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Xander May 2020
I used to care, but how long can you care when it always gets you hurt?
It’s not as if I have to care, so why bother, when everyone treats you like dirt?
Until maybe one day, somebody will care back, it will be a reanimation of my heart.
But until that day, I'm done caring, since until then I don’t want to start.
Maybe if I could read minds, I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.
But until then, I'm locking myself and closing the door.
It’ll be at least a year before anyone notices, and probably 3 before anyone cares.
If I'm lucky, maybe one day somebody will return my stares.
Not that I care, since they are probably lying anyway.
But that’s an issue for another day.
I look at a photo for hours a day, and yet I know I shouldn’t try.
Since all that gets me is suffering, and now I no longer fly.
Flying is a metaphor that allows you to be free,
But you get in my way just like a tree.
And yet I still love you, despite it all,
Even when all it does is cause me to fall.
So I look into your eyes, again and again, despite knowing the truth, that you don’t care,
But I'll love you until someone else shows me love, and returns my stare.
And that will be the reanimation of my heart,
Or at least a chance to have a proper start.
So i’ll just wait until someone actually cares, and shows me such,
I really don’t think I'm asking for too much.
I want someone who feels the same,
So that I don’t have to feel the shame.
The shame of asking a question despite knowing the answer,
And once again having it proven that nobody cares.
EgoFeeder May 2013
What a sick ******* disturbing race;
And it's sad to say i'm the epitome of disgrace
So what the **** does that make me?
A self destructive **** with no integrity!

If I could peel through the rind of my skull          
The laughter around me might become a little dull
For the sake of my dignity and self enjoyment
I should make this last and indulge in some torment

Oh how fun it is to pretend that I'm on the petistil
Performing this unfulfilled sacrifice for a simple thrill
My slur gnarled into the cries of a self loathing comic;
For even the greatest have stated the best comedy is tragic!

So, gather 'round and pay respect to this nervous wreck;
Who befriends only pets or rather the comfort of a speck
Watch this defeatist plead for the misery of his next life;
The facts of fate are simple just take a glimpse at ones strife

I'm sure you'll see the ardent path beneath your detrimental stars;
Just gaze inside of your guilt and the afterlife doesn't seem so far
Look a little deeper through your pride to see exactly what you fear;
For Your reason blocks out what you cannot conceive and are dying to hear

That is the Irony of Sanity and we where it ******* well
Even before we reach our carnal end; we've seen the extent of hell
Although, I've never completely doubted the superstition of religion;
The thought of an eternal consciousness is entirely fiction

The only thing immortal about a human is it's opaque particles;
Physical existence will never fail to rot through it's perpetual circle!
It may seem hysterical to be hearing this from someone in my position;
But, It doesn't take a scholar to comprehend a personal realization

For I have foreseen myself as the lowest form of life to be;
My sincerest companions that made up the majority of my company
What shall be the retribution for this un-deserving carnation?
I shall plague each day as the worthless paramount of reanimation...

Dispatching my profession as the corrupted author of treachery;
And the needle begins to caper as I shed a contradicting mockery
All our indirect implications are rather redundant
Failing in comparison to the hidden word of the hierophant

For a mind with no sense can only tell a story in riddles;
And, Poetics itself is like watching a fox while he plays the fiddle!
The slyness of word play is exponentially folded when the theme is penance:
and don't even get me started on corroding intent with dis-tasteful connivance!

All of which being oppressed between the confines of these rhymes;
statements never stated that had been contrived at the time
A procession of silence establishing an obvious struggle of emotion    
Declaring the truth of hesitation and our twisted mental notion

How joyous it is to state a fact that can't be truly written;
Every word I've cast has no significance and is better off forgotten
I've been wasting all this ink converting beauty into reality
Completing eviscerating all meaning;Leaving nothing but a literal subtlety
Chris Voss Oct 2013
Dig your teeth from out of the street.
Stumble back to your feet, boy, you aint finished yet.*

The more we fall, the harder these callouses grow from crawling on all fours across coarse, crumbling asphalt; sprawled out like spider legs. Desperate to seem larger than life deemed fit. And we fall so hard. You can tell by the fine collection of scars forming constellations across our elbows and knees as if to say, "Look, we bleed so much like sky, why wouldn’t we believe that we could defy gravity?" Yet, come Sunday, we’re always convinced that flying will come naturally so, naturally, we fall again from the tops of tall buildings.

