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Scott M Reamer Apr 2013
Man life know just set eyes way like young world soul day hunger space mouth earth thoughts ignorance blind things mind knew final moment human creation kind creatures souls high forgotten dream love spoke self existence face holy deep bound think home void say surrender ear forever called held ephemeral red state end shall heed hope edge living waking fall sea wake garden need February thought past wanderer got men page colored tepid terrible **** proudly untitled features point painted faceless box forgot render wild spring splendor  handfuls looking half brain lost torn ancestral  unseen vision inner summer honor mister owned banner save today fear groans wasn't smoke  street fable strange year contrast black years  able pain body spoken word known motion  palpitate reeling nature culture disclaimers  cancer beg attentive frames ****** base profound double remember wholly finger death token  cries continue folk oh fishing form broken true  divides spread ah twas away breathe wait warning hallowed wish closer lens turn eye live  constant current author hung theory dangle  bramble chemical new force changes adderall  anymore giving beneath possess pardon commentaries eternity internal walk reason  long change does idea glimpse consciousness  wandering simply wonder physical dreams war  sleep told rest benign prior begging truth little  2012 born tale crow bowels allegory animal rule  exasperate making horse curse hands ones read  rearrange capture doing command fail awake  aperture seedlings shift steely sir nap spead ****** demons slits clever telling loud spits la-la-di-dah killing slip game reflected nameless ask  lovers rabid bear salivate plunder shameless  famously savior mint rides menthol bully fate traded melodies play misunderstand mammals gentle witless fine utterly savage silt tongue-less  dirt dilutes pure non-sensory taste briefly ravage dismember it''ll shedding ruined curtain  knots offers plot fulfills munificent two-act  relegates boxz bug altruistic wintergreen tossing  callously guise grovels one's singers treachery ashes mid-life mutter fashion parading  ambiguity separatist liars staple steeping neath  guidelines scoffing stitch moans civil wrote  Fictitious undoing fables table effigies serve  sonnets staged remark psalm swoll praise harken  beggar verse bread lines heavily electricity detection snow sack-happy preaching credit  spotted wicked best gravity gun campaign owe  barge choir revelry celebratory satiated sinking  headline pack hound persistently propaganda  gentlemen excluding diminished ******* run idles  occupied levies wolfishly honestly misinformation cuba vehemently dumb grace spectator erasing  toned sage crowded secrets inter-connectivity  loaned prayer hymns grave mistaken magnified  vandals selective jump leak escapes says minister  buckle mass honesty shut tar children's hats  monument doping long-lived electrical ladle  exaggerated cartoons address seconds cool cradle bleak yang's mind-framed hypnotic  walker caps folly treble claim streaks mixtures  swelled interstate elapse teasing spoon mobile  succulent witchcraft borderline fatal 99 temple stacks sups plastics creeps neurotic ills tossed  meek sipping old crack interlock wax alleyway  coughing blown freak clock birthdays societies  slow flashing viscous candy argument toothless  pills cerebral rapt wall bisect lives wheezing  photo kid starter foiled pair saturated self-castrating pre-packed naked uncertainly pill  used came chaos coated reprisal fells wrack  irreverent mirth sickly disinherited proudest  collate wheeze appearance palette disharmony  discontented bastardized emotive bio inhale diction beat spoiled reclamation loudest tempo  totally disembodied matte imperfect shells flat  struck sounding imparts flak origin severance remarked bone walls snared leaflets mocking  hot scripting adjective noun agape seemingly  resistant gawk calamity passage paintings wind  trashcans signings sits cheap makers poetry persist scrap slipping individual talk wonders  leaving questions fold actor fancy parchment  fates engenders flown jaws stripped longer music  sacrifice fakers book boldly frown sigh atop patient hang trade occupation blows spectacular  whispers worthy backward waving certainty danced suppose needn't ‘drawkcab’ second-guessing  boys forget marched motto heads tightly lies two-tone earthbound harp twice turns goodnight  lying ***** internally indiscriminate nickname  drunk convictions myth steep  in-consumption  fitting artist **** universal sick expressions bad  du spell melody big siphon proud learn sprawls song spastic something temperaments utter check  fissures stomp totality blend definitely thrall sing rug voice shade pestilence ties commiserate round devil steady brains emotional certain gate  suckling gates dearth decay weight bounce pound  carrier pangs glass startle contest earthen web  tug pressed air patience flush amassed guest gone apprehension staring empathize captain believe fading in-perceivable deathbed guarder makes surrounds scatter drooling ebb blink cob tome  venom near door lair derision draws host stairs scent parts curiosities spider webbing surprise wares tips stepping ascetics starkness realize picture surroundings dictations grand pillars  deaf limited comparisons greet visual residents  personal settings dismiss alien law stability common earthly shiftless places prelude  understanding mosaic keen trifling embodiments  geared inception whisper visible jowls kiss murky  puddle rank dawn dichotomy single faithful fraying pays tailor veil climb mores pence whim  breath wellspring samara god stony pear  shadows fruiting forebodes moonlit looming  shown passed bog gold wracked faint tongues  noble preachers mirror shifting layered depth  threads jungle narcissus bemused seamstress self-worshiping architect's wore slumber anomalous  opened barren seam lip caustic scene coupled brick gardener's clenches -with forms idle breed  embodied lore starving empathy design illusion  tree coat fabricate lucid mason scatter-all  narrative seeking imbued 16th shivering chemicals 17th 15thrisk improperly dare  deliberate plan purge try brought chapter speed  aide utmost spirit leading intervention felt  recall recent advent sincerity times diary  lackluster piously lasting happy holding hear  stem tasteless whimpers wet spine monstrosity  dripping causes position quite softly claws pallet  answer digging tearing beast satiating circle breaks skips redwoods beckoning rotted hushed  gray lapsing monoliths deities creborus  imbuement hand stroll paradigm rendered chorus shy whispering forest residual tension  surrenders tolerance lull anew sentenced  bearing tide birds dirge divergent rim joined  cogs wood hesitant mist emergent towering offer  awareness confinement inverted faultier stowed  plane sanctified blanketing trusting memory fossil flash twists laden self-indulgent fleeting invitation agony grip shore impetus lingering  crows promise gift union swallowing endless floor supposed ecstasy sensory intent  psychotropic cradling placement interned  jagged connectivity exchange congenial begun  summons singular spiral assumes ambient reciprocates re-entry fruition reached aggregate lifetime limbs birthed instinct  frightening tarry proper entire light  boundaries innocence pursuit ago discover left  youth's unknowing sacred time place meager  simple fact cast ceaseless wide-eyed literal  apparent coincidence create boldness morphed  crooked kempt mere stumble buried shutter fairy  pivotal definitive months worth shear ambition sound required journeyed self-reflections title  facets vague restless intimation gut wanderer's  leap motivate path account boy soon bears faith  question tripped reasons uproot awaited confronted days step heal provocations wisps crushing transcend chronicles instance  directness raw drove occurrence objective-less  real enters slightest confident nondescript  typify  foreshortened interment paradox bitter heart  devoid jeopardy angry sensation confidential guilty arrogance mercy compliance reprieve  vincent deadening factual sign emotion awe  inhibition shackled butterflies absence actual sciences acknowledgement violent stagnant  spiritual American doors roots lack matted fore  gestures society cause streams intensity hair impossible discord lonely hearts resounding  jest  what's flavored pains closed toxic contented  happenstance scientific knowledge yeah  wizardry shaking stifled withdrawn bloom  jitter dreads settle asocial hulton make  predisposed figurative reflections demeanors  wondered affect hulton's projected sense  morning industry arrays ghosts feeling  certainly endomorphic where's partially wrath  passer mornings jovial unease advertized asking  trash onward wished tempers media mentality connect pasts sharp-toothed scramble great colours trial test salvation continually lent  degree secretly subjection social waned  disconnected colors grimly intellectual civilization cash trading baffling particular  digest myths monumental ending seasons winter  repetition introducing agent everlasting  shoulders delivered honestly-- possession funny  continence history unsightly function suffering propulsion profession divulge familiar tugs era  importance capability perpetuation spite inventory words entirety leveling fray insight  date record continues writer getting evermore fellow tongue possessions identical proof accuracy education similar sack admittance  favor unravel conveyance guilt gives beginnings  predicting audacity definition bobby heady eaters frameless learned release stone grandeur sang  speak molds sleeps split built seats people folded  sheer pour evoked playhouse liquid boring  tellers frayed stark walked reality pleas doth  preformed shows beak pride squawks opinions  greatest bold stunning sightings he'd loudly slain  sunk watch legend precipice theater deeper compound commentator civility justly silly sin  reverent seen prophetic moral confounds notion  lacking explain attempt prolific viral estrange proclivity scorn hide blur pious strung eden's  horror cut skin arch cruel twig mother vile  pass lend woods peach shrunken trail man's canopy worn 434 eat warm limb familiar father delete.

