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"rebuttal" poems
From the BBC today, Excerpt Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies? "It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master. Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song." That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope. But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody. Excerpt Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech. "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." Rebuttal Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands. ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG. Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity. Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion. One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state. It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE. If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses. If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine. You are not an artist. You are an employee. "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ                                            BECOME                               EVERYONE ON EARTH                ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG                       HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS             NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE                                          HOW BAD                                       artist? or employee?
0
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Article: Taylor Swift and why rhyme sells,
From the BBC today, Excerpt Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies? "It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master. Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song." That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope. But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody. Excerpt Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech. "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." Rebuttal Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands. ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG. Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity. Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion. One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state. It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE. If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses. If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine. You are not an artist. You are an employee. "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ                                            BECOME                               EVERYONE ON EARTH                ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG                       HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS             NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE                                          HOW BAD                                       artist? or employee?
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36
She's got a nice **** but she's anything but nice
0
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
rebuttal
The snow leopard and the little fox were sound asleep. The leopard curled up around the young fox keeping them both warm in the cold weather. As the sun started to arise the leopard awoke from his slumber. He then softly pat his little young fox apprentice's head, "Wake up little one. A new day awaits us," he said with a smile as he stood on all fours and stretched out his back. The little fox grunted and yawned "It's too early," she whined as she curled up tighter, "The sun isn't even fully up in the sky yet" was her rebuttal to his awakening. The leopard took her by the scruff and softly tossed her into the snow covered field. "Ahhh!~Ooof." The little fox yelled as she tumbled into the snow. "You know what they say, the early bird catches the worm, the early cat catches the bird." The leopard laughed slightly as he spoke, watching the little fox stand up all covered in fresh snow from last nights fall. "Well what's that have to do with me?!?" the fox shouted slightly, being slightly agitated about him tossing her. The leopard smirked as he walked by her and pat her head again, dusting off the snow, "It has everything to do with you, it has everything to do with everyone. It means the sooner you wake the more you can do. The more time you have in the day to do what you want," the leopard exclaimed with pride and excitement in his voice, "Do you ever ask yourself why there is so much left you want to do by the end of the day but just didn't have enough time? Well this helps you get more done. It gives you more time." The little fox tilted her head slightly to he side and looked down a bit, "I guess you are right," she said softly. Not knowing what else to say, she stood up and shook the snow off of herself then rush over to the leopard. "So what lesson will I learn today?" she asked eagerly. The leopard smiled as they started walking, "Didn't you just learn something?" he said as he raised an eyebrow. The little fox giggled softly and started pouncing around him laughing happily and saying "Well yea. But I want to learn more." The leopard laughed and looked to her, "Slow and steady wins the race little one. Slow and steady. we will find something for me to teach you, or for us to learn, as time goes on." he said softly but wisely as they kept walking into the woods, away from the sunrise.
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May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
The Leopard and The Fox(Part 2)
The snow leopard and the little fox were sound asleep. The leopard curled up around the young fox keeping them both warm in the cold weather. As the sun started to arise the leopard awoke from his slumber. He then softly pat his little young fox apprentice's head, "Wake up little one. A new day awaits us," he said with a smile as he stood on all fours and stretched out his back. The little fox grunted and yawned "It's too early," she whined as she curled up tighter, "The sun isn't even fully up in the sky yet" was her rebuttal to his awakening. The leopard took her by the scruff and softly tossed her into the snow covered field. "Ahhh!~Ooof." The little fox yelled as she tumbled into the snow. "You know what they say, the early bird catches the worm, the early cat catches the bird." The leopard laughed slightly as he spoke, watching the little fox stand up all covered in fresh snow from last nights fall. "Well what's that have to do with me?!?" the fox shouted slightly, being slightly agitated about him tossing her. The leopard smirked as he walked by her and pat her head again, dusting off the snow, "It has everything to do with you, it has everything to do with everyone. It means the sooner you wake the more you can do. The more time you have in the day to do what you want," the leopard exclaimed with pride and excitement in his voice, "Do you ever ask yourself why there is so much left you want to do by the end of the day but just didn't have enough time? Well this helps you get more done. It gives you more time." The little fox tilted her head slightly to he side and looked down a bit, "I guess you are right," she said softly. Not knowing what else to say, she stood up and shook the snow off of herself then rush over to the leopard. "So what lesson will I learn today?" she asked eagerly. The leopard smiled as they started walking, "Didn't you just learn something?" he said as he raised an eyebrow. The little fox giggled softly and started pouncing around him laughing happily and saying "Well yea. But I want to learn more." The leopard laughed and looked to her, "Slow and steady wins the race little one. Slow and steady. we will find something for me to teach you, or for us to learn, as time goes on." he said softly but wisely as they kept walking into the woods, away from the sunrise.
