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Sarah Sep 2018
My sweet boy
I recall your first step
First word
Your Smiles and cries
The excitement in which you viewed a fly
Such a precious little thing you were
And now you're dead
Laid on a pavement, shot in the head
Eyes wide open, staring at the sky
Perhaps for one last time, you're searching for that fly.
haley Oct 2017
when she was eight years old
she
asked her mother
have you seen the girl with
lashes  like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches
a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets
streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach

it feels buttery to stare at her:
see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace
see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm
see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon
(self proclaiming)
for she trickles with stars

when she was eight years old
her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot.
but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage
she would still look at her like she was the breakfast sun on a saturday
whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees.
see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun
they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues
Elena Mar 7
Treasure is a current
Strong and full of richness
Atop lush foundations
Peak monumental formations

To dig up treasure
Is to fuel the planet with toxic waste,
And then call it “wealth.”

Gold mines dig deeper holes
While silver tongues manifest poetic roles
A current indeed!
We treasure an illusion
We call it a seed
Yet it functions just like a basic need

Truth protests, like an invasive ****
But riches sweep away truth’s plea
Hacking at the roots of transparency.
RCraig David Apr 2013
From my "Bestifreadaloud" series about a girl that got away that Spring because I waited too long.

Part 1 The Past
A case made now faded of a simple place, a time, a space,
a perfect moment let pass in haste.
Clasped in clashes,
brash in passion,
rose from ashes,
desire fires every second's essence as it passes,
a ton amasses.
Fast bloom,
Blast!! Boom!!
The past relapses.
Notably lesser song notes float hopeful, emotional ends and remember whens.
Sent us spinning, then spin adrift again.
Sprung in spring, we fell,
Some are reasons to recall.
Summer's season breaks, we fall.
Flocks fly down and fallen callings fade to Winter's south.
How fate related still debated.
Re-Sprung the next Spring' rise, chance misses fate this date.
I weighed and debated and waited too late

PART 2
Still all these years alone, the "one", the "purpose" unsought.
Capturing thoughts,
The ones I caught and tossed,
Things I was taught and lost.
Proof framed and embossed for a cost.
Coping through the unabashed hopes to one day cash in on all this stashed trash I clash with.
"Smash it?" ...the thought crossed.  

Unimpressed by my evidence of self-less requests,
pursuit of self-evident truth proves a most ruthless abuse.
Even less are my skewed protests for “selfish quests" at the behest of the very strangers I sought to impress.
I digress.

The years compound, bossed around, kicked down but soundly employed,
I turn cold, blaming Freud for defining my non-violent, intolerance threshold on page 23 of some textbook I should have resold.
I go silent. Grow old.
"While your whining and shunning your shinning,
They're sinning and winning." Bad timing.

Girls come, go and follow this shallow, hollow fellow on the run.
While preyed upon...I paid a ton. I play.
The sum never more than the cost of rented fun.
Without insight but consent forthright,
my 30 years of intent were spent in a fortnight.
Still bent on shedding every pound of one first-moment's ton I lost not won.
Can't buy happy for less than the cost of your one-ness.
While prayed upon...paid a Son, they say.

part 3

Ohh the wait....
Ohh the weight...
My set-adrift-soul's mending depends solely on tossing
lost cause cost-spending into thrift.
Well it's a beginning.
All the amassed notes, quotes, boat-floaters,
and sailboat hopes spun in one 1-ton loss moment sprung that one Spring.

Now and again, it creeps in,
like slowly growing stinging nettles around a squelched,
once steaming scorched dream kettle.
Still stays packed away in my heart's darkest parts.
Blurred by time and place,
this burning, misplaced furnace space lays in wait.

Such compiled cold-case denial files from other life trials, lay piled in haste on my proverbial, "less pressing" messy desk of "not ready to face."
Too scared or daring to date, try to relate or contemplate
how to best equate this great weight.
Wait?... Wait.
Elation brewing from pursuing future fruition or ensuing
pure ruin gates these fates from moving, year-to-date.
For the sake of trying or dying forsaken,
another day awake is another day gained or taken.

