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Corset Jun 2015
It follows my movements
behind a seashell,
every few steps
it drops the cup
over it's shoulder
prolifically it shifts
positions, so do I,
as slight of hand.

If the secret of love
is buried in his armpit,
and it is, maniacally.
Tho' not the kind
you buy at the movies,
of optimist derringers,
smoking guns.
Still,
flight begins when
the sun goes down
it shifts euphemistic trees
like shadow puppets
into walls of passion,
makes bulimia dreams
of doughnut holes,
something sweet
craving bakery counters
and bagels take up
the lonesome place
still ringing in our ears,
my ears,
placards hanging lobes
of the emotionally distressed,
handicapped dangle
I can't move my tongue
...again.
But, they still hear love
whisper their name
just before
the dawn becomes.
Sunny rising sonic
boom that scatters the birds
all  into synchronized
sign language.
We strain,
to hear them sing anthems
over the roof tops,
it makes us happy to hear
every time,
just one more time.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
if you want to know how it sounds... well a former girlfriend of mine had siblings younger than her, two boys and a girl... i started smoking when i was 21... after years of adamant protest against smoking, i remember times when smoking cigarettes was still legal in england in pubs and clubs, i'd come home after a night out and aired my clothes because of the stink... now i'm a steam-engine myself... goes like: puff puff choo choo! aged rock stars are the funniest people around, post-hedonism and they're all dieticians and healthy-life experts... anyway, if you're wondering how it sounds: a former girlfriend of mine siblings used to imitate jokingly the baritone of my voice... a darth vader sort of gimmick... now add the cigarette thick phlegm lining my larynx... you get the picture.*

i can attest with bukowski the problem of writing
into excess, there's a certain melancholy
surrounding writing prolifically,
all your best poems are lost,
well, "lost", in that there's so much
clutter, and esp. if you don't
keep personal copies, but shove
them all into a public domain
without a care, you don't have a chance
to rekindle reading some of
the poems you really enjoyed, or would
like to re-enjoy, i.e. re-read after you
re-read most of them to do the editorial
bits of revising a spelling mistake
or a faulty grammatical sequencing,
and then akin to nietzsche, who was taught
the laws of grammar like the laws of
physics (throw something up, it falls),
i was never taught grammar, my education
in language was based upon the method
that: if you can speak and write coherently,
you don't need the grammatical arithmetic
drilled into you - the principle of a good
education i guess: get a feel for it, mess around
with it, become a pioneering chemist or something;
and never, ever, write poetry conscious of
technique and identifiers like metaphors,
that's for the critics to spot, with their scalpels
of rhyme:

bay (a)
say (a)
bottom (b)
***** (b)
                         flay (a)
sanctity (c)
evidently (c)
                        common (b)               etc.

but still the melancholy, i sometimes wish i
could reread some of the poems i wrote,
but since i didn't keep any to myself, i don't
have any copies for myself, none stored in a darkened
place like a drawer, stacked pieces of paper or something,
and in an age of constant cyber warfare with
everyone hacking everyone, not keeping copies for
yourself seems rather mad, i'd hardly say it's daring,
i once lost a whole stash of poetry because
i simply asked a girl where she was from to get
a feel for her poetry, she reported me to the site's
administrators, and without a chance to explain
got erased, a little holocaust of never actually existing,
not as big a holocaust of what darwinism is doing
to us reaching far back into prehistory and the platonic
theory of forms of that mirror: man | monkey -
well, honestly, no, not from a theological point of
argumentation, the aesthetics aren't working on this one,
maybe that's why once the naked form of man
adorned by painters has become a pornographic jest
of mandible parts - and why does western society
sincerely make a fetish out of ****? horrid scenario...
anyway... it's mad that i don't keep any of the poems
for myself, i just throw them all into the public domain
because i feel they can be safe there,
and perhaps it's because i love the actual work of writing
poetry, more the love of the work than the end product,
even though i'd like to relive some of these poems
in my head, re-read them and see their optical correlations
leaving the blank plateau without hill or groove or
canyon... but then there's that sadness of some of
these poems becoming orphans... it's almost like they
don't know who bore them.
~
January 2024
HP Poet: Melanii
Age: 27
Country: USA


Question 1: We welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Melanii. Please tell us about your background?

