyover everywhere Toll tax booth here and there Statues standing everywhere Banners hanging here and there Hoardings, posters everywhere Malls and Hotels here and there Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere Citizens always in Crisis Struggling with poverty Economical condition bad Politicians has gone mad Nationalism in Slogans Here and there hooligans Real nationalist are renamed They are called anti-nationals Corruption is on the peak You need license to speak Crowd imposes censorship System respects the crowd Mouse catches the Crow Everything on the show Real news not covered Real issues are untouched Fake news are implanted Press and Media on sale Laws are being twisted Burden of proof shifted Culprits are honoured Innocents are hanged Farmers are in debts Their families are starving They can't even pay their loans Neither Principal nor interest They either commit suicide or land in jail for not paying loans Hospital competing with hotels Doctors busy in making money Patients treatment is on Sale Get cured only if you pay Stray Animals on the rise What you can do if you cry? Black money in circulation White money is called pollution Rapes, Murders and theft on rise Law and order is on the papers Lawyers are with Politicians Politicians are with Criminals Criminals are with the Police Police is with the Capitalists Only the God is with the victims That too only, if he really exists Population almost exploding Environment full of pollution Fights and quarrels here and there Religion and faith always on stake Caste and Classes everywhere Race and Religion everywhere Common people struggling for food Saints consuming wine and drugs Rallies and protests uprising The system has turned deaf Goddess of law weeping and bleeding Judges busy in process law and rules Timbeck Tyu,  Timbeck Tyu Such a great city Timbeck Tyu Have you liked Timbeck Tyu? Want to live in Timbeck Tyu? If you liked, Timbeck Tyu Want to live in Timbeck Tyu First apply for passport in your country Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late Visa's are limited so take care
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80
Video game brain "I want you but I'm scared" Absolution  Adventure All or nothing with me or against me! 3-D worlds in posters Just walk into them as you sleep I miss those teen days.
0
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
dev
Teen Daze
Video game brain "I want you but I'm scared" Absolution  Adventure All or nothing with me or against me! 3-D worlds in posters Just walk into them as you sleep I miss those teen days.
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8
August, the Red Line, connected tanks of bolted plastic vertebrae. Every seat gone except five rows up, where a sea lion sprawls across two, stuffed backpack, yellow jacket spread out like caution tape. His grunt a wet bark at the glow of his screen. Middle-school deer slip into the aisle, chatter clipped when the sheriff drifts past, their ears flicking, smiles bitten shut. Not a predator- just a gelded ox, chest puffed, badge sagging, glass-eyed, chest rig clattering with blanks. Two lemur-children cling to their tortoise elder, her shell steady against the sway of the car. She shepherds them from the surge of riders: loud Dodger blue parrots in cholo socks, moth-women with plumed lashes beating the stale air, a stray dog, gutter musk dragging at its haunches. And one gray bear muttering alone, arguing with her reflection. Between Koreatown and MacArthur Park, somewhere the sea begins to breathe again, then, feathers forcing through my skin- an alley gull knifing into this clamour, scavenging inside its exhaust. The car rattles, its ribs plated with blistered posters: museum wings open to no one, ‘register to vote’ fading into graffiti script, flu shots promised by smiling ghosts. A bruised hatchling staring out beside the words See something, say something. The warning lights glow like eyes hunting in the dark. From its flanks the train unfurls iron claws. They rake the tunnel walls, the city’s bones, the dark itself.
0
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC
William-A-Gibson
The Gull Below
August, the Red Line, connected tanks of bolted plastic vertebrae. Every seat gone except five rows up, where a sea lion sprawls across two, stuffed backpack, yellow jacket spread out like caution tape. His grunt a wet bark at the glow of his screen. Middle-school deer slip into the aisle, chatter clipped when the sheriff drifts past, their ears flicking, smiles bitten shut. Not a predator- just a gelded ox, chest puffed, badge sagging, glass-eyed, chest rig clattering with blanks. Two lemur-children cling to their tortoise elder, her shell steady against the sway of the car. She shepherds them from the surge of riders: loud Dodger blue parrots in cholo socks, moth-women with plumed lashes beating the stale air, a stray dog, gutter musk dragging at its haunches. And one gray bear muttering alone, arguing with her reflection. Between Koreatown and MacArthur Park, somewhere the sea begins to breathe again, then, feathers forcing through my skin- an alley gull knifing into this clamour, scavenging inside its exhaust. The car rattles, its ribs plated with blistered posters: museum wings open to no one, ‘register to vote’ fading into graffiti script, flu shots promised by smiling ghosts. A bruised hatchling staring out beside the words See something, say something. The warning lights glow like eyes hunting in the dark. From its flanks the train unfurls iron claws. They rake the tunnel walls, the city’s bones, the dark itself.