You are what your reading lady. Now would you hold this gun?
Alyre Collette Mar 2013
The beginning of this story is pretty hazy, I’m not really sure I remember how the whole thing started but when it was happening it all seemed to make so much sense.
The first thing I remember, everything seemed normal enough, I was probably just going about doing the same things I do most days, nothing special. Then all of a sudden this terribly great thing happened. Everyone was talking about you.  Something important going on and you where right at the center of it. As I later found out you had gone missing or run away or just vanished, nobody knew. I defended you when they said they had seen it coming, that they had seen it in your eyes. I knew better than that. This was a place of loners and lovers, no families allowed, all the families had to go somewhere else, or at least they did.
I remember someone important, the Mayor maybe. He was like a cartoon villain, suave in a gray paper-perfect gray suit and silver hair slicked back just enough. He had a big smile and teeth like snow on a sunny day. He was a game show host villain.
He was the one making the biggest fuss about the whole thing. Always talking about how we shouldn’t feel ashamed of you for running away or that we should pray that you be safe wherever it was you had gone. But he just had those big phony teeth.
There was something going on with friends, at school I guess, like they wanted to keep talking about it but I didn’t. I knew you were coming back, how couldn’t you. I tried to explain to everyone that there was no way in hell I would be that cruel to myself, but they had no idea what I was talking about, they thought I was losing my mind.
You remember that time we tried that one drug and things were not as great as you expected. That night we thought we were both going to lose our minds. This time I wasn’t losing my mind. I had all the confidence in the world.
There was a lull midway through, I had no idea when you were coming back and I was starting to get annoyed with all the people around me. I couldn’t believe they were still making such a racket about the whole thing. They weren’t even like real people, they all had these defining characteristic which became their entire personality. They were caricatures of real people but I didn’t have the heart to tell them. I didn’t care enough to bother with figments, how could I?
Then suddenly the whole thing was different, there was some new great event going on. Everyone had gathered to some great big open amphitheater. All the seating was facing a big fancy stage with lots of lights on it. Behind the stage were hills. Everyone was talking about them, those where the hills they said you ran out into. As it turned out that was the reason for our being here. It had been like a hundred years or something since you had run away and everyone had come for a ceremony in your honor.
The whole thing was absolutely awful. It felt like we were there for a whole day, and the mayor was speaking for over half of that. Everyone was so captivated by his teeth and his suit that they barely heard what he was even talking about. They all acted as though what he was saying was breaking their hearts though, some even seemed genuinely inspired.                                       
The ceremony was going on and I was pretty done with the whole thing, I could feel the end coming. There was some pause in the speeches and all the seat sitters went to go freshen up. I took my chance and just ran out into those hills.
This was the best bit. All of a sudden I was in these hills, there was nothing but mountains in the distance and the stars were like light fixtures. They shone with color almost but the moon was so big and brilliant that everything was that perfect dim blue-silver color. By that light I could see the wind dancing in the knee-high grass, not like waves but more like snakes. I felt like a dumb rock when all I wanted was to be smoke, dancing with the wind.
Then you came down from the sky, you showed me all the dazzling swirls and swoops you could do and left all these crazy colors in your wake. When you finally settled down I saw you skin was like orange flame, soft like a marker drawing, moving around you like a flaming teardrop. Your core was all blackness and depth but I knew it was you. Who else would it be?
We hold hands and you fly us back to that big stage. We wait behind the curtain and we hear the mayor come on one more time. He’s telling the audience about one final display to tip off the ceremony, a dazzling light show preformed by a secret guest. I look at you in surprise but before I know it we’re making a run for it, speeding up those long aisle steps, up towards the exit doors at the top. Everyone is speaking about it at the top of their lungs but I can barely hear them over the sight of you. Your colors are all falling off and I can see your features being revealed as flakes of light peel away. We burst out the double doors and down some hallway. Out into the bright sunlight and I still can’t get over how beautiful you are.
And that’s how it ends.
Lori Mack Sep 2018
Puppet Master