Melanii: "My real name is Arianna. I was born and raised around Dallas, TX and am currently still living here. As it relates to writing, my background draws heavily from exposure to the arts as a child and the fascination, I guess, for beauty that this instilled. My parents (but especially my dad) were enthusiastic about music, art, history, literature, and the sciences, and my interest in all of these topics was piqued by association. Growing up I can recall countless visits to the local art museum, watching documentaries in the evenings after school, attending operas with my parents, and running home after school in the early days of each month to see if the latest issue of National Geographic had arrived so I could soak up the pictures and get lost daydreaming of faraway lands and peoples.

With time these influences grew into a general interest in the humanities. I attended the University of North Texas in Denton from 2014-2017 and studied anthropology, French, and Russian after doing a 180 on my initial intention of studying and pursuing psychology as a career path at a different school. At the time it felt kind of reckless, but in hindsight it was definitely the right decision.

After graduating, I was working as a barista and somewhere along the way ended up going to Prague for a month in the summer of 2018 to do a TEFL certification, fell into poetry that fall, and then returned to Prague for 11 months in 2019 to teach English. It was very much the best and the worst of times: I met some amazing people while there, took the opportunity to travel around a bit, and lived and learned from a horrendous relationship that also transpired during that year. I definitely went into that experience without any clear objectives or expectations; looking back, life definitely took that complacency and turned the tables with it, and while it took several years afterwards for the dust to fully settle, I've made it out the other side stronger, more intentional, and more assertive than before.

Since then, life has really just been what it's been. There have been ups and downs, of course, but the lows don't hit as hard anymore. Right now, there's not much to report and I plan to keep it that way. It's nice. Peaceful. It's a new year, and with it I will continue to focus on working, saving money, making a dent in the hydra that my reading list has become, and overall just living well and building towards the future."



Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Melanii: "As a teenager I’d scribble fragments of poems here and there, but never considered writing to be a hobby. That all changed around September 2018 when, for whatever reason, I decided that I enjoyed writing and wanted to dedicate more time to it. As mentioned in Question #2, this was right around the time I was preparing to relocate to Prague. It's kind of hard to describe; maybe it was just the excitement of the unknown, but that whole period of time had a sense of magic and beauty about the way it was unfolding which the “discovery” of poetry as a creative outlet only elevated."


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Melanii:  "At first, it seemed like “there was inspiration around every corner”, to quote another poet I read here on HP one time (can't remember who it was or the title of the piece, but they were describing how great poets like Bukowski seemed to find inspiration so effortlessly, and the way they phrased it has stuck with me). Fast forward five years to today, and while I don't write as prolifically anymore the words come when I have something to say.

Inspiration comes from many sources for me: music, art, and nature; random thoughts, feelings, ideas, and observations; the works of other poets; travel when it happens; disappointments in family and other relationships; loneliness…

As far as the actual writing process goes, it's pretty random. More often than not, I'd say the poems write themselves and I just jot them down once they're ready, or as they evolve and refine themselves to fruition. Not the most thoughtful approach, but it comes from the heart."



Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Melanii: "To me, poetry is a language — specifically a language of consciousness in its purest, most elemental form. Poetry has the ability of transcending and even defying the typical rules of language without losing cogency, and for me it's this inherent flexibility that makes it at once so unique and so impactful as an art form."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Melanii: "Federico García Lorca, Li Qingzhao, and Pablo Neruda are the top 3 names that come to mind. I enjoy the unique way that each one of them uses language and imagery to illustrate the pieces of their lives and humanity which they decided to share through their writing. There's an element of surrealism, sensuality, and expansiveness running through each of their writing styles that speaks to me in the way it encompasses the beauty and complexity of life's possibilities across good and bad times alike."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Melanii: "I enjoy traveling and would love to be in a place someday where I can do so more often. The urge to explore again has been gnawing at me recently, so after a little bit of research and number crunching, I renewed my passport and booked a flight to Peru for three weeks in March. I had promised myself to visit a new region the next time I traveled, and despite growing up in Texas I have yet to visit Latin America. The plan is to start in Cusco, sightsee there, then head south into Bolivia to tour the Salar de Uyuni, which has been on my bucket list since learning of its existence from National Geographic. I couldn't believe that a place like that was real, and words cannot express how excited I am to finally experience the landscape in person! With March marking the beginning of the end of the rainy season, I'm hoping to still catch some of the “mirror” effect that the salt flats are so famous for. After touring the flats, the plan is to take an overnight bus back to La Paz before heading north again towards Lima with some sightseeing stops along the way and a few days left over in the city before flying back home. So we'll see what happens!