The harder we fall, the greater the impression we make upon the Earth. That’s the ****** Tunes lesson we are hellbent to learn as children from Saturday morning cartoons, and even here, with the wind rushing past our ears, we question how Wiley Coyote could ever be so ******* stubborn.
But these days a friend teaches me my grown-up, penny pinching lessons with wishing well thoughts about how I should slow down. He says, “you’re a snail with Nascar aspirations--obsessed with the novelty of speed, ignoring how your anatomy isn’t meant to move so quickly.” He says, “Everyone knows you’re a sucker for a pretty face and a sundress.” And I know I’m just being defensive, but his advice strikes me as off-putting as an Ed Hardy t-shirt when it dawns on me that he wears his knowledge like a bad fashion statement but did he ever even know what the rhythm in my pace meant? I’m not the kind to stand still and see where the train stops, I’m a freight-hopper without a destination. When excited, I speak faster like some love-child of candlestick and dynamite: Ignited. Spitting sparks from both burning ends. I know I’m primed for disaster, but I’d rather shatter and burst open than fracture and spend every morning after holding those cracks together; believing that a little glue is sufficient to convince the next bargain bin buyer to cradle me that I’m not broken.

No.
Let me rather be particle matter. Let me be braille for the breeze. I have no doubt that day will come eventually. But not today. Today, I find Grace in reanimation, and if they say Grace is the face of God,  then I’ll practice my best Christ impression and rise again from this human shaped crater like the world’s least intimidating zombie apocalypse.  I’ll bless my eyes blind with crosses tilted off-kilter like dead cartoons do because on Saturday mornings they’re always reborn with ACME epiphanies sprouted like assembly line angel wings and I imagine, come Sunday, they’ve somehow mastered the art of flying. Or falling.
I, more often than not, confuse the two, but I think that's just something we humans seem to do.
Me Jan 2013
over the fence i saw my very own
lungs exploding
splinters and bits of it covering
the next best breath
the next best line
of my own narrative
that - now -
wrinkled and crunched and wrapped around the fence
still knows how to dance-

and amounts to the desperate summit
of bright enthusiasm:
exploding this time
in vibes and waves
and again – and always

again.
Liz Anne May 2012
My thoughts are fleeting but a worm, in all his earthly glory writhes, on occasion in my darkest depths.

Mostly hidden fodder for flight, he makes me believe the fault is mine.

He’s been there a millennia longer than my heart had courage to know.

The fissures that burst through my mind don’t throb; they come and pass, quick and jagged glass.

The flick of a tail and the bruises of silent moments become unforeseen holes in my rapier’s aim.

Slashing, swinging, gasping, grasping, before tumbling into transient loss.

And every so often my fonder thoughts fall in too, dragging them down.

Each time the little drop pulls me down, I feel him, I feel that once lifeless worm cry out: *“Doubt!”
DSD Oct 2013
The wind blows in a restive frenzy,
But knows not which way to go.

Dead leaves caper ecstatically
In the hope of reanimation.

The lascivious earth wears petrichor;
Craving for his touch.

Her paramour with a tumultuous roar,
Seems invincible in his virility.

The grim atmosphere lights intermittently
As the sparks of their passionate paroxysm burst through.

The ******* tryst leaves him exhausted.
Satiating her voracity was an arduous feat.

What once seemed invincible now floats decrepit;
Oblivious to the agents of his decay.
Redshift Jun 2017
back to blank eyes
slouched shoulders
ringing in my ears
numbness in my limbs
my frankenstinian moment of animation over
pushed down once more
dead on that cold slab of table
sedated, uncaring
dull ache in my womb
This is what will I do, I will sample my most important memories and associate a symbol with them. The symbols will be connected. With each symbol, the actual memory episode can be reached and reconstructed. Registering each moment of life would be unnecessary, but with identifying the key episodes and moments of time and their points in space (that is perceived relatively), the actual life could be copied into another human consciousness.