You crept in like a mischievious thief.
Intrigued, decieved and retrieved my son.
Influencing and destroying his beautiful life.
Diminished his hopes, his dreams and his self-esteem.
Convincing him he had no future,
No love, no value was to his life.
Your wicked silk spun web of deadly lies,
Mislead him to believe,
That happiness and love cease to exist.
This is your fuel,
This your fire.
Your one and only desire.
You will not quit until they all expire.
******, black, H or tar,
You are a seductive liar.
Your needle point claws buried deep his arm,
Dripping with your poisonous conceit.
Now you are his puppet master.
Dominating his mind, his thoughts and his words.
Your malicious acts preformed through him,
Make him look wild, insane and disturbed.
Each day in your tight intense grip,
My son dwindled and shriveled away.
Becoming your molded and trained apprentice.
Coached to perfection in your twisted ways.
You are as bad as a ******,
A murderer and even more.
I hate you ******!!
You started a war.
I will not let you win!
Let go of my loved and cherished son.
Let him live a full and beautiful life.
I surrender to you myself.
Volunteer my own life.
Take me instead,
Be my puppet master,
Enslave me,
And let my baby live.

L. Mack

9/20/18
Perry Madison Jan 2017
Seasons change and life goes on,
my scenes switch off, times are gone with words
From CT, to New York, to Colorado, the world’s voice I’ve already heard.
But not everyone can see the world’s treasures in their face,
the beauties, people, lights and sounds across this finite space.
Or felt the stars in their souls, that’ll disperse one day
It’s not the case, so please sit down, and listen to what I say:

We’re all too busy honing in on things that shouldn’t stand out
Like why I speak the way I do, with etiquette and class
why I transcend the lines between specific roles
in what I say and how I act

I say:
Why question and judge the little things I do
in my life, which isn’t yours
to the point where you cut off ties and contact that never had been forged
Because your preformed images of a bisexual, black guy
warps your eyes and makes you blind, way that can’t be right, because
across time the blind eyes symbolizes truth
so these illusions in your way, blocking you in sooth,
serve no purpose, see the light and accept the natural proof.

My hair’s not *****, my behavior varies to where
it fits no norms. I’m beyond your views, don’t you see?
It’s the eye of the storm.

I say:
It doesn’t stop at me, no, no. It spreads beyond these walls
and affects those who are different, who break society’s “laws”
Wars and fights over basic things are all I ever hear,
beliefs, gender, color, orientation,
the common fight is fear

Fear to be seen as an abomination  
to break or fall from grace
To stay hidden from their true potential
for their own safety’s sake

I say:
That’s no way to live a life of
chances, hope and purpose
to live in shadows, cold and alone under
a hidden surface

I’m here to say that there’s no shame
in being who you are
to break the norm and stand against those
who dare to change your ways, to those who can’t accept
that life’s about change.

Why do I say such things? Why do I speak?
Why do I stand as one?
Our fate’s o n a string, the strong and meek
we’re all united under one sun.

I say:
We’re all human, how hard is it to understand that we’re the pieces
of one heart, united in a common band.
If we don’t accept this, how far can we go?
Surely we won’t last, but if we rise above this fog,
the human spirit will ever last against whatever
time and space may throw, whatever darkness we may fear.

Open your eyes, your ears, your heart
Because I say this: It all starts here.
Wrote this in High School
The Napkin Poet Dec 2016
To make wine,
Grapes are crushed then poured into fermentation tanks.
Once fermentation begins, the grape skins are pushed to the surface by carbon dioxide gases released in the fermentation process.

I am the only fruit who has the necessary acids to make natural, stable wine.
My tannins add a bitterness and astringency,
But I must be picked at the right time.
My acidity and sweetness must be zen in balance.
The right ones are sorted through, but not all of us make the cut.
Unable to be served as sweet wine, too bitter.
Some more sweet, not bitter enough.
Simply picked at the wrong time, their peak unwanted, forgotten.

After being sorted we are destemmed and crushed.
Our roots ripped from us, dignity stomped upon.
For years, it was done manually, by foot.
Now, preformed mechanically, systematically.
But hey!
"Mechanical pressing has brought tremendous sanitary gains as well as increased the longevity and quality of wine."

Grape abuse continues, white wine grapes are quickly crushed.
Why do you ask?
To keep unwanted "color" from leeching into the wine.
But red wine,
Red wine is left in contact with it's skin, forced to acquire more color, more flavor and additional tannins.