Languages are a long standing interest as well. I studied French for 7 years between high school and college, and Russian for the 3 years I spent at university. Since graduating, I've kept up with both through podcasts, YouTube videos, news articles, and music, and despite being far from fluent in either it's helped a lot with retention and comprehension. Learning ancient Greek has also been an on-and-off endeavor since 2017 after reading Euripides’ plays and deciding that I'd like to read Medea in its original text someday. Time will tell if that ever happens, but I did recently complete an online introductory course to the language which was a nice memory refresher and helped with unpacking some of the grammatical concepts that threw me for a loop back when I first started and which are part of the reason I fell away from Greek in the first place. After Greek, I would like to learn some Coptic, Farsi, and Turkish, and would be satisfied with learning to read at least one sentence in Mandarin in my lifetime.

Outside of travel and languages, I enjoy researching and cooking dishes from various cuisines, reading, taking walks, trying out different exercise classes on days off (recently I've done tai chi, pilates, barre, aerial silks, and kickboxing, but in the past I've tried pole fitness, archery, aerial silks, cycling, and horseback riding), visiting art museums, dropping by the symphony or opera once in a blue moon, and watching videos and documentaries on philosophy, history, theology (not religious, though, just curious), and science."



Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet, Melanii! We have loved adding you to this series!”

Melanii: "Thank you so much for having me and for all your efforts conducting this series of interviews! It's truly a pleasure having the opportunity to break the ice and learn more about our fellow poets."



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Melanii little bit better. I indeed did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #12 in February!

~
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations

Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations  
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications

Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications

Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbrage ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Annex annul, implicite implement implicate!!!
SassyJ Apr 2016
Rushed by the stormy ‘purple rains’
Crescendos that picks in all peaks
Softness of the male energy portrayed
Prolifically flamboyant and eccentric

Ambiguous, mysterious sensual reciter
Classically unconventional and different
Shedding the specifications of gender roles
Crowned by dark shades of violet pizzazz  

As the rain settles on the dusty grounds
As the soil solidifies and paste the others
As the dove wails looking for its nature
Rest in peace as the mascara waters down
Rest in Peace Prince
Jade Jan 2019
There's always been something
so Hollywood about her--
and I don't mean
21st Century *******.

I'm talkin'
Judy Garland,
you're the bee's knees
type of Hollywood.

Now, listen'--
this girl--
I'm talkin'
Bombshell-Cutie
(she'll blow your
******'socks off).

I'm talkin'
Cinematic Beauty Queen;
skin freckled with film grain
the same way the night sky
is freckled with constellation,
mouth parted like velvet curtains,
only to reveal the sweetest prose.

She is Mystique-Fatale,
blazon in colour
among dull, sepia tones--
an Oz among all
the dreary Kansases.

She is allure and poeticism,
hair curled grand,
dressed to the nines
in lace and satin
(they wonder
what lies beyond the
half moons of her *******
and the slit in her gown,
if the butterflies
run rampant
between her knees
like everyone says).

Do not underestimate her--
she is both
Shirley-Temple-Sweetheart
(her kindness
does not falter)
and Pinup-Girl-Honey
(one would not think
to challenge--
to break--
a woman
so prolifically brazen,
but they try anyway).

In a world filled
with actresses--
please, darlings,
save the acting for
the stage,
******* it--
she is so ineffably herself.

She does not reserve
her emotion for
the theatre alone;
she is not afraid
to cry, and--
Jesus--
when she cries
the earth shakes
with the very profusions
of an opera singer's vibrato.