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44
hand cranked re-imagined 35mm slides Rough Trade posters on the wall Pepsi and premade sandwiches on the counter aperture: wide open he sees her often at the multiplex there she flirts from the third row; second seat sheer blouse hands in elliptical motion pointing toward silk chiffon shells the invite in a tilt of her mouth lip; gloss eyes hidden from the light a prayer before intermission celluloid reliquary reveals God's plans lest her trifling with him cause a miss in changeover enraging his self-regarded audience the walk back to his car one long montage of her lacing up
0
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 10:02 AM UTC
Carlo-C-Gomez
The Projectionist
hand cranked re-imagined 35mm slides Rough Trade posters on the wall Pepsi and premade sandwiches on the counter aperture: wide open he sees her often at the multiplex there she flirts from the third row; second seat sheer blouse hands in elliptical motion pointing toward silk chiffon shells the invite in a tilt of her mouth lip; gloss eyes hidden from the light a prayer before intermission celluloid reliquary reveals God's plans lest her trifling with him cause a miss in changeover enraging his self-regarded audience the walk back to his car one long montage of her lacing up
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25
We are a global society When we want oranges in the fruit bowl, When we want out of our rut Just long enough To brown in a patch of Spanish sun. We are a global society When the Japanese car breaks down And we are in need of a cheap fix To keep food on the table, Some Latvian mechanic Who helps us find our way home. We are our own nation, An island nation, When the zeroes run low And there are spaces, Foreign faces, To which we can point And blame. We are a global society With our sweat-shop chic, American coffee chains Selling Colombian ground beans, Frappuccinos in plastic cups- Made in China And served by a Romanian barista In Italian heels. We are a global society When the demand is high And the payment is low. We are our own nation, An island nation, When hands reach out for help And our pockets are too shallow, Our time, too brief To commit to a unity We feel is dragging us down. We are a global society When the football is on, When the lager is Belgian And the supermodel, Greek. When we cradle that bag of Cheetos After smoking too much **** We are a global society When oppression is overt, Caricatured in bulletin posters, Threatening to land Upon our own front door. We are our own nation, An island nation, When poverty seems contagious, When we have to clean up Someone else’s mess, Still we scar the Middle East Only half-interested in an exit. We are a global society When we get sick, When we borrow another doctor For our ailing NHS. When cities of white people burn, We are a global society, When Africa is divided, We are nowhere to be seen. Prime mover of the commonwealth Yet we fall beneath the breadline And living easy is so rare. We are our own nation, An island nation, Under the false flag Of a golden age We were conned to believe in. Our nation, our island nation, Lost amongst a sea of misinformation.
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Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
Edward-Coles
Great Britain
We are a global society When we want oranges in the fruit bowl, When we want out of our rut Just long enough To brown in a patch of Spanish sun. We are a global society When the Japanese car breaks down And we are in need of a cheap fix To keep food on the table, Some Latvian mechanic Who helps us find our way home. We are our own nation, An island nation, When the zeroes run low And there are spaces, Foreign faces, To which we can point And blame. We are a global society With our sweat-shop chic, American coffee chains Selling Colombian ground beans, Frappuccinos in plastic cups- Made in China And served by a Romanian barista In Italian heels. We are a global society When the demand is high And the payment is low. We are our own nation, An island nation, When hands reach out for help And our pockets are too shallow, Our time, too brief To commit to a unity We feel is dragging us down. We are a global society When the football is on, When the lager is Belgian And the supermodel, Greek. When we cradle that bag of Cheetos After smoking too much **** We are a global society When oppression is overt, Caricatured in bulletin posters, Threatening to land Upon our own front door. We are our own nation, An island nation, When poverty seems contagious, When we have to clean up Someone else’s mess, Still we scar the Middle East Only half-interested in an exit. We are a global society When we get sick, When we borrow another doctor For our ailing NHS. When cities of white people burn, We are a global society, When Africa is divided, We are nowhere to be seen. Prime mover of the commonwealth Yet we fall beneath the breadline And living easy is so rare. We are our own nation, An island nation, Under the false flag Of a golden age We were conned to believe in. Our nation, our island nation, Lost amongst a sea of misinformation.