After being sorted and crushed, I naturally ferment with in six to twelve hours.
This continues until all my sugar,
Is converted to alcohol.
To produce dry, wine.

The final stage is aging.
I am bottled with a cork,
Put on a shelf.
And ironically,
await my optimal fruitfulness.
i had a broken toy box full of broken toys

flotsam and jetsam of a childhood
filled with playthings shattered and forgotten

in later years I would open that dusty
chest filled with dusty remnants of happier times and weep
for the friends I had left behind

shattered chunks of preformed plastic that
kept me safe when
barely out of diapers my Nuclear Family went

nuclear

lead paint and lawn darts
loose pieces and lost innocence

i learned the value of love through
spending time with cast off friends

i learned the value of respect through
seeing the pieces of the stickers that I
tore off my spider-man helicopter immediately

after

my mother and father in their last
act of love as a couple spent hours
placing them exactly as

instructed

i did not learn that one day i would
be a dusty old cast off toy in someone elses
box of broken pieces

in that world
toys are replaced before their

time

broken not by love and use but by throwing
them against the wall in a tantrum looking for
the next

shiny

new

thing
A discourse on our childhood playthings and how they affect our adult relationships.
Paul R Mott Mar 2012
A beautiful world turns round again
A simple man must meet his end
A bright new baby is born anew
A cycle can do nothing except renew

But no sick cycle is meant for us few
No endless circuit to remove us from the slew
Of public discord raining down from the heavens
We only stay on track to see where it ends

A broken sidewalk is our path to somewhere
To carry us away to a brand new nowhere
But no preformed path can lead us away
Unless we walk forward to find our own feet at play

A brand new day comes to find its own end
What irony arises from the end of a beginning?
When does a fresh start turn stale and still?
Do our new opportunities hover until they fall?
Or do we have to pluck them out of the air
So thick we can’t see, what the future means us to be

Are we failures or successes?
Do the powers that be know that we
Are the next wave of an endless storm
That batters the public consciousness
Leaving it forlorn and ragged
By the dissent of the vocal minority

We will forever be we, and that is a fact
The sullen masses can’t remove our power
An urge to survive will rain down like a shower
On the poor souls without the life of their dreams

The possibilities remain locked inside heads of lead
While those without any move on ahead
A world for the doer but not for the thinker
Can doom the ideas of the intelligent and weaker
People without the urge to move and shout
Living a life of inadequacy is their only way out

A great ending for these is not in the cards
Instead the powerful push down the bards
The dreamers who knew not the hunger
To leap to the top and remove any wonder
As to whom they could be
Must lie at the bottom explaining the lives
Of those successful but simpler spirits
Who lacked the essence but held on to ambition
A world that is just never comes to fruition.
Revenant Aug 2014
I miss how we were the only ones alike.
We were the only two of that caliber, and you knew it.
Electricity flew between your lips and mine.
We were beautiful.
I miss how our voices pierced the heavy silence around us, and tangled up with one another.
I miss how we preformed for no more than one another.
I miss how your melodies kissed my face as they glided about our space.
I miss our shared breath.  
I miss my voice moving in perfect time with yours; curving up to meet your highs, and dipping down to brush against your lows.
I miss the way you would look at me when I took control and owned the song-- with that sly, crooked grin.
The accidental physical touch
The longing when our time ran out
The lingering of your voice, and that crystal gaze burning into my core
The teasing and the backhanded compliments
Never too sure of what's work and what's play
But I'm sure of this:
There is a certain intimacy that comes with throwing your heart and soul into the void, and hoping it doesn't fall flat.
There's an even deeper intimacy that follows when you meet another voice, and you move and reach and swell and growl and throw everything you have into that one note.
Because without passion, we are dead.

Breathe into me.
Katrina Wendt Feb 2013
She started to walk away
Her little show complete
Preformed in front of everyone
But only he knew the meaning-
That she was done.

She could see the door
She had no more purpose here
She headed towards it
Never to enter this place
With trepidation again

"Wait!" Her heart stops
She feels sick, she falters
How dare he
Now she's mad
She keeps walking

"Please, stop."
And she does
But only to respond
Fury evident in every syllable
"Don't even try it."

He walks towards her
Past the people
Milling in the foyer
Some watching
They've heard the rumors

"I'm not going to try anything
But I think we should talk."
She stares at him
Glares at him
He thinks he has the right?

She stands there facing him
Rigid as an iceberg
And just as cold
If this is to be their last encounter
She doesn't want the starers watching

"We can go into my office" Always assuming
"Lead the way" And he does
He doesn't know
That the woman following behind him
Is not the girl he left behind a year ago

Another venture past wandering eyes
She feels the stares
But doesn't turn to acknowledge
Her back straight, head held high
She is ready

She follows him in
And shuts the door behind her
He speaks
"I think we have a lot to talk about,
But we don't have to do it here."

His words ask permission to continue
Permission not granted.
"No. I won't be seeing you again
So we're getting this done now."
"Please-" He tries, she snaps

"No! You don't get to talk!
Every time you talk
You spin words in circles
Until you have me believing
This is a good idea!

"So now I get to talk.
You don't get to do this to me anymore!
Because you've hurt me!
I've let you hurt me
Over and over again.

"But I'm done.
We're done.
You made your choice
The moment you set foot off that plane
And decided I didn't matter.

"Because that's what you did
You didn't call, text, write, or try to find me.
I was here, waiting for you
And you left
You made your choice, this is mine."