And, God,
you should hear
her poetry,
brimmed with images
picturesque and tragic,
straight outta the movies
it would seem.
Yet, her words
ring with something
so inconceivably real.

And that's what
you've always loved
best about her--
she is the truest person
you've ever met.

It's a shame, then,
that you wouldn't stay
for the grand finale.

But,
with or without you,
this show must go on.

(and it has).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
David Nelson Mar 2010
No One Seems To Notice

Finding the world of poetry, really hard to crack,
writing prolifically, but no one seems to notice,
I'll pay my dues, I'll accept the  hardened facts,
I'd gladly except criticism, but no one seems to notice,

Someone please tell me, on just what should I focus,
looking for direction, but no one seems to notice,
should I write about love affairs, or some silly hocus-pocus,
tell me I'm a hack. but no one seems to notice,

I leave messages to Blue Rose, hoping that she'll see,
I'd love to share my thoughts, but no one seems to notice,
I've read her poems diligently, I've shared her fantasy,
her Rapture of a Dream, but she does not seem to notice,

Gomer LePoet...
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations

Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations  
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications

Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications

Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbrage ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Implicite implement implicate!!!
nivek Nov 2015
I am a prolific Human
and the prolific stranger
prolifically sharing all I am.
OnwardFlame Apr 2016
Our lips have yet to kiss
We develop our connection, intimate
Calling you on the phone so refreshing
We touched and cuddled under the blanket
After we, in unison made the same sound
Your words so intricate, poignant
I can't even repeat or paraphrase them back.

I was born in the wrong decade you say
You prolifically take in me, my art, my insides
Discussing them and listening
With a rapid ear to the earth
I try not to compare and contrast my past
Its an added bonus if it becomes romantic
You said, comparing that to ice cream, a sunday
Surprised by your immense patience, understanding
I'm in that place where I need a minute
We discuss how we are in a relationship with ourselves
With our careers
I smile sincerely as you curate and deeply discuss
Actively listening, glistening.

My mama just about ruined it for me
"He's black."
She said to me over the phone.
It was just like a megaphone had been taken over
By a group of aliens
They gargled and salted our flesh
Judging and caging us, attempting to restrict
Connection, depth
I stood up for you, for me, for all of us
We couldn't even discuss how my weekend had gone
The disappointment and mourning in her tone
Because your skin just happens to be
Several shades darker than mine.

I don't get it
And I don't like it.
It reminds me of when I was in high school
A boy named JJ kissed me up against a wall
He was the all star athlete
I was the art queen
The Southerns whispered behind our backs
You had a red rose on the front seat of the passenger seat for me
You were immature and too silly for me, in the end
But I'll never forget the deep heart break
And young trauma
Of being told by my father
That I would ruin the family
Get my little brother bullied
If I went to the dance with you.

And maybe my father was right
And maybe he was deeply wrong
And maybe if we had all fiercely stood together
We could have made a strong dent
In the history and repression
Of the deep south.

25 years old
And its like I'm being told once again
Not to go to the ball
I told my mama its highly possible
I may not end up with a white man.

I don't know.
I never seem to right this moment
But Chicago is so cultured, so diverse, so
Just filled with art and people
Surrounded by new faces and places everyday
Its really, truly
Very overwhelming.

"He's black."
He's black
He's black
As if this fact were shameful
Or a reason for me to run.

But mama
I've run all my life
I've spent my years running
And I don't know what this man
Or what anything means right now
But I'm tired of running.
Lucy Michelle Nov 2015
people presume that writing prolifically
means i want to be read prolifically
when in reality it's just that i used to write things in notepads
and then i started writing them in books
and soon i'll start painting them on windows
and then i'll be carving them into walls
because if i don't get them out of my head
they'll choke me
they'll pull at my wrists
i get scared when people see these words
but if i kept them to myself i'd forget how to be nice.
Selcæiös Feb 2018
No one ever plans on getting addicted
It's just for ***** and gigs in the summer
Until your Time derails and redefines horrific
now presenting:* Time, Version 10-50
and she's prolifically sadistic

Oh & never forsake:
Time's strung out alongside you,
Every.
Single.
Hit.
*

And she's one haphazardly twisted
tantalizingly commited mistress
--Also, it seems we were *just now
informed
that it's way past Christmas.