I found her again,
the town's she's in
but she is taken and then
She learns of my wait, it's weight, my fate, she's shaken,
another ton amasses again. I pretend.
Lay down.
Drown the score of sounds surrounding.
Furthermore, slow the pulse-pounding abounding your core.
Fill your breath.
What is less is gone, tomorrow more.  

by R. Craig David-Copyright 2012
july hearne Oct 2018
i wonder if you still collect postcards
i could send you a postcard
i'de have to find one
i'm sure it wouldn't be hard

sometimes i think of the bad
paint job in your dark red kitchen
and all your cheap furniture
and your emily strange stage
that went on too late in life

i've been back in town for almost six years now
but i wish i was back in chicago

i hate it here
i hate the people here
they are a lost cause
they had many protests for christine ford
but none for the children ed murray *****
because ed's rapes don't matter, not important,
don't matter

**** is only a pecking order,
sometimes fake **** is more important than real ****
it's just all about whatever's convenient

my sister's daughter and husband hate me now
but that's ok because i have no use for them either

i wish i would have seized the opportunity back in chicago
and married that guy who hated obama as much as i did
but i didn't realize how perfect that guy was at the time
because i was stuck on some canadian *******
who didn't treat me like i was a woman who was worth anything
he was in a band and his songs on sound cloud are not any good, but he is still proud of them
that was his prime

bet he loves trudeau and the hundred million of immigrants
who are coming to save canada,
it's the thing to do

that guy back in chicago only knew one song
Dire Straits 'So Far Away'
but i've always loved that song
wish i would have known
wish i would have known

but no, i got to come back here,
i knew how it was going to be back here
what would never happen,
how the people here would never stop being nasty
always with such dormant self righteous nastiness inside of them
always lying in wait
always knew that
but didn't realize how much i would have to pay for it
didn't realize how greedy socialist pigs can be

wish i would have married that guy back in chicago
when i had the chance, he really liked me and we got along
and he was well paid executive, but he said he wore
pleated front pants and it freaked me out at the time
so it's ten years later and too late now
and your youngest daughter is probably your son now
Canada should take in the Hondurans since Justin is so willing to take in ISIS. Hopefully there will still be room for all the Handmaids who need to escape the oh so oppressive USA.
Steve Page Feb 5
Busy with colour, the fast night shouted her down and refused to listen to her protests. Still she screamed across the square, but each syllable of her pain was immediately swept away and all that the tourists noticed was a mute nightingale cruelly pigeonholed by a half forgotton song.
And still she screamed.
Times change.
Sela Jul 2018
I talk to the world
May they hear my heart

I cry out my protests
May they know my problems


My words. Where are they?
It hurts in waves
   the breaking of 'us'
You took something beautiful
now watch it rust

adorned in our tears or maybe just mine
  You’ve gained freedom, I’ve gained time

I let you in,
Then watched you leave
      Hoping with childlike naivety
You’d change your mind and come back to me

Your ‘necessary’ step is abandonment,
It tastes bitter, but I guess
suitable company for the ache in my chest

My heart protests, while my mind cannot
logic is useful, feelings are not
    I’ve asked my questions, you’ve said your piece
I hope our departure grants you relief
Steve Page Nov 2018
I love the warm smell more than baked bread.
I love the old stories flooding back through my head.
I love the middle-age chatter, with child like mutters,
finding old favorites in old familiar covers.

I love the personalised fountain-penned message,
carefully scribed and meticulously dated.
I don't care about the number of dog eared pages,
or the tell-tale signs of well worn aging.

Tea stains and small tears - they don't bother me,
each tell a new tale beyond what I can see.
I love the weight of the years sitting in my hand,
I love the tether to past lives multi- second-hand.

With memories of libraries with warm worn carpets,
wall to wall adventures and sun faded artists,
battered yellow seats, shooshed conversations,
quietly spoken protests at the books being rationed.

I stayed past closing, riding trains of free thought
with Tin Tin, Asterix and old Mrs Pepperpot.
I'm still drawn to the pages and the feeling inside
second-hand stories where memories reside.
My dad taught me to love reading. My kids learnt it for me.
The Mellon Oct 2018
People are beautiful,

However.

Pretty people please a perverted industry,
Of powerful men
Preferring **** to passion to progress,

Preferring ******* productions over
#metoo protests
As mr. president likes to grab 'em by the p..