She left him in that office
Staring at the open door
Speechless
While she walked away, head high
She didn't look back.
mbernicole Dec 2014
Let’s say for a few years of your life, you chewed a pack of gum a day.  and this gum wasn’t a gum that got old, you never wanted a new flavor.  And this gum made you really, really, extremely happy.  Let’s say you were going through hell but this gum brought you back from it.  So then you wake up one day, and you can’t chew this gum anymore.  And you're given no reason as why so you're just walking around confused and uncomfortable because you're not chewing any gum.  And the thing is: you see gum everyday.  You just can’t have it.  And when something becomes a habit, you tend to think about it all the time when said habit is not being preformed.  And over time you learn that you can’t chew gum but you still don’t know why and you still think about it all the time.  Then half a dozen months have passed and you find yourself back in a good place but you still can’t get that juicy, flavorful, everlasting gum out of your head.   So you try to ignore the urge but it is always there, pulling at your brain, that you need this gum, that this gum makes you happy.  But you still can’t chew this gum, that isn't even an option.  Then its a year, and although you may not want to chew this gum anymore you still constantly think about it, because your body is so used to it, your body is not ready to give up the hope that someday you will chew that gum again.  Then one day, you get the chance to chew it.  It is sitting right in front of you, ready to be chewed.  And you bolt.  You bolt because that beautiful little brain of yours is trying to protect you.  Because yes, you can taste that gum again.  But there will come a day, soon or far, that said gum is taken away.  And you can’t be put through that again.  This is the best way i can describe my crave for you but my unwillingness to fulfill it.
this is not a poem, but i believe it to be very important.
Jo Nov 2013
Watching a sunset
Splay its colored body
Against a hollow, indigo sky.  
Her children,
Lost glowing specks
Of iridescent dust,
Peek out from behind their
Empty, lightless blanket -
Shy and blushing.  

Tongue and tooth
Clicking together,
Tickled by vibrating
Chords hidden in heated
Throats.  
Stories slink
From one mouth
To another,
Tickling their
Deep limbic systems
Until every nerve
Is laced with
Oxytocin.  

Laying in grass
More brown than green
With stomachs to the sky
Are bodies with connected
Palms.  
Formless dinosaurs spin
In shapeless teacups,
While amorphous cats
Shift into mustachioed whales.  

Bodies curl around each other
Like clay
Fusing into one piece
And two colors,
Both a shade of red.  
A chest meets a back.  
Its fluttering heart
Crashing through
Two sets of ribs,
To rest with another,
Both bleeding in tandem.  

Love is
Not some byproduct
To gather dust
While writhing, undulating bodies
Coat the air with sweat.  
Love isn't made,
Nor is it preformed.  
Love is
Noel Billiter Sep 2018
Short sided half blinded
Slight of hand and I’m reminded
Tricks hidden up his sleeve
As well as the Ace of diamonds
always ready for the next  show
As it must go on as we all know
Well suited half cocked fully booted
Well dressed and nicely suited
mischievous clever handsome gent
More confidant than the president
Well worded heavy handed compilments
Flow like honey from his lips
Sparkling smile and sinister grin
witty banter and articulate speech
Each magic trick a selfish greed
To trip you up and slow your speed
Prepared illusions well practiced form
precisly metered and preformed
Perfected evil and aptly staged
To keep you fooled and entertained
Anna Gray Mar 2014
The inner stitching's of my being have begun to unravel themselves.
Each thread held a piece of me that I swore never to release,
For it has brought nothing but evil and disgust to the ones that care for me.
I sowed them with a string so strong and a needle so sharp
That no wear nor test of time could break its hold.
But alas, my fingers must not be as still as they once were
For I find myself twitching at every mere brush of my hand against them.
One by one,
I pull at the stitching's of my dumbfounded self.
The master work I previously preformed has been undone by its
"master" worker.
The irony of the situation astounds me.
How I can and have wronged so many so harshly in such short an amount of time,
Yes, I once sowed these stitching's so tightly
That the devil could not sliver
his was past them.
But I was far to concerned with outside interference to open my eyes and see
That the most devious and most threating obstacle I had to face,
Stared me down in the mirror each and every morning.
I disgust my self. how could I be so low.
Quentin Briscoe Feb 2013
Still in the mist of finding my purpose...Like why do I stand here...you know I use to think that i was a flower bright and beautiful...that I was something everyone would need...but now I believe they feel the urge to call me a ****...That im growing in unwanted places...And so i look unappealing to many of their faces...Haven’t i preformed a miracle didn't you want me to grow...and now that I've out done my peers you don't want me to show...Yes there are thousands of us and i hope to make more...unique like me because you told me to soar..see they've been nurtured and cared for..Do you see what i've endured...No im not in a field, a valley, a hill top or, tuffit... but i've emerged from the ground...the rough hard moldings that i was around...i stand here bright tall my own lil treat...but em' just a **** if I grow from the street ...and as i try to reach out to others... i loose my bright colors..an slowly give myself away in the wind piece by piece by piece...as i die where you left me trying to grow out of the cold concrete....But it doesn't end there...See im still in the air...Me this **** have planted some seeds..In the pieces of me..Inspiring more flowers in their places of need!!
the first piece I ever performed in front of a crowd. Do you know any Dandelions
Lundy Apr 2013
It’s a granite bench that I frequent
Your name carved in stone; eternal
It’s the ink over my ribs.
A barrier to protect our vulnerable hearts
You used to tease me for my love of symbolism
How could we have known?

I’ve been reading up on Dickenson
I’ve been keeping my room a mess
I’ve been seeing you in my dreams

I talk with you there, but I still can’t talk with you here

On this granite bench that I frequent
I kiss your name in stone; eternally it lingers for you there
The next time I return, it remains, unclaimed and cold

What was protecting your heart?
Was it that through which the bullets tore?
Two to the chest, that’s all I’ve been told.
No CPR preformed.
****** up thought, I know.

I cut my bangs after your funeral
It was a poor choice
As we both could have predicted.
You would have laughed and kissed me all the more.
They’ve grown out now

During the time it took for them to grow, I hated the sunset
How could something so beautiful exist in the same world that kicked you out so soon?
How could I find peace in that?