Now a hot mess,
forlorn & seditious
Not to mention royally ******
by Mistress Time, still for sure
a 10-50 in progress

Needless to tell you,
we contradicted our predictions
Now Mistress Time's
throwing an egregious conniption

even though I know hearing
Self-Inflicted
makes for turned cheeks and Alienation,

Exigently,
if you please
I'm in dire need
of someone else's Time
To assist in the Valediction
of this debilitating infliction
so innocently called Addiction
The Ballad of the Psychonaut
Helen Apr 2014
some mate for life
some spawn prolifically
in a river of destiny
some drop their seed
on a passerby
never to return,
progeny never asks
why?
some whelp upon a pack
some just like to clone
some eternally are broken
most are left alone
after the act
there is no pact
or written dictates
we are all different creatures
all with similar animal traits
Seema Sep 2017
A light unlit
In this dark place
Yet the shadows sit
Looking face to face

The figures change
As the moon moves
From certain range
The shadows grove

It's natures gift
Of peaceful entertainment
Where my soul lifts
To witness this moment

The ripples in the pool
Brings the shadows to life
It seems like a set rule
In this caves rife

A magnificent created art
One can ever realize
The sight sinks in my heart
As the moon sits and spies

This place is so beautiful
So enchanting with tropical rain
Prolifically existing, not harmful
A small world, within my own brain

As I close my eyes to imagine this site
Positive vibes surround like hives
But as the sun rays touches my eyes
All vanishes in its bright white light...


©sim
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations

Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations  
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications

Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications

Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbral ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Annex annul, implicite implement implicate!!!
Donna Bella Dec 2014
It's words
If he never spoke prolifically to me
I would never let him be with me
Words are so powerful
Because it makes you happy
Makes you sad and mad
Can't be with a person who does not use the words I want to hear
Words could be love or hate
Just Words
OnwardFlame Mar 2016
Long red sleeved shirt
Sometimes it feels impossible
Truly impossible
To maintain, regulate, and sustain
Joy.

Happiness.
A little event here, a word spoken by this person
Perhaps not with ill intention
But I just wanted to come home tonight
And bring pie.

Ain't nothin' bad
Its all fine
But sometimes my chest
The butterflies that were so eloquently flying
Spinning and releasing colors of beauty
Longevity, strength, courage
Its as if a single slicing sound
Resounded so loudly
That every person that claimed they were this or that
Never picked up a pen or a camera
A script
And did what they so prolifically claimed
They do.

Maybe I'm secretly too ******* others sometimes
Just as I was reminiscing about where I was at this time
Last year
I can't control or maintain
Anyone else's ******* happiness
And I don't know why humans
Take or project their own insecurities on others
But I am conscious of my words, my tone
My language.

However.
I was sitting on the bed with the new man last night
As he told me a story or two
And in my high state, there was this small part of me
That wanted to treat him like he was less than
Probably because he is a man
And I have been so deeply, deeply hurt
By so many of them.

I don't know what the eff it means
And I'm not gonna bank on anything
But I free myself from thoughts of my past lover
Who threw, no hurled
My heart into the gutter
So for Christ's sake
Don't remind me of him
More than I already ******* do.

I was waiting for the bus tonight
After drinking 3 glasses of wine
I just wanted to bring home pie.

Why is joy the hardest entity to sustain?
I'm not heartless
Just using my heart less
Hoping art is an answer
Like cancer is catharsis

Right now, I'm coping
Picking up the broken pieces
From when this started
Ripping me open in little shreds
Closed again before I noticed

Once I lost feeling, I stopped reeling
There's no revealing memories
Now that you've gone
All dearly departed

Hoping something prestigious
Grows from this seedless garden
But it's like trying to capture air
From a fractured jar
To make an attempt
Of clearing my heart

Not to mention restart it

Seamless spent broken leaves
Hedonist and facetious facsimiles
While I soak in mass energies
To resuscitate dead memories
Just casually discuss the minor details
Of all my sad hapless dreams
Don't try to act or pretend to believe
If you lack a fractured tendency
You'll simply react
To your own hopeless epiphany

While laughing you'll remember me

Aside from the venom presented
Within my resentful history
It's the recurring action persistently
Building traction for another
And once again
Redacted epiphany

Prolifically trapped
In a perdition subliminally
I have personally granted permission
The eternal conditions of a prisoner
Taking backward steps so timidly

It's become tradition
So twisted and vivid...