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1
They were the knotted extensions of her soul. They showed how she twisted the truth right out the lies she had been told. Since birth people tried to typecast her role. Marry a man Have some babies Grow old Her family would say someone mucked up the recipe; sugar, spice and everything nice. She was dissimilar to the 3. Her sugar was solitude. Her spice? Tattoos. Everything nice in her had been stripped and ******* So the only thing left of that were the bits of metal in her lips, nose and ears. "Brush your hair 100 times a day, dear", Her mother had said for years. And she did until the day she told her parents she was a different kind of queer. Then,the tears. Somewhere between her mother's damnations, her father's belligerence and her usual rebuttal of indifference, she began to take interest in her hair. Those long, straight strands were nothing like her. The red reflected her parents rejection. In that moment. There was clarity in the contorted version of love she had to incur. She decided the only expectations to accept were hers. And just like that the barrier between her and the world cracked. She decided to dread her hair and dye it black. As the years went by,  her parents learned to accept their daughter. And in return each year  she would send them a photo showing how her hair had gotten longer. She also added trinkets to the locks and let the strawberry color grow back. Yet she kept the tips black to remind herself no matter what the world wants her to be the most important thing in life was her self-esteem.
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Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
Dreadlocks
They were the knotted extensions of her soul. They showed how she twisted the truth right out the lies she had been told. Since birth people tried to typecast her role. Marry a man Have some babies Grow old Her family would say someone mucked up the recipe; sugar, spice and everything nice. She was dissimilar to the 3. Her sugar was solitude. Her spice? Tattoos. Everything nice in her had been stripped and ******* So the only thing left of that were the bits of metal in her lips, nose and ears. "Brush your hair 100 times a day, dear", Her mother had said for years. And she did until the day she told her parents she was a different kind of queer. Then,the tears. Somewhere between her mother's damnations, her father's belligerence and her usual rebuttal of indifference, she began to take interest in her hair. Those long, straight strands were nothing like her. The red reflected her parents rejection. In that moment. There was clarity in the contorted version of love she had to incur. She decided the only expectations to accept were hers. And just like that the barrier between her and the world cracked. She decided to dread her hair and dye it black. As the years went by,  her parents learned to accept their daughter. And in return each year  she would send them a photo showing how her hair had gotten longer. She also added trinkets to the locks and let the strawberry color grow back. Yet she kept the tips black to remind herself no matter what the world wants her to be the most important thing in life was her self-esteem.
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38
Tunneling thoughts like rain Craning through light clouds Unsuspecting victims. The fear The tears The temper tantrums; A kind of rebuttal That won't let our feet find land We adjourned to rehearse, but our efforts were null and void Only to appease with flames that licked our shriveled bodies D r i p p i n g Kerosene Tainted like ink Spilled on Reams of paper ruined like Christmas A house warmed by Open flames fallen candles Adorning A naked kitchen My limp body, Splayed beneath the oven As darkness indulges, It consumes The smoke, Fills Each crevice In your mind Can you ever fight it Burn your way back To blissful ignorance.