And, I was ****** the moment that it did
It’s not a habit that I frequent
But none the less, that night I did
How could I have known?
A symphony of blinds clacking in the wind,
A leaky air mattress’s hiss, crickets that sounded ******
And I couldn’t move
So I just listened, and composed, and
All the while you bled, your heart stopped
Your last breath

I just laid there, ******, arms spread wide, eyes fixed
Maybe like you, I suppose?
****** up thought I know.

So, I offer a kiss to your name, carved in stone
I leave it there
But I know
It will just grow cold
And my ink itches me, over my ribs, over my heart

It must be the cold
Mote Dec 2014
Swallow and go. Something I can do, like pace myself or *******. You ask me what I write about. I say
famous people, and discrepancies.
Simulate applying mascara. Stainless steel reflections play tennis better than I ever could. [Yesterday] I read something that intibated me,
preformed a lobotomy without a drill.
I had a dream that I forgot my work shirt at a friends house and ran through downtown bare chested to see it serve as a shroud for the most recent saginaw st ******.
At the bottom of a heartbeat you explain the grandfather paradox to me. Why wouldn't I go back and shoot the man who ***** my mother? I could have been a time capsule; could have been a light saber,
could have been a different poet who wears a lot of tank tops but calls them camisoles. Late at night my
boyfriend is more treasure chest than in the afternoon, his drunk, swollen face hooked and dark like his indian mothers.
I tell him I am unfaithful every day at three, in the afternoon when he visits the crows nest to regurgitate tequila and recyclable fibers. I wear camisoles that I call tank tops; let some neighbor feel me up over a periwinkle floral pattern when I was trying to change my life. We then shared an avocado sandwich and
peddled the fattest grams on the east side.
Andrew Jan 2022
All the mistakes
I’ve made
I preformed
perfectly
Lucas Jul 2018
A king’s funeral, no trumpets no band
Is now arranged by a snake’s cruel command
Who stole the throne-room where he used to stand
And marries your mom with his ****** hands

The uncle who put your father inna grave
Ignores approach of the Norwegian knave
His passion for power, it’s all he craves
Not even an ounce of goodness he saves

I get why you’re mad and why the man, who
Took away your dad, and the life once had
The villain, the cad, deserves nothing more
than poison you add with just a small pour

You have hidden your feelings in plain sight
Screaming and ranting, you look for a fight
Polonius, curtain, Oh! I am slain!
Is it the king? No, P. dies in vain

‘cause they are all playing their crude games, right
Trying to play you like musician’s pipes
While the floutists break their stereotype
Their life of fiction, removing the blight

I get why you’re mad and why the man, who
Took away your dad, and the life once had
The villain, the cad, deserves nothing more
than poison you add with just a small pour

But it’s all in vain
You die just the same

You were going to **** him while he prayed
But fear of death your humanity swayed
conscience struck and your cowardice stayed
Lost all action, decided not to slay

Your goodness beat out the pain he did cause
you snatched your righteousness from evil’s jaws
Grace had beaten out the justice of laws
Fie! Claud sends you to England just ‘cause

Look, I get why you’re mad, but come on man
Life is too short, you should not end the span
You human, you gad, to your dad you swore
Either end him now or mercy, implore

But it’s all in vain
You die just the same

What happened while in the graveyard that night?
Chap-fallen Yorick? The digger’s delight?
Ophelia, Her corpse drownéd, snow white?
“To Be” you chose, but King Claud you (still) spite

I get why you’re mad and why the man, who
Took away your dad, and the life once had
The villain, the cad, deserves nothing more
than poison you add with just a small pour

Look, I get why you’re mad, but come on man
Life is too short, come up with a (good) plan
You human, you gad, to your dad you swore
Either end him now or mercy, implore