All I see are projections
Protecting corrections
Rejecting reflections
Until the message infested
Keeps me second guessing
Or stressing and searching
For a holy blessing

It's a mess
I've run amok
There's no abstaining the jest

Honestly I do confess
The only promise I will keep
Is to remain taking the test
And lay the rest six feet beneath

But I'm always second best
The runner-up stumbling
Surreptitiously obsessed
With my mind's eye manifest
Delusional and mumbling
To compare with the rest
I'll use my heart less
And cease the thunder rumbling

If I could attest
It was my absolute best
That used to mean something
Revised 22 Sep 21
Jack R Fehlmann Feb 2021
I plan to write every whim
Good or bad?  Matters not.

All according to my prolifically
Ingenious, master plan

Pour forth all I felt, know
Ponder, reflect or celebrate in

Constant... Constant... Good or rubage?

At least when I'm done there will be...
Quite literally, a mess
of my life,
my views,
My loves and trials,
my time,
My desires
so fickle, faded
But plenty by which to
Say I lived.
The actress that time forgot
Resting prolifically
Gathering rot

The craft that began to rust
As she waited in the shadows
Accumulating dust

The spotlight that eluded her so
After clinging tightly to her dreams
She had to let them go

The opportunities that didn’t knock
But passed her by
With the ticking of the clock

The fire in her belly that wouldn’t subside
Though nothing of note
Did materialise

The watching of others’ success
As she pondered upon
Her own lack in distress

The waning of that ambition
Abandoned hope
Zero auditions

The conclusion it was time to quit
Try another avenue
Get over it

But this girl wasn’t finished yet
She’d find her forte
Live without regret

For where there’s a will there’s a way
And when the sun rises
There’s always another day.
Joseph S Pete May 2018
No matter how dire it gets,
no matter how despairing,
no matter how forlorn, how hopeless,
no matter how little reason there seems to be to go on,

Kendrick Lamar spat fire and spoke truth,
at least for a few years,
as did a few hundred other contemporaneous artists
who laid it down on the track.

Emily Dickinson
did not stop for death or thee,
but prolifically tackled issues
of universal import in her lapidary recluse's verse.


Chakaia Booker turned shredded tires into museum centerpieces,
hunted spirits, eluded the chimera of consumption,
forged reclaimed rubber into toughness,
a rough-hewn canvas for a displaced people.


You can have nothing going for you,
nothing substantial to look forward to,
nothing above to guide you,
nothing but averted eyes on the street and professional shame,
but still be transported away
by a few glorious minutes of song or poetry or sculpture.

When there's nothing else, there's always art.
No matter what, there's always art.
Exosphere Jan 2021
in some future world
originals are being murdered
and frauds are prolifically plagiarizing
Began during wee hours
of December first
tooth house sand nineteen
steeply self immersed

within insomnia, hence
sudden creative cloud burst
fingers slower than
fleeting thoughts, I cursed
nonetheless stitched,

doctored and nursed
the following continued
hours later with pursed
lips seriously, silently, and soundly

trying to craft lame poem, the worst
among feeble efforts,
among countless attempts
showcasing, (no rhyme nor reason)
yours truly versed.

Found muss elf unable to easily doze
haint no lamentable hallucination
found me froze
imagination begets, births and
breeds nightmare, whereby

humongous cannibal grows
name of Hannibal finally
an end to existential woes,
cuz every academic endeavor
yielded nothing but zeros.

Loathe blatantly outright
to turn toward life of crime,
yet I realize benefits
such as flextime
plus one functions
as independent consultant

off hours studying sign
language to pantomime
in the event victim
of unfortunate circumstances
deaf mute, or simply to
enhance gig being sublime.