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Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 1:59 PM UTC
Just another night
A quintessential detrimental light to the dark, Its essential for potential blooming in our hearts, Fitting puzzles is no trouble if we do our part, We can struggle and rebuttal if we only start, Work together towards the better having piece of mind, Cut the tether love the weather peace is all we find, Forget the clock just never stop there's no such thing as time, Dodge road blocks pull up your socks and just watch for signs.
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Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
Light
You laugh at my jokes and blush as I tease You drive me insane and I swear you’re flirting with me Please reply I’ve thought this for a while So I decided to say I like you a lot, but I know you don’t feel the same way Please reply  You’re straight and I know I can’t change that. Am I just telling myself what I want to hear, Is it true that those intertwined hand holds were anything but queer Please reply They fit like puzzle pieces and I swear when we pull away.. Its like they don’t want to let go, they just want to stay And oh how I wish they could.  Please reply  They depart slowly and I can still feel the heat Sadly not the warmth from your rosy red cheeks Please reply  Is it true that when we locked eyes, blushed and chuckled, It was nothing, simply a friend, your bright eyes rebuttal Please reply   Is it true that my heart beat shouldn’t have increased and my face shouldn’t have turned red Is it true I shouldn’t be lying here writing about you alone in my bed Or at all Please reply please reply Please Just  Reply
0
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
untouchable heart
Barely Walks. And does not sleep day squinting
night in trance; Moonblinked

 & Anomie doesn’t speak 
What she thinks Until she drink Apart; life projector spreads in sheets
 
 Anomie not loveable so off she goes with dogs in sheets that bark and bones & in the padded womb zaps milky-Light synthetic-filtered-bright A spotlight for the bees Getting Drunk between her Knees Confusion explodes confetti disorientation takes the plow *** the only how An ****** or a fake hopeless meow She lives in mental corners watching window borders They push in; she falls out Brand new day Teeth on pillows crack Anomie's mind has to react She's fast to split- Spit out a rebuttal method witty-tactix kit No one tells her time to go But when Bee's belly full She-goes - Self-loathes Morning Glories still shriveled in their pods They own the glory of her story and her song Hiding in sarcastic retreat for clean feet under ***** water bathes wipes off the meat Not your friend She's trouble to love The dirtiest dove Anomie is naked and she's hated Take away the curtain glove eye slit under sunlit She recovers Don't judge it's all her love but you ****** Anomie anyways just because The Thrill
0
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
Anomie Walks
The world is too big And I, too small So I rely on my God To understand it all My mind can't seem to comprehend the things that aim, the world to end or bring the knees of an African to bend or millions of jews to the fire send my neurons a gatling gun , my eyes ascend my fist I raise, with the heavens contend God I trust you, all good all powerful, but me You won't defend? Am i a fool to love you till my end? I can't understand it all, all this hate, to a bullet or a noose will I fall? but still instinctually all I do is call Call on a good God
0
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 12:57 PM UTC
atheist's rebuttal
I see it It's on their faces All of 'em This shadow Like some sort of indifference Built out of hurt and pain and loneliness Like they're so tired of fighting that they just gave up "This is reality" they say Yea, I see it Don't think you can fool me And there's a lot I could say You know, to them, to myself, or to God A lot of words that attempt to heal A lot of prayers that attempt to reveal A lot of...wrestling...that attempts to understand the brokenness of our condition and how God fits into all of it But lately I've only been able to think of one thing One single question that wells up inside whenever I begin to feel overwhelmed by the comprehension of the depth to which you have sunk your teeth How dare you? I see her She's laying it all before me Her heart Her emotions All her past All her brokenness Her father who used to chase her all over the house Call her all sorts of horrible names Totally RUINING her sense of self worth! And now, she doesn't know what to believe or what to say or how to say it or what to pray or what to do or what to choose or how to love or when to love or if to love at all and all I can say is How dare you? Are you not aware? And I see him He's caught up in himself So misguided by the failures of those involved in his life that he built a wall TEN MILES THICK around his heart, locked it, swallowed the key and never looked back cuz he's so **** sure there's nothin' left to see and all I can say is How dare you? Do you not know? Oh and I see him Sitting right across from me all full of lies and blasphemy The things he says only ever amounting to full blown hypocrisy I see him So full of anger, hatred and hurt that I don't even know where to begin The web is so thick it's BLACK And you say it's hopeless, and I feel helpless, and all I can say is How dare you? Can you not see? Oh, and I FEEL it! That voice! Insipid and subtle So confident and slithering and leaving no room for rebuttal Give UP it says You're not capable and they're not worth it! Your faith is invalid cuz it contradicts all the others Your heart is too filthy and your soul is too shredded! You're gonna fail!  Because you always fail you failing, miserable failure! And all I can say is How dare you? Do you not know? Can you not see? Are you not aware? Get to tremblin', beast. For we are the children of the living God.