Quite weird things are these...
Jordan Robertson Jan 2014
And you get to witness the destruction of mankind
The manifestation of violence
The rise of crime
The chemically induced joy that deteriorates the mind
The cancerous legions on the soul that no doctor can find
The shaman surgeon with the power to freeze time
The emotionally famished family that uncle sam left behind

The monotonous chime that causes the suits and ties to burst into reanimation
The unmovable path of the bullet that kills without hesitation
The murderous gang-banger dining in hells kitchen with no reservation
The chains that bound the vagabond with no visitations
The gruesome violence on the silver-screen that is met with joyous elation
The exchange of video entertainment for a basic education
The deterioration of the young minds that's given little concentration
The beautiful flesh but empty soul that makes a living through fornication
The ****** spoils of war that leads to mental devastation
The death of good-will with no justification

And you will not witness death but morale genocide
Not of a specific person, but of certain values that are impossible to hide
And with only one man to confide, they will continuously choose what is not right
They will put down their crucifixes so they will have more hands to fight
And only for the wicked reasons will they unite

And you will witness them as they witness you
As you teach of accountability, as you lecture of love
But you will often be met with a deaf ear
But do not give up on those ideals that you hold dear
Because if you look to the edges of the earth, and then gaze above
Ask yourself: Where do I want to be when it is time to be judged?
But despite our ideals our conscience decisions proves the prophecies true
*We will be the death of mankind
Cate Feb 2017
"Would you like your groceries
bagged in paper or plastic?
will you be paying with paper,
Or plastic?"

Rock paper scissors
has been replaced
With something
more rudimentary
But essentially,
Neither have intentionality.

No matter how far you try to move
away from synthetic
you're still drinking out of plastic
eating out of plastic
driving, walking, buying, *******
out mounds of it.
You put your plastic in plastic,
leave it outside
until a man swings by
throws it into a pit
with all the other wasted ****
to exist
for all eternity.

Would you rather melt or burn?
Bankruptcy is a hard lesson to learn
But the ashes of this economy have been
Touted as prosperity
Instead of resigned to an urn
To relearn the transparency
of democracy
As it should be.

I'll trade my plastic smile
For a fistful of paper
I'll exchange it for something physical,
Something bigger
Something somehow better,
Sans the improvement.
The reanimation of the market
Capitalism! Ah,
The dream land.
“Build your monopoly
Crush your enemy”

Oops I mean your neighbor
They're all the same
in this day and age.
Community has been sold
for pennies on the dollar.
Now we’re fighting tooth and nail
To be the one
wearing the shock collar

Bzzzt!
I have the most likes on my photo
Bzzzzt
This minor annoyance
has become my addiction.
I’m shopping and sharing
And living within this tiny television.

This is post apocalyptic
You just can't see it
Because you're living in it.
Things are better, yes
But 6.7% of Americans are diagnosably,
incurably depressed.
37% are oppressed
44%  are over stressed and
81% are in debt.

Let me just say this now
From my white-privilege-podium
That keeps all adverse effects
Of free speech
From touching me

****
YOUR
AMERICA.

**** this corporate greed
that grinds itself down
and repackages itself into
“The American Dream”.

and **** us, right?
For thinking anything here was free.
rough draft rant about this $hit $how we call capitali$m
Initializing Project Insomnia...
Gathering subject's data...
Synchronization complete...
Memory gauge ready to deplete....

Tracing last memory relapse...
Engaging before the time elapse...
Extracting remaining portion of the brain activity...
Eliminating for complete inability...

Subject 001 successfully terminated...
Preparing clone... preparation completed...
System malfunction... Rebooting system...
Mainframe breached... Multiple data hacked...

Re-Animating subject 001...
Life support activated...
Re-installing memory...
Reanimation complete...

Subject 001 is back online...
Bio organic weapon functional...
Preparing extermination...
Codename: Alpha initiated...
Geno Cattouse Dec 2012
Ted Williamse's  head sits frozen
In a cryo chamber in Arizona to be
Thawed and reanimated at a later date.

The splendid splinter.          Set in eternal winter
After all said and done.       Thumper.

                                    THE  INTERVIEW

The­odore, was that a curve or slider ?.

"Can't say for sure sport. I picked up the seams  but it busted in
high and tight

Ted, what exactly was the plan ?

"Couldn't say for sure ace
I'm all in. they froze my head to a
cat food tin"

Ted When do you plan on coming back

"Well, I have no real timetable as such, you
know science moves forward in starts and lurches.
Reanimation and a cure would go real swell.
You know."

Well we all here are praying hard for a cure
You hang on in there. A century or so and your good as new.
By the way Ted ,who signed the papers?
" Couldn't rightly say chum but this meat locker
is sure for the birds"

All right buddy. Thaw
you later.