But it’s all in vain
You died just the same
Written and Performed for my English class
Paul Glottaman Feb 2010
I have tried to ****** Time.
To bring an end
to the movement of the spheres.
I spun counter to it's pull
but fell to the Earth
before the grave deed was done.
I have tried to slaughter God.
To wash the stain from my memory
Cossacks, draped around me,
habits dutifully worn.
Keep the others away from
that one.
He's not the same.
I have tried to fell a Giant.
Pushing back with every
ounce within.
Muscles tearing from the work,
and all the while coming to find
I needed this more
than I would like.
I have tried to drown a memory.
To dig a well so deep inside myself
that the bubbles will one day
simply stop.
As though somehow this one act
would forever redeem me.
I have tried to rewrite history.
Each swift movement of my pen
erasing the things I've done
the places I've been.
This clean slate will be all that
is left of me.
I have tried to overcome.
To find that place
where all is well and
my work,
such labors I have preformed,
can finally be
done.
irinia Jun 2015
the principle of uncertainty
when there were no corners
not yet
the energy of thought
preformed
the roots of leaves
preconditioned
the land of images without boundaries
I was the king of taste
this vessel took
changing forms
each minute
I was one with my hand
with my towels
with the red cube
of desire
I want was enough
to destroy
the names of dawn
this vessel knows the route to chaos
our guarding mother
take me in your sighs
hold me somewhere
in the sleeves
of thought
let's do it
let's feel one last bit
of the pulsing wreckage
we are full of promises we made
to ourselves
to take the route
to the next level
of ecstasy
we need a container
let's do it
let's chase the semantics
away
what remains is
the fruit of day
Scott M Reamer Mar 2013
Stunning sightings of a stark reality
Made boring as the playhouse sleeps
Watch the show pleas from the beak
The crow doth speak
A tellers tale of the human folk
Whence they both still walked and spoke
He cries in squawks of sheer wonder
A show he'd say loudly frayed
The people evoked only slain opinions
From the mouth black liquid pour
All the pride they had built, split
Release of their very souls
In surrender to the grandeur of the theater whole
So bold it preformed as the creatures sunk deeper
Into the folded molds of their seats
Thus sang the crow the tale he told
Of the how men became stone
At the precipice of only the greatest of shows
Jackie Aug 2014
Do you know what's weird
Silence
Like why do I have to keep my voice down when the world is sleeping
Just to be woken by
Cars
Trains
Planes
People
Heartbreak
Whatever
Like why should I hold my tongue just so others can speak their mind
If they wanted to speak their mind they would talk over me
Yell at me
Something
Instead I have to keep quiet
Quiet my mind
Quiet my passion
Just so I can sit in silence and wait for you to think of something meaningful to say
Let me help you
Today I said goodbye to my ex girlfriend
You might be thinking why when she is already my ex
She died June 22nd
And I still have conversations with her while I'm making food in the kitchen
Like she's going to walk in and tell me how her day was
And now I will have to deal with silence
I preformed my own funeral for her because I could not attend her real one
I wrote her name on a rock
I talked to a **** rock
I told the rock I loved it and that I was sorry and all I heard was silence
Really?
That's all I get rock?
After everything we've been through?
Well alright
I threw the rock in the river and watched it sink to the bottom
After the deafening splash came silence
I now hate silence
I stood on a bridge and waited for something to happen
I walked off in silence
I thought my words would resurrect her
I thought my apology would bring a more relieving feeling
So do not tell me silence can be a good thing
Silence leads to over thinking
So if you plan to talk over me, make sure you have something decent to say
A story to tell
Mine ends up being about a rock
A rock as a metaphor for my relationship
And nothing more
Goodbye rock
Now I can be happy with silence
Sespoquet Jun 2012
We sat on the back porch reading Bukowski to each other as we
hid from the sun.
Even the overgrown wasp from the summer before
feared the heat.
And I watched you blow smoke as you preformed and
as the shadows grew long and uneven.
And everything was good
and everything was perfect.

I left you that evening for far away states in an over driven
machine that floated through the concrete river.
Chased disappearing shadows until they were nonexistent.
And as sickly sweet poison and smoke paid homage
I thought of you and knew that
Everything was good and
everything was perfect.

Neither of us are certain how the world began
or the power of coincidence.
I will never be able to express how autumn
makes me feel, or how much I love you,
But I know that you are everything good.
You are everything perfect.
Annie Nichol Nov 2015
I remember...
I remember, just barely, my first dance with him
When he wasn't in pain and he laughed everyday
I remember, not even a year later, the first time he cried...
Everything fell apart as an avalanche swept over my house taking away all the joy and harmony
I remember the first time visiting him in the hospital
White as a ghost, helpless
I remember sitting next to him as he drifted in and out of sleep thinking
"What happened? Why did this happen?"
I remember not seeing him in the crowd for the first time I preformed on stage and visiting him in the ICU after
I remember
sitting
waiting  
crying
praying, for this to all to stop and for him to become whole again
I remember getting off the bus to an empty house, full of memories
I would give anything to recreate
Family bike rides, climbing trees, TPing the neighbors

That can no longer happen

I remember when the simplest tasks weren't challenges
Whoever thought tying your shoes would inflict such excruciating pain
I remember long road trips, watching sunsets on the beach, and endless boat rides
I remember tea parties, horse back riding and nothing but laughing in between

I Remember

I Remember the day when he became another statistic

I Remember
He remembers
We Remember
Jay 1988 Sep 2016
Daniel raced some ****** in the year of the monkey
For a brand new set of vintage strings
Beat the ****** real easy, took the vintage guitar
And smiled “hey man it’s just one of these things”
Placed the guitar over his shoulder, like a baby he held her
Closed his eyes and played some chords
With the chords came some lyrics, in the darkness he sat
In the center of Jensen Grand Concert Hall
The ghost on the piano, she preformed a haunting solo
Behind him was a phantom band
In front a phantom crowd
In the pre-warm up show, he rocked the empty old concert hall stand
Outside some kids from Coltman,
Drinking some beer and just smoking some crack
He and the phantom band headed home
Past the house of the Pocatello Nymphomaniac
Daniel walked up the stairs, sat on his chair, pulled out his guitar and played
Next door the neighbors sat with their ears to the wall listening to the midnight serenade
The old boy across the road in Jasmine Street opened the window, to hear the guitar crying
Listening to the sound of the junkies strings and the, silent neighbors smiling
In the morning he was still playing, his fingers red, they were getting tired,
The audience next door exhausted on the floor but, still smiling
Now back to the grand concert hall for his first ever gig, and the posters all around the town
Read Daniel and his 6 ****** strings are going to bring the house down
The local poet society, were reciting poetry to me, empty chairs in the hall, I stand on the stage looking for familiarity,on this day I’ve waited for
The first ones through the door were the neighbors who made love to my music
Tears still in their eyes from last night’s show, they took my gift of music and abused it
And the man from down the block he’s here too he shouted “Daniel this world needs more **** musicians like you”
Fat Shane from Mobile Alabama who’s just come out the slammer on day release to just see me
Soon the hall’s filled with 1200 faces all crowded in this space but there’s just 2 empty seats
One is for my mother who’s 3 years passed and told me son always follow your dreams
And the others for the ****** and the Monkey who lost the race and gifted these vintage strings to me
Dawn of Lighten Oct 2016
What is this movements to the notes and rhythms,
The breath that breathe life it's essense of eternal ether?

Mourn to moan the formulation of birth to ****** propatuate procreation and then to final destination, cycling the very foundation of life, rebirth, and death in sound that carry over from one another.

Music preformed by guitar, violin, base, cello to piano, or any of the string instruments that symbol the living life strand of the life we wheel.