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72
*Her prized first bike came out of a breakfast cereal competition. Then sped her around London from lecture to final examination. Twenty years on it was replaced by gleaming white and black carbon. Bought, lacking in memories faster, lighter with a baby seat for Bethan. Fitness, a priority this year swimming in the pool, open water and the sea. Clare selected a running coach cycling home at an ever higher cadence for tea. Happy, with her performance in her very first event as a triathlon novice. A second, saw Clare pedaling faster to race past fellow competitors with ease. In her last competition she was pictured lithe on posters promoting reactive sports glasses. Winning a new Felt racing bike, seats in the VIP stand for the Tour de France finish and her fit lasses-ass*. My congratulations dear hero...
0
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 10:26 AM UTC
dj-thomas
Tour de France - Clare has won it!
*Her prized first bike came out of a breakfast cereal competition. Then sped her around London from lecture to final examination. Twenty years on it was replaced by gleaming white and black carbon. Bought, lacking in memories faster, lighter with a baby seat for Bethan. Fitness, a priority this year swimming in the pool, open water and the sea. Clare selected a running coach cycling home at an ever higher cadence for tea. Happy, with her performance in her very first event as a triathlon novice. A second, saw Clare pedaling faster to race past fellow competitors with ease. In her last competition she was pictured lithe on posters promoting reactive sports glasses. Winning a new Felt racing bike, seats in the VIP stand for the Tour de France finish and her fit lasses-ass*. My congratulations dear hero...
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21
Engineering to the Bridge: "Time passed, but without us. A bit like Kepler's third, I suppose." Express your "law" another way. Throw rocks at the moon. Stone the satellite because of your own despicable sins. I see demise in your face. There's something strange about the through lines of your crew, the yellow journalism of their spacewalk. Posters of the wild frontier, staggered and torn, said nothing will go wrong. That sometimes death is merely the devil changing colors. "I think not, Captain. You laugh when you should cry. You tear to pieces the pictures of the overtaken. You run from the lie detectors. Otherwise, your narrative falls apart and all you're left with is your withered mind funneling down a ****** abyss..."
0
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 5:44 PM UTC
Carlo-C-Gomez
A Beginner's Guide to Destroying the Moon
Engineering to the Bridge: "Time passed, but without us. A bit like Kepler's third, I suppose." Express your "law" another way. Throw rocks at the moon. Stone the satellite because of your own despicable sins. I see demise in your face. There's something strange about the through lines of your crew, the yellow journalism of their spacewalk. Posters of the wild frontier, staggered and torn, said nothing will go wrong. That sometimes death is merely the devil changing colors. "I think not, Captain. You laugh when you should cry. You tear to pieces the pictures of the overtaken. You run from the lie detectors. Otherwise, your narrative falls apart and all you're left with is your withered mind funneling down a ****** abyss..."
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6
Absence of imagination, the End of independent thought. Cities reek of corruption, ****** and the greatest of sins. They raise and **** in by the millions yet onlysome men seem to win. Glorious eyes of curve-free posters used as wallpaper for the cleanest streets. Looking up to their Father all good citizens try to weep the plain and empty tears the Party demands them sheep. Maybe it will soon end, but I'm never able to trust us men; maybe weeks will tell, but I still can't seem to hear a bell Inside the people's empty homes, Fathers, sons left alone. Big Brother dominates, he commands, a billion voices in one hand. Behind the money lies the pain, into fields fall the rain. With empty pockets walk the road a thousand stories left untold. Blood can be found on every street, death and life here meet.    Maybe it'll someday end, but I'm never able to trust us men, maybe years will tell; but I still can't seem to hear a bell. A hungry stomach calls for meat, rotting, green, foul or sweet. Rank food from the kitchens, will be served, millions of peoples have reserved. Between the alleys at the mass the cross’s shadow isn't cast. Those booklets burn easy, use them well, let vain ideas fry in hell. Maybe it's will oneday end, but I'm never able trust us men. maybe our grandhildren shall one day know, Their grandeparents wept but did not sow.