0
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
How Dare You(Spoken Word Piece)
I see it It's on their faces All of 'em This shadow Like some sort of indifference Built out of hurt and pain and loneliness Like they're so tired of fighting that they just gave up "This is reality" they say Yea, I see it Don't think you can fool me And there's a lot I could say You know, to them, to myself, or to God A lot of words that attempt to heal A lot of prayers that attempt to reveal A lot of...wrestling...that attempts to understand the brokenness of our condition and how God fits into all of it But lately I've only been able to think of one thing One single question that wells up inside whenever I begin to feel overwhelmed by the comprehension of the depth to which you have sunk your teeth How dare you? I see her She's laying it all before me Her heart Her emotions All her past All her brokenness Her father who used to chase her all over the house Call her all sorts of horrible names Totally RUINING her sense of self worth! And now, she doesn't know what to believe or what to say or how to say it or what to pray or what to do or what to choose or how to love or when to love or if to love at all and all I can say is How dare you? Are you not aware? And I see him He's caught up in himself So misguided by the failures of those involved in his life that he built a wall TEN MILES THICK around his heart, locked it, swallowed the key and never looked back cuz he's so **** sure there's nothin' left to see and all I can say is How dare you? Do you not know? Oh and I see him Sitting right across from me all full of lies and blasphemy The things he says only ever amounting to full blown hypocrisy I see him So full of anger, hatred and hurt that I don't even know where to begin The web is so thick it's BLACK And you say it's hopeless, and I feel helpless, and all I can say is How dare you? Can you not see? Oh, and I FEEL it! That voice! Insipid and subtle So confident and slithering and leaving no room for rebuttal Give UP it says You're not capable and they're not worth it! Your faith is invalid cuz it contradicts all the others Your heart is too filthy and your soul is too shredded! You're gonna fail!  Because you always fail you failing, miserable failure! And all I can say is How dare you? Do you not know? Can you not see? Are you not aware? Get to tremblin', beast. For we are the children of the living God.
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60
Everything has become so  irrelevant. I'm searching for an explanation but it doesn't add up. Nothing does.   I stay Comprehensive but nothing suffices.  Its a case of reversionist logic.      A impending cycle with no absolute meaning. Fog seems to cloud my judgement so my conscious doesn't comply. Loathed anti prescription swallowed daily, while the white walls and blue ocean make it's scenery. The voices try to compromise,  but it's a debate that holds an never ending rebuttal. Always forced into the unknown.   But a understanding of me, my voice, my demeanor, and my place in this bounden life circle is lost. So you must believe that no one will understand me.   I consider my self a ancient relic. I'm one of a kind but not rare. Cause once someone sees something extraordinary over time, it looses it's taste and someone becomes tired of seeing the same thing over time.. logic at it's finest. We all soul search to fill life's embrace of these mixed emotions. To experience what keeps my sanity afloat.   My vices keep me intent. In a way of keeping my head up and realize what power Im withholding that makes me immune to unknown circumstances. But the path to the void is too simple. My courage consumes and corrupts my will of giving up. But yet again,  it all seems irrelevant. Maybe your point of view on these lines I speak is a clear one. But then again maybe manipulative resources blind you. Or do you see my point?