As our longevity is finite, but with infinite choices to play with strings until our lines are cut or break, and no longer play the songs we so love to hear so dear to our ears.

For a beat that tinker to our muse to the music that linger in the faint of our memories, those memories we try to keep close to our soft pillow and tucked away in our minds to comfort us in our less then pleasant boundaries leaving us empty, like a good age wine to lets us dream.

The empty cups shall be the reminder that sound and tone shall sieze to calm with stringless nights, the song has sang the final tune and forever leave it's mark on the heart good night.  

Until that final symphony reaches it final tune, accept the notes as it is a song we live in a moment, for all music good and bad has it's epilogue.

One must choose to play their music, and find their final notes to end their master piece in due time.
Music is life as String is to our living lines, and like a musical string, one must tinker their tunes ever so true for a perfect sound of a music.
ShowYouLove Dec 2014
Lord you bless abundantly those who obey your command
For if we would listen and take heed you have given the promised land
So often you have preformed great signs and wonders in our age
Then we celebrate and proclaim your holy name and give you thanks and praise
How soon do we forget your glorious works Oh Lord
How fickle we are; how quick to fall into discord
Forgetting just how blessed we are, we worship those false earthly pleasures
Lured into traps by sin that sparkles as golden treasures
Money power greed jealousy and especially lust
Cause me grief, leaving me empty, treasure destroyed by ashes and rust
Stolen by thieves and vanishing like the winds throw the dust
Please remind me how much I need you always and go deeper into trust
We have separated ourselves from you and for it we pay the price
The consequences of our sin; repercussions of our vice
You have shown us the great error of our thoughts our actions and our speech
But please remind us that no matter how far we fall we are never out of reach

That there is forgiveness and there is grace
That there is love and a warm embrace
When we turn our hearts back to you
Are honest in our confession
And earnest in our desire to surround myself in what is pure and true
Samantha Sep 2015
Write me a poem that makes my cheeks burn
So that my only concern is how the world knows
all the ways you can tell me you hate me

Read me the lines of venom you spit when you speak
Because who cares about the tears that stain my skin?
My cheeks are a masterpiece of old emotion

But who cares?
When the words you write make people feel alive
They don't have time to ponder over my sarrow

I want to try and understand how you think
Why my voice grates your ears
Why my face conjures red infront of your eyes
Until you **** me with each cruel word
Your sharp edged pen now rested
My blood dripping from the tip

Write me a poem that makes me cry
All your cruelty wrapped into a small package
Written on old napkins or preformed on stage
Either way the audience claps
Or a waitress cleaning her tables at night will cry in awe

And my cheeks will burn red
The heck if I know
irinia Dec 2014
shh, let me tell you how this story goes in this silence as powerful as the one after the first atomic bomb, in this space of crushed illusions. you are alone, I know you are. that was counter therapeutic, that lack of hope when grandma struggled with the shovel against the frozen earth so early in the morning. it was besides the point that grandpa from the other chapter was playing violin outside, on the porch of this house of tears while a childlike woman swallowed the sunset in her frightened eyes. like the opposite of a hermit.
shh, there can be so little love, you know, only broken petty gestures, meaningless in any direction the wind would blow. yes, it’s no good to make love in the quietness of lavender fields. too many mothers have turned on the other side in their slumber sheets.
you know it’s been years since words are tempting to surface the horizon of events, it’s pure physics. something will remain  forever hidden behind the horizon, they say, who count the miracles of day. shh let’s not disturb now the other chambers of thought, I'll write to you each day like a child forgotten outside to play.
they are coming inside, I’ll put you somewhere in the preformed space, I’ll cram you somewhere into the smallest place. see you in the morning with the first breath.  you have to do this alone, redefining these tears, no one will do it for you.
our bodies link us together, do they know? I’ll just keep writing to you. mothers and daughters are bonded by scarfs when fathers just look aside. you are a wall breaker, this is what you are. the world cannot bear metaphors when dawn gets stifled by false pretence. I’ll feed you with words as long as necessary, till the air becomes more clear in the morning. some things can be born only by whispers.
Graff1980 Nov 2014
I am looking for a world where I don’t have to be sad
People don’t always act like their mad cause I know
That they are not bad, not cardboard cutout, stiff and preformed
Made to perform in the swarm to dive into the **** storm
Killing the warm form of normal affection for a quick *******
Defection for assimilation,
And I would consider self-immolation
If the rewards would exceed the pain it cost
The innocence we lost was just Christmas dressing
Preachers oppressing with fairy-tale lesson
Like lesions on our brains
Like leeches suckling on our flesh
The lies drain us of so much
They train us to do so little
So I am looking for a better world
Not out in space but a race to place human beings and nature
On a pedestal above baser things
A place where human beings belong to each other
Not the state or the denomination
No more discrimination
No more recriminations
Just a world more about love and less about greed
Xoi Dec 2015
What can speed like a dart
to the bulls eye but
never win the point
or stop so short
but still be over the line
when it comes out at night but
is still seen in the brightest
of lights headed for the potential
end of the earth but the show is
about to be preformed and
to the buck with a bassinet
at the tip of its antlers
I know for sure you will
set it down
softly
gentle giants
Pauline Morris Feb 2016
I'd drive a steak through your heart
But you don't have one
You knew from the start
You was only gonna play with me for fun
You said all the right words
Preformed all the right rituals
Around the edges you left it blurred
To me, you would become habitual
Like a cobra you left me hypnotized
With your hips swaying to the dance
The piercing gaze of your eyes
You knew I never had a chance
To you I was just a toy
Something to play with when you was bored
Something to fill the void
On your shelf you kept me stored
But I fell off your shelf and shattered
So you swept me to the side
After all to you I didn't really matter
You have left me cold and chide
Your useless toy tossed to the side

— The End —