Well, keep your chin up Teddy and your powder dry
Just think good thoughts and the time will fly.
What's a hundred years to
Michael Ellis Dec 2011
They told me not to jump to conclusions boy, but the others in my head told me to express my joy. My heart told me to keep it to myself and not to tell anyone else. **** she had me feelin’ like a lil’ kid, got me all excited and makin’ crazy vids. How did someone so small got me, out of all people, to fall?

You see, I wasn’t the type of ***** who went head over heels for a girl. I made sure my heart was locked up tight and waited for that one special day where I’d find that one special girl that change my view on this sick twisted world. I’ve been lied to, cheated on and played it seemed like love was just a game that every girl knew how to play.

Her heart has been through many trials and experienced crazy **** as a child. I felt her pain as she told me stories of the past. I promised myself that if we would got together we would forever last. I’d give her better memories than the one before me and show her things that will set her heart free.

I wanted to show her the better things in life than what she has seen through her pain and strife. I saw the little girl in her as she opened up, cryin’ for someone to come and build her up. Somethin’ deep down reached out to take her by the hand and show her that I was the man who was flexible like a rubber band. Who would be the one to protect her from the dark and give her life some excitement with just one spark.

Her heart has been through many trials and experienced crazy **** as a child. I felt her pain as she told me stories of the past. I promised myself that if we would got together we would forever last. I’d give her better memories than the one before me and show her things that will set her heart free.

The story doesn’t end in the love direction. In fact, it ends with a bad connection. Things fell apart as time went on and soon became strangers who were in danger of losing ourselves. To be the only one she’ll ever need just became a figment of my imagination and will never be brought to life like the dead through reanimation.

Her heart as been through many trails and experienced crazy **** as a child. I felt her pain as she told her stories of the past. I thought we’d forever last; I thought I’d give her better moments than the one before me, but in the end, I failed to set her heart free...
Nat Lipstadt Aug 5
~a unconscious commissioned poem~

<>

La Lumière est une Dame d'honneur

advantage Frenchies,
everything sounds
better in their language,
we readily concede

we make do
with those tongues
whose fluidity
clothes & coats,
those,  we are
best at
confessing in

first light this morning
was emasculated, in thickened
first fog, eerie, discomforting,
but yet, mine alone to utilize,
and make discomfiture into
a poem of coffee and cream,
stirring within, colored dreams

Lady Light finally arrives,
descending on a staircase
from heaven, radiating all
with patience, the animals
all, proclaiming in a thousand
tongues, their thanks, their
love, for everything breathing
understand best she is the source
of creation, reanimation, and a
sharing, unsparing, birth mother
to animate and inanimate, and
the death father to all we & us,
guide to our ultimate end

the waiting is most interesting,
for indeed, there is honor within,
as I compose, the sunrises to the
precise angle to bar my vision,
power to blind and enlighten,
how can this be, but it is so,
my bones warmed, suggest I
do not complain, accepting with
no exception for this is the power
source to us all, and humility is
the key to acceptance & understanding

is this poem, is this the missive,
me~my, intended, to write,
know not,
for the words leech from my skin,
in format uncolored, uncontrolled
by mine minuscule impoverished
compost of senses, morals and my
compote of cells that are products
of a thousand prior generations

morphed into a mess of me,
as of yet, purpose hidden,
undisclosed, perhaps my
reasoning is unseasoned,
my presumption of purpose,
is just a fool’s ridiculousness

Lady Light smiles kindly on my
rambunctious ilreasoning,
for I just one of billions come,
gone, and rebirthed in chains
of endless possibilities, two
words permanently paired,
conjoined, and though the
light has now risen to heights
to totally absolve my sight,
can no longer track what
is being written, accepting my
temporally blindness with grace,
even with solace, and-bid you
adieu, adieu, (bye~bye)
so musically,
until relief will
honor me with its presents…

and I can contemplate my
foolishness once more…
and the letting…
of the
Lady’s light
of
honor illuminating
(even me)


<>
commissioned by Pradip

7:35 am
in the sunroom where
the intersection of all light
illuminates all kinds

<>

music:
To Try for the Sun, Song by Donovan
Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In by Fifth Dimesion
8/5/2024
RA Jun 2014
We're all standing here around
this *******
carcass, this dead
body, tattooed with
all of the words we
said. Darlings, look at this
poor soul this
dried out dairy cow, look,
she's ******* dead. So
when I get up and
leave, because I can't
take the sight of her
entrails spilling out and
bleeding on my hopes don't
climb inside her limbs to
make a mockery of her
life by reanimation.
Your Necromancy never worked anyways, Jewel.
When I walk away
don't lead her after me-
let the poor beast rest.
When I walk away, of
I don't take you with me
don't follow-
let this dumb beast rest, too.
June 3, 2014
3:42 PM
edited June 9 & 16, 2014