Quite aware impossible
mission to succeed,
in the capacity writer,
hence quick income accrued
cash on demand guaranteed
apprenticeship provided with

on the job training indeed
course donned incognito
trumpeting, essentially greed
aware potential billionaires
minted he/she doth only need

venture capitalist to recognize
lucrative opportunity keyed
nsync with song that tops
the charts invariably lead
singer plus natural born
prodigy polymath, prolifically breed
ding all Forbes thirty under thirty

helping to buzzfeed
one after another cottage industry
flourishing analogous
to hardy ***** ****
allowing, enabling, and
providing ample time to read...
tea leaves predicting prodigious fortunes.
Yenson May 2020
Vacuous things in empty gales dripping
shamed impotent poltroon cackling witlessly
take odious face away and lose thy name to a letter
even kidadult coward begs anonymity for inadequacy

Old lout in fanciful fare seeks Zen knowledge
oh see the mask and pretensions in the arena of harlequins
where acts and deeds unmask to confirm and disgrace the uber clod
our nonentity bully who ascribe Enlightenment whilst a dullard dark

The Narcissist mentalist presents tosh prolifically
in mindless puffs praised by acolytes and him in other guises
childish taunts and deluded piffle showcasing stunted academia
standing that peculiar trait of ignoramus incapable of introspection

Nichiren says though its impervious to bullies
That which you give to another will become your own
sustenance; if you light a lamp for another, your own way will be lit.
our faker zen knows this, methinks not as he's still in the play-ground

Lest it not to mock the afflicted or crippled mind
but to remind that, "Cowardice and Hypocrisy are brothers
Born from Self-Interest, Insecurity and Fear " this a sanguine fact
Our under-endowed zenist (sic) knows hence the facelessness  and abbreviated identity




Do not do shameful things to make yourself hide in shame.....
Worthy persons deserve to be called so because they are not carried away by the eight winds: prosperity,decline,disgrace,honor,praise,censure,suffering, and pleasure.They are neither elated by prosperity nor grieved by decline. The heavenly gods will surely protect one who is unbending before the eight winds.
Cyclone Dec 2019
Looking for the silver lining struck gold around the time the new year arrived with a new resolution that I will rush towards profiting prolifically, unapologetically, though not a copper thief this time. I take back the setbacks I placed many in cause now I find with greater power comes more responsibility to respond to. The midas touch I may possess but turning water into wine is my greatest aspiration that trumps any means of charisma I felt I had to flaunt. I attended a ball one night and felt that I was ready for the world but got anxious when the first challenge presented itself to feel honored to give the world to the President's daughter. I feel treated like a stepchild now plus I feel resentment towards my father figure, Mr.Washington who influenced me to think I never had enough to start with. So as I came with what I had, my resolution became infamous as the epic fail though I was great enough to find a place in the library of congress, take that father!
Cyclone Jan 2020
The mystical dreaming, caught the free human being in his feelings, the individual's visuals look despicable, but he's prolifically out of misery, hypocrisy- daring to be the charging that's starting no sympathy, can he breathe in the killing spree, that wreaks in the city, plus some claims not witty cause they're truly begging for pity, the struggle fight will get ******, but how you see only shows that, ain't no trapping up in this mapping, you snapping on Kodak, taking notice to throwbacks, meditation on stations, that's for the nations that was facing proclamation from faking, make the game get mistaken for it's debating to odes, now the foes will get exposed and you will explode.
Travis Green Aug 2021
He makes me vastly vulnerable to be in his vicinity
Feeling his effervescent vibe filling up the void
Inside my vessel, thinking of how I can sit here
For a lifetime, eyeing his ample fineness, the colorific
Changes in his rare eyes, dreaming of unsurpassable
Stillness that bounds us, moving my hands gently
In his sleek, wave-spinning hair, immersed in the
Superbness that flows forever within his picture-book frame

In his dynasty, I greatly sink like a massive, impressive ship
Inside his deep, dazzling ocean, overwhelmingly drunk
Like two staggering buzzed lovers, highly hooked on his
Bridge of intriguing diction glistening on his coral copper lips
My fingers tracing the expanding enchantment traversing
In his prolifically sculpted beard, such a spectacular smell
That drifts in my direction, blessing me to bask in his perfection

— The End —