0
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
Irrelevant Relic
I filled my bullet holes from the inside out Concrete substitutions for flesh laid by a man of stone So cold to the touch in the moonlight hours I almost forget I was ever warm Perforated to the core of my being My initial rebuttal to the pain i felt was to harden myself Teach myself to live with the cold And look towards the solid shadows I then casted for inspiration to carry on Fool myself into believing in the wholeness of a broken man I lived as a creation of my own twisted and transformed imagination day in and day out Dragging along the heavy weight a shield of hate brought with it The problem being Behind that shield I was protected fully from any outside source of grief But I was trapped as well A layer of thick rage and apathy deflecting any and all other emotion A poison that constantly ate at what was left of me Soon I became too weak to stand The price you pay for being invincible against all other forces is that you can never stop yourself from dying on the inside I had built a fortress to no avail Because I had trapped the evil within myself On my knees, my body rotting away What was left of my flesh began to shrink back The concrete was losing its grip the walls of skin that held them in retreating The evil had won Chunks of cement fell to the ground and crumbled The agony indescribable I was losing the last ounce of security I had left in this world I was weak and the heaviness of the shield left when I could no longer hold it I was defeated I sat awaiting a death that in my mind was the only thing left assured to me But it never came Instead, I saw the sun rise over the horizon I felt its warm rays on my disfigured flesh And all around me was illuminated In the light I saw how horrible what I had done to myself really was At the price of living I had bought myself immortality Nothing more than a cruel joke Night never came again And eventually I stood up The light shone through my bullet holes as I did and the last of my disgust for the world was gone I buried the shield and the crumbled stone deep in the darkness and never went back Because no matter what may have been in my past, no matter how much blood I had shed, I knew that now I could live, Truly
0
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Filling in my Bullet Holes with Cement
I filled my bullet holes from the inside out Concrete substitutions for flesh laid by a man of stone So cold to the touch in the moonlight hours I almost forget I was ever warm Perforated to the core of my being My initial rebuttal to the pain i felt was to harden myself Teach myself to live with the cold And look towards the solid shadows I then casted for inspiration to carry on Fool myself into believing in the wholeness of a broken man I lived as a creation of my own twisted and transformed imagination day in and day out Dragging along the heavy weight a shield of hate brought with it The problem being Behind that shield I was protected fully from any outside source of grief But I was trapped as well A layer of thick rage and apathy deflecting any and all other emotion A poison that constantly ate at what was left of me Soon I became too weak to stand The price you pay for being invincible against all other forces is that you can never stop yourself from dying on the inside I had built a fortress to no avail Because I had trapped the evil within myself On my knees, my body rotting away What was left of my flesh began to shrink back The concrete was losing its grip the walls of skin that held them in retreating The evil had won Chunks of cement fell to the ground and crumbled The agony indescribable I was losing the last ounce of security I had left in this world I was weak and the heaviness of the shield left when I could no longer hold it I was defeated I sat awaiting a death that in my mind was the only thing left assured to me But it never came Instead, I saw the sun rise over the horizon I felt its warm rays on my disfigured flesh And all around me was illuminated In the light I saw how horrible what I had done to myself really was At the price of living I had bought myself immortality Nothing more than a cruel joke Night never came again And eventually I stood up The light shone through my bullet holes as I did and the last of my disgust for the world was gone I buried the shield and the crumbled stone deep in the darkness and never went back Because no matter what may have been in my past, no matter how much blood I had shed, I knew that now I could live, Truly
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43
"Buried in the Sand" by Terry O’Leary A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand - With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned. He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand, With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand. The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up and bland, And Robin Hood and Brother Hood lie buried in the sand. "A Rebuttal" by Marshalg So Hood lied low, despite the show ensueing without help, One would have thought a British sort would spring forth with a yelp! Would spring ***** to help deflect contusions which occurred When beggar Clump adorned the dump confusing all deferred. Whilst sister Ant, attired in scant, ran forth on spindly legs And brother Frog with shaggy dog said **** and drank the dregs. It all became too much, as such, a meelee did ensue, So all called HALT and as one did BOLT...to the local for a brew! Phew...that was FUN & hard work! M.