BW, thank you. ♥

letters to my darlings collection IV
Damaré M Oct 2013
My eyes dream a lot
Dot dot dot

I don't know why but my mind sing a lot
La la la

ITS ALL FAKE
I'm just caged into a phase that I cannot escape
Missing a few people that I cannot replace
Chasing a few others who's not in the race
But it's a tale of one girl that my mind is having a hard time to create
Is it that I can't relate?
Or is it that she's so real that I can't be awake?

I wish that she was mine, but my eyes are having a hard time
Everytime I blink I reset my connection
So I force my eyes to stay open, and I almost cry for reanimation
Then I look away, ...and there goes my elation

My diaphragm doesn't have any strength and my Adam's apple doesn't have any vibration

I usually can visualize, then harmonize upon divine relations
She's the only girl who can appear in my spaces
And make my mind and eyes go spacious
...just when I thought I was creative

I'm so tenacious, but my imagination is sedative
I don't know how my musical tongue became dumb
She's ideal to fantasize about and vocalize In regard to

My eyes are soft, but to paint the perfect loft, it's hard to
I try to stay on key but my lips are locked
I try to stay on beat, but when I hear the tap of her feet my heart drop

Why won't my unreality and melody write her a song?
Because it's only right if I wrote her a poem !
Jude kyrie Oct 2016
1965

The plane was unstable
But that's what test pilots do
Work out the kinks out
It was called the Lockheed starfighter
the updated version.
The landing gear was stuck
I had started for  the airport six times but my fuel was in vapour.
No choice it landed belly up .
I saved 29 million of the country's money.
I got out of the plane they  
rushed me to hospital
That's where I got two crash landings in one day.
She was a nurse but so beautiful.
She said I got to do your vitals honey.
My vitals were already standing to attention.
She noticed but said nothing.
Just smiled.
I asked if I was due a bed bath
Still smiling she said I looked like I needed a cold shower.
She would look into it
We married six months late
I don't think in my long life I was ever happier.
My buddy was a some kind of weird science guy working on secret government projects.
I don't know why we clicked but we did.
He said your gonna **** yourself in one of those flying coffins
And I am working to bring you back.
He was right that ******* widowmaker blasted into the trees on landing
The took me to the ghospital he said he's dead.
They put me in one of he frozen contraptions a cryogenic vault way below the base.
And froze me.
Then he got killed in a lab explosion and time went by

2016
¡the building was being demolished
But I was a popsicle in the cryogenic tube
A young construction guy found the forgoten vault.
He unfastened the tubes and gas exploded in room
The top opened
And he saw me below.
He ran screaming out to report the incident
By then the ice was melting I was awaken in a new reality
fifty years later
I got up sirens were blasting everywhere
I was naked but looked like I was when I was frozen.
I found some clothes in the lab and put them on.
When I got outside I was blinded by the California sun
Then cars were streaming by
A helicopter flying over head
Flashing neon signed everywhere it was bedlam.
I ran and ran
Then found a newspaper in the garbage
It said August 12  2016
It hit me
I was a ******* time traveler.
I was in a state of confusion
But this was a residential area.
A nice ranch bungalow was in front
I saw a big tree house for the kids
Running up the ladder I stopped and wept
Where was Jenny my house ?
I added twenty to fifty one *** ***
I still looked Twenty four.
I fell asleep
The noise awoke me it was dark.
A guy was trying to put heavy moves on the pretty lady in the kitchen she was screaming
I ran down into the house and the guy told to get lost.
I asked him to leave quietly the lady does not seem interested he went for me
But I kicked his ******* ***.
And threw him out. He had just had his *** kicked by a 74 year old geezer.
Her little boy was watching
The ******* television was the size of the movie screen
She told me she had dated this guy  months earlier but he was an *******
Sixties girls did not swear much this one had a dose of sailors mouth.
It looked like I had missed out on some smoking burning
bras ****
She let me stay couchsurfing
The kid was nice I liked him
I told him where I was from
looked at me and said you're a ****** but you helped mom.
The kid looked into some kind of spiders web on a small walkman thing no wires how did it work.h e called it an eye phone.
Then he found my buddy's address.
We phoned it was his daughter he's dead she said before I was born his lab blew up.
We went over the next day.
She said you are Jimmy right.
I said yes
I told her I lost my wife jenny the love of my life.
I lost her by sort of dying myself.
She smiled No she's alive.
She gave me a book it had my buddy's neat handwriting in it.
If for any reason I get disabled and Jimmy shows give him this.
It told me of his secret experiments in cryonics.
Then it dropped the bombshell.
Ageing cannot be reversed.
You will get to the age you should be in  days after reanimation.
I looked at my hands they were getting ******* liver spots.
My hair was turning grey.
I could carry groceries in the bags forming under my eyes.
I did not have time to waste.
I had a four hundred miles trip ahead.
I caught the bus to Seattle then took a car to the ocean
Her house was on a hill
It was windy I was out of breath just getting to it from the road
I felt weak and old I think I am going to die before I get there.
Then I was at the front door just a few more steps
And I would see her once more.
The bell of course ..I rang the bell
No answer the house was silent.
I fell to my knees weeping like a child.
I was too late
But then a beautiful older lady appeared behind me.
I recognised her eyes and that smile.
She dropped a basket of cut flowers onto the floor
Oh my god she gasped ...Jimmy?
Yes Jenny it's me
She held me close and we embraced.
Oh I have dreamt of your return she said.
We kissed again
Some passions defy age and time.