0
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
henrybrooke
CCCP
Absence of imagination, the End of independent thought. Cities reek of corruption, ****** and the greatest of sins. They raise and **** in by the millions yet onlysome men seem to win. Glorious eyes of curve-free posters used as wallpaper for the cleanest streets. Looking up to their Father all good citizens try to weep the plain and empty tears the Party demands them sheep. Maybe it will soon end, but I'm never able to trust us men; maybe weeks will tell, but I still can't seem to hear a bell Inside the people's empty homes, Fathers, sons left alone. Big Brother dominates, he commands, a billion voices in one hand. Behind the money lies the pain, into fields fall the rain. With empty pockets walk the road a thousand stories left untold. Blood can be found on every street, death and life here meet.    Maybe it'll someday end, but I'm never able to trust us men, maybe years will tell; but I still can't seem to hear a bell. A hungry stomach calls for meat, rotting, green, foul or sweet. Rank food from the kitchens, will be served, millions of peoples have reserved. Between the alleys at the mass the cross’s shadow isn't cast. Those booklets burn easy, use them well, let vain ideas fry in hell. Maybe it's will oneday end, but I'm never able trust us men. maybe our grandhildren shall one day know, Their grandeparents wept but did not sow.
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60
Marilyn Monroe was beautiful She was sad, yes oh so sad. want people either wanted her or wanted to be her. She is gone yet you can feel her sadness you can see her beauty. It is stored like a jewel in the places she is immortalized, magazine ads movies posters books the internet. Her sadness made her beautiful as well as her happiness. Aren’t we all a little of both? Yin and Yang Her happiness was so extreme her sadness was so extreme yin yang her balance was intoxicating you cant look away beautiful so so so **** beautiful I want to be that I want people to stare while I walk by. I get a rush when I feel the eyes staring at me. Power, I feel powerful when I walk bye and his eyes are burning through me but I never stop I just walk right by him he will never have me. I feel power but I am scared. of him of me ying yang gemini her and I the sign of the twins 2 minds one body ying yang what a confusing thing to be a gemini I hate it no I love it. base my life of the stars? crazy most people say no, everything is connected me the stars you marilyn we are all connected. champagne pills numb the pain she said. Sweet, people call me sweet **** people tell me I am **** yin yang Sweet and **** oh I am a lucky girl to be both. not one day no there is not a day I would deny a glass of champagne or happiness compressed into that white white pill mask the pain embrace the pleasure. I want love I want so many men to fall in love with me, that I will let so many drop and fall because I only have 2 arms to catch them. But it wont matter they will come crawling back again and again. love hate yin yang Intoxicating you wont be able to get away. you can’t, no one can run run Did I ever tell you? Me and Marilyn are quite the same.
0
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
stellaw4
Yin Yang
Marilyn Monroe was beautiful She was sad, yes oh so sad. want people either wanted her or wanted to be her. She is gone yet you can feel her sadness you can see her beauty. It is stored like a jewel in the places she is immortalized, magazine ads movies posters books the internet. Her sadness made her beautiful as well as her happiness. Aren’t we all a little of both? Yin and Yang Her happiness was so extreme her sadness was so extreme yin yang her balance was intoxicating you cant look away beautiful so so so **** beautiful I want to be that I want people to stare while I walk by. I get a rush when I feel the eyes staring at me. Power, I feel powerful when I walk bye and his eyes are burning through me but I never stop I just walk right by him he will never have me. I feel power but I am scared. of him of me ying yang gemini her and I the sign of the twins 2 minds one body ying yang what a confusing thing to be a gemini I hate it no I love it. base my life of the stars? crazy most people say no, everything is connected me the stars you marilyn we are all connected. champagne pills numb the pain she said. Sweet, people call me sweet **** people tell me I am **** yin yang Sweet and **** oh I am a lucky girl to be both. not one day no there is not a day I would deny a glass of champagne or happiness compressed into that white white pill mask the pain embrace the pleasure. I want love I want so many men to fall in love with me, that I will let so many drop and fall because I only have 2 arms to catch them. But it wont matter they will come crawling back again and again. love hate yin yang Intoxicating you wont be able to get away. you can’t, no one can run run Did I ever tell you? Me and Marilyn are quite the same.