Provoking pain-passing-fists
Pulsating pro-rights protests,
Journalists plee for coverage praying no one pulls a
Knife and produces plumes of blood from the press
All while
Young picassos paint Guernica in America.

A broken people of a nation perpatrating hate-

Where red plus blue can only make purple-
But dark blue and dark red parish and persecuted plee for due process?

Plain racism profoundly perpatrates power and policy because polititions prefer power over people!

A parchment in hand is worth two poor people on the shores of Philippine islands passing pork bones around on plastic forks polluteing ashore to portion a pathetic excuse for super.

Admittedly population proceeding proper capacity depleting the recourse needed per proper production for product based programs-
-tax breaks produce proper rich persons-
Poor penny pedalers paddle street corners prostituting their dinner from someone's porch steps.

Pathetic "Presidential" GOPs
Catapaulting propaganda past press outlets producing media paranoia.

Piranhas perhaps are the least problematic politition ashore.
Petulance is peace right?

Perhaps Palestinian misplacement and
Poor communication produce
A melting *** per pound of C 4
Blasting
Terrarist propaganda pasted
On highways toting plywood posters
Providing hate.

Parasitic politics polluting a proud nation
Patrolled by plastic islands and pay-per-view gun violence.
Police brutality providing protection for
Parkland shooting,
The NRA having premeditated lawsuits against progress

Programs protecting people getting
Passed-

-Sorry blocked,

By political party(s)
Preferring deep pockets to
Public safety

Appocoliptic predictions
Loom in present day policy
As unreputable "science" papers
Preach lies to gospel preachers

Perhaps human problems
Produce paper cuts
Peeling skin to skin
For radical apologies to bleed out,

Perhaps bleeding pools
Poor out filling
Evaporated paradise
With EPA Pruit's preference of
Proper science.

Perhaps penguins and polar bears
Produced proper plans:

Die off before the planet plummets per plume cloud of nuclear power.
Or more likely planetary pestilence
For people.
Inspired by Harry Bakers poem "Paper People"
Infantile screams
come out of the one
clinging to survival

as he's plugged into the top of the hill,
receiving either glory and power,
or the illusion thereof.

Either like a humble village with orc invaders
Ignited with fury
At the sight of their livelihood slaughtered
Ready to retaliate
Like a veteran warrior's last stand,

Or like an adulterer with another man's wife,
The husband storms in
to take him off
and throw him out
Like a teenager thrown out of his nest,

Either the kindergartener protests his removal from his mother's hand,
Or the toddler doesn't want to be pried from his tablet.

One of them fingerpaints the other black
as both fingerpaint themselves white
until the color grey changes gravity,
and switches their places again and again
for God knows how long.

Whether which one is right,
and the other wrong,
only, in this fallen finite realm,
the one with the loudest infantile scream
wins,

but not forever.
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
Have a glimpse of this great city. Have you ever heard of such city having similar features?
All seven seas have seen my paddle
I settled in Queens, it's just as cold as Seattle,
Just as cold as Toledo
Just as cold as you during our battles
Just as cold as you during their sequels
Sometimes it gets hot,
Just as hot as you starting to stradle
Just as hot as you laying spread eagle
Your voice just as soft as a poisonous snake rattle
Our teenage minds just as ***** as diseased seagulls
Daily walks on pins and needles
Protests and upheavals
My positions were fetal
Your decisions were lethal
My punishment will be penal
My appointment was renal
Day drinking seems not to be regal
Please, have mercy my people
For I have swam though the oceans
All seven seas have seen my paddle
I've given up on emotions
And every lie I've had to unravel
And now, I'm tired.
shaken I take stock
parrots shrieking loud

sunny days drift by
mock assail my space

flowers bloom but brief
blink and they're replaced

trees take fifty years
decimated swift

people killed, displaced
earth protests in pain

stop, opt out, you're lost
left with platitudes

can I drift removed
isolation seek

then again I see
I sound like them now

if I sulk and pout
fail to see my path

rise above and live
carve a vibrant self

ripples echoing
circle all this globe

passage clipped and purged
take a mountain pass  

rein in darkening clouds
grasp some grit this day
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