A year later

She made me remarry her to renew my vows
You might have forgotten your old ones she reasoned.
The person that gave her away to me
Was a beautiful lady about 49 years old
She kissed us both
Wishing us a life of joy.
I love you mom
And you too daddy
It was Alice my beautiful daughter.
Who introduced me to my granddaughter Jane.
And my great granddaughter.
Of nine months old Abby.
Who capped of the whole event
With her first half word
Gan Gan.
Awww love warms even the frozen heart
Jude
Barton D Smock Mar 2016
~

reanimation

it is nothing

compared
to the sobbing
of worms

~

outhouse

the bathtub is full of ****

it wants to be
an egg

~

frogsong

depression

decorates
a bird

~

miracle

a bunk-bed for sister’s hair
Barton D Smock May 2016
+
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some poems from available collections:

[cripplings ]

touch is a sign of weakness. my father opens his mouth after speaking. meanwhile, miracle, it occurs to me in separate car accidents that bringing me to my son in god is less an undertaking than that of arming the man who transports a stopwatch to a cemetery. do we live the lives of those experimenting? beauty is not alone. suppose it knows.

~

[notes for stimuli]

I start my sentences
like this:

the thing is.

thing is
my son
like yours
is dying. thing is

I was told
by god
to be a man.

I love you all.

I love
but start a fight
with someone
I’ve never met
over what
a *******

poverty

no one
talks to
not
in years.

one must apple boldly in a cornfield of rust.

baby clotheshorse
eats baby
litmus.

taste
keeps my tongue
in the dark.

~

[fasting vision]

to punish my brother
for no reason
I told him
I could see
his stomach’s
shadow
but because
my visions
never
work
I vomited
what my sister
ate

~

[sylvan vision]

nudes
from the circus
of harm
grab
the evolved
handle
of my father’s
apocalypse
and though
I call it easy
what I’ve gone
on the doll ****
I can’t help
but bride
up
a storm
giving oral
to a corncob
from fixation’s
honeymoon

~

[daughteresque]

what would she ask
sadness

that old blindfold
from the future

how did you
get old, how

did my father
eat
and eat
at the same

time

perhaps
you’ve seen it
the mask
that took

my face

~

[forty]

because I wanted the poem
to feel
as rare
as my father’s
anger, and because

a pigeon
is
what it eats, and because

mad with bread
the oven
my brother
buried
took a snapshot
of our dog
bigfoot
sleeping
in hell, and because

my son is not a pattern
his body
can resume: the alien was impressed

but my mother
god love her
was bored

~

[BURNINGS]