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99
i never understood the phrase home is where the heart is until i was shaking on the floor of my hospital room and it was nothing but walls and even when i found the energy to decorate with cliché little things like fairy lights, posters, my skeletal “art” i felt the room swallow me whole until i was nothing but a grain of sand my new roommate was a wrinkly zucchini-girl and i tried not to speak to her but we heard each other cry in the night and we never said a word but i could feel her eyes on me a girl down the hall heard me talking about my addiction and she told me she would pray for me later that day she pushed me into a wall and pressed her lips against mine then told me i was tempting her, i was a sin just waiting to happen so i sat in the dark outside her room every night before i went to sleep and sometimes she would come out and hold my hands and tell me she loved me
0
Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 12:52 AM UTC
wintergirl
home
i never understood the phrase home is where the heart is until i was shaking on the floor of my hospital room and it was nothing but walls and even when i found the energy to decorate with cliché little things like fairy lights, posters, my skeletal “art” i felt the room swallow me whole until i was nothing but a grain of sand my new roommate was a wrinkly zucchini-girl and i tried not to speak to her but we heard each other cry in the night and we never said a word but i could feel her eyes on me a girl down the hall heard me talking about my addiction and she told me she would pray for me later that day she pushed me into a wall and pressed her lips against mine then told me i was tempting her, i was a sin just waiting to happen so i sat in the dark outside her room every night before i went to sleep and sometimes she would come out and hold my hands and tell me she loved me
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31
I'm sad and alone and everything I touch turns to gold, but that's the life, amirite? Money's the only matter that matters and some kids three worlds away are getting kidnapped and killed for quotas while these kids are worried about their quote of the day. And, by kids, I mean little girls at age three being sold on the streets and in between sheets in countries that aren't all that far away, and little boys whose coloring pages are filled with explosions and guns cause it's literal war they're waging. But down the way, parents are posting posters in their children's rooms prompting inspiration: it's something about peace and love-- I mean, that's what they all say. Well, I've made my peace with the pieces of this prayer, a priest standing golden over me as I throw my diamond-encrusted hands to the air and scream, "Someone save me." But these people don't care. I am a man of gold with a heart of stone and no one cares because, frankly, Neither do I. Statistically speaking, everyone in the States clings to the belief that if they just earned an extra fifteen percent wage annually, then they could live happily. But, darling, when everything you touch turns to gold, statistics don't quite fit the diagnostics. I am the outlier, the outright liar, the purveyor of pride that cost me my life but who cares? I mean, I've got my money. I've got my money in a capitalist country that feeds off circulation and circumstance that leads brains to short-circuit short-cut economic politics and slaughter chances, rather than enhancing the value of a life that money can't add up to. Welcome to the slaughterhouse. Welcome to the tolerance of intolerance of humanity. Welcome to the closing scene, where we can be seen on the Globe, on William Shakespeare's pun-fully named stage cause that's what all the world is, and so's this gold. It's a play, cause some day the curtains will close and all my props will remain on the stage and I am sad and alone with my heart still fo stone but without any gold. I've lost my touch, and without this cash I'll be nothing but a ten second news flash announcing to the rest of these underpaid actors that I've been knocked off my throne. I don't think I was ever a king to begin with, just a man who could forge fool's gold.
0
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
hutchinson
King Midas
I'm sad and alone and everything I touch turns to gold, but that's the life, amirite? Money's the only matter that matters and some kids three worlds away are getting kidnapped and killed for quotas while these kids are worried about their quote of the day. And, by kids, I mean little girls at age three being sold on the streets and in between sheets in countries that aren't all that far away, and little boys whose coloring pages are filled with explosions and guns cause it's literal war they're waging. But down the way, parents are posting posters in their children's rooms prompting inspiration: it's something about peace and love-- I mean, that's what they all say. Well, I've made my peace with the pieces of this prayer, a priest standing golden over me as I throw my diamond-encrusted hands to the air and scream, "Someone save me." But these people don't care. I am a man of gold with a heart of stone and no one cares because, frankly, Neither do I. Statistically speaking, everyone in the States clings to the belief that if they just earned an extra fifteen percent wage annually, then they could live happily. But, darling, when everything you touch turns to gold, statistics don't quite fit the diagnostics. I am the outlier, the outright liar, the purveyor of pride that cost me my life but who cares? I mean, I've got my money. I've got my money in a capitalist country that feeds off circulation and circumstance that leads brains to short-circuit short-cut economic politics and slaughter chances, rather than enhancing the value of a life that money can't add up to. Welcome to the slaughterhouse. Welcome to the tolerance of intolerance of humanity. Welcome to the closing scene, where we can be seen on the Globe, on William Shakespeare's pun-fully named stage cause that's what all the world is, and so's this gold. It's a play, cause some day the curtains will close and all my props will remain on the stage and I am sad and alone with my heart still fo stone but without any gold. I've lost my touch, and without this cash I'll be nothing but a ten second news flash announcing to the rest of these underpaid actors that I've been knocked off my throne. I don't think I was ever a king to begin with, just a man who could forge fool's gold.
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40