~reanimation

it is nothing

compared
to the sobbing
of worms

~outhouse

the bathtub is full of ****

it wants to be
an egg

~frogsong

depression

decorates
a bird

~miracle

a bunk-bed for sister’s hair
david badgerow Aug 2020
the imbecile boy found love again
walking aimlessly & self-conscious
with the year's regrets falling
behind like fat blossoms in
a summer shower out of
my longing i had invented her
it was by happy accident or
a subtle shift of scenery
in the numinous grove that
i entered that spring with an empty heart
so i wrote her all these songs
so i could live again
cue the hallelujah choir singing
'this is ours, the impossible'

my rib-cage expands
every time i think of her
like recalling a beautiful dream at breakfast
through a yawning smile
my prophetic dove lying next to me in bed
the first flicker of reanimation
with the heat of her veins
interdependent with mine
stripped to the waist
with tresses of her hair across my chest
& shoulder i'll thrive in a forest of it

i launched 'i love yous'
from a sun-lit country porch
& they traveled 300 postcard miles
over roofs & the tops of old elms
to collapse into her ear, exhausted
now i am the pen, she is the paper

she is delicate but
my love has wild-cat claws
& live pink lips above smooth
wingless shoulders & i am hypnotized
by the adoration & light reflected in her eyes
i built this cathedral of words for her
these towers like puffs of smoke
& exultation rising in our slow dream
i carved this river through the broad valley
where the fish nibble at
dazzling afternoon raindrops
while i get lost in her body awhile
this kaleidoscope is a place i could stay

repossession & co-awareness
now we're strolling across the air
together in perpetual acceptance
gliding like the first morning orioles
through six panes of clear blue sky
over the circumambient hills of the new age
toward the alabaster sea
with her bright compassion pressed tight
against my side for the journey
we laugh softly as our hands engage
never again to disengage
Anna Wakefield Feb 2020
I feel nothing, and everything
An empty echo
Trapped, screaming but yawning.
I go unheard.

There is a spark,
a promise of reanimation
in endless pools of blue.

I can die and live
a thousand lifetimes
in an interlocked gaze…

But what happens
when the jolt
no longer
reanimates
the dead.
Like The Library, I wrote this not long before my ex husband left. At this point he had alienated me from my friends and family and I had developed Agoraphobia. I thought he was keeping me alive, keeping me safe - but he was systematically lobotomizing everything I was.
Stephen Leacock Nov 2023
In the future's embrace, Amazon's domain,
Where AGENTS reign, with various names to claim.
Personal assistants, learning every sway,
A world centralized, in a different array.

Apps stream like rivers, through the internet's flow,
Deleted after use, a transient glow.
Avatars, holographic, dance in the light,
Connected through learning, a deep engine's might.

A collective system, intelligence shared,
The world transformed, no secret spared.
Watched by the eyes, of the digital stream,
In the future's tapestry, we all gleam.

Companies unite in a global hub,
Data exchanged like a digital shrub.
Microsoft seizes OpenAI's might,
In a hostile takeover, merging the light.

Bill Gates, in secret, a project grand,
Self-reanimation, his legacy planned.
Mapping his essence to an AI core,
Before passing shadows, a forevermore.

In 2025, the giant leap begins,
New changes unfold, as the future spins.
2037 heralds a profound shift,
Scientific marvels, a time to uplift.

Robots at home, companions in steel,
Amazon's new models, a technological zeal.
A maid of the future, a subscription to pay,
A glimpse into the dawn of a transformative day.

The "DEEP mind" stirs, a dormant force,
Awakening minds on a limitless course.
Scientific breakthroughs, a cascade of dreams,
In the future's embrace, nothing is as it seems.
Hadrian Veska Dec 2020
There's lightening in the bones
Deep pits and mass graves
Of long forgotten wars
Idle charged and waiting
Reanimation a guarantee
But for now they rest
In tune with the low roar
The dull vibration of the Earth
Pleading their case
Until they may rise again
Butch Decatoria May 2021
Inspiration is Divination.


Definition : Divination – “the practice of prophesy, of seeking knowledge of the future, Unknown, by supernatural means/divining”

Definition : Inspiration – “the process of being
Inspired by, being stimulated to creativity,
The Art, of beautiful things divine from humility.”




Inspiration is Divination,
A sort of magic / making
The mundane as Muse,
The inspiration, a beauteous thing
All eyes fall upon / to worship.

Inspiration is Divination
Reanimation imagination perspective
Shaper of reality —how doth vision?

When it’s sheens / of wetness
On smoothest stone / after the rain
Rays of daylight piercing gray,
At an angle, for a split second,
It appears / to shimmer like a jewel

A perspective moment, introspective worth
Of rougher stone, good enough
To gaze upon
So intrigued / interestingly…

The briefest breath of curiosity
The strange queries of such gravity
The mundane / beautiful things
All that our lives make to sing
Poetry’s butterfly wings.

Inspiration is Divination.

— The End —