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Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Fun with Terry O'Leary
I am inclined to think We all are related in a selfish fashion— Every action has a reaction Every favor comes with a rebuttal. One way or another We smother each other— Subliminal hopes of bettering ourselves At the expense of crippling those we claim to be of importance. And this alone is what makes our worlds so similar. Humans are fragile psychologically and in physicality, So much we can't help but to betray the helping hand.
0
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
Helping Hand
written March 31, 2015 "Have you ever cried every day for two weeks straight? I have And although the tears were sporadic My breaths were heavy and I had outbursts These tears i'm experiencing, two weeks later are hurting much much more I'm not biting my tongue to hide my sobs or crying into the pillow, late at night Rather feelings the burn as each tear slowly runs down my cheeks Every tear falls with a memory of you and my heart is heavy tonight I feel as if I'm suffocating Because my heart and my head are in a rebuttal Wishing two things upon myself and I don't know where to go I just want to stay still and do nothing for the rest of eternity Who knew decisions could be this hard on someone And why is it that the one who hurts you and treats you poorly is the one you set your sights on and want the most"
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Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
Suffocation
In the waking, in the wrong, I stumble -- spitting synonyms for love daring the scattershot night to take control to steer me into the early morning bedroom of anyone other than my own, and over the phone breaking, over with biting the mimicking face of former promise ring holders and front pew sitters I ask the sun to emerge gently, to kiss my forehead, scramble up eggs-- wearing my oversized t-shirt, cotton underwear, and an apron left behind by the sun's mother, but as night turns and walks away, no bright sun replaces-- instead it is that grey, it is that gaunt overcast haze that never shows teeth, only hisses, "How's the routine going?" In the waking, in the wrong, hands pull denim and throat itches for shouting rebuttal, but a man never won against the eternity of the sky, so I lower my eyes, spin madly into why why whys, a beautiful woman between pavement and sky jogs past and I see myself drinking coffee with her and grinning at what our elderly parents don't know, but before the words fall from lips, her feet, legs, and hips wisp into the early morning mist, the overcast sky whispers to the meadowlark above my head, I open the door to my home as the meadowlark begins to laugh.
0
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
iiiiiiiii
Up and over the barbed wire gate Crept a dreadful Mr. Despair To meet a horrible Mr. Hate Who was impatiently waiting there The dark alley that they had chosen Was well off the beaten path But it wasn’t long they heard approaching A reckless Mr. Wrath He greeted them with a grunt A courtesy, for they’d never met Then up from a steamy sewer Rose a rueful Mr. Regret He hardly nodded his heavy head On his face a grumpy grimace And so there they festered Awaiting their last accomplice Then out from a ***** dumpster Creeping quite quietly Fell the gang’s last felon An awkward Mr. Anxiety So there they plotted to pillage In that abandoned alley That lovely little town Then called Vulnerable Valley There they consorted, concocting To bring the town nothing but gloom They snickered, spat and sneered Oh, the impending doom Suddenly all peered upward As a light shone through a window above Their riotous rebellion had roused A light-hearted Mr. Love “Top of the mornin’ down there Dandy weather wouldn’t ye say?” To which there was no rebuttal To sewers and shadows The creeps had crept To fraternize another day
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Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
The Abandoned Alley
He came, reluctantly pulled by his head At the hands of a masked man, Using large metal, Salad Tong appearing forceps, Rudely, crudely yanked from his mother’s Cervical embrace, into the glaring, First Light of intended living and breathing. His head now misshapen, (To return to normal they assured,) His little body more blue than pink, Umbilical cord around his neck, Absolutely ridged, not moving, No sound did he make, appearing more gone than here. My own breath did cease until to my relief, His tiny arms and hands did give notice Of life, followed soon after by a fitting Shrill scream of rebuttal, a rebuke to The light, the air, the rude process That had brought him there. One moment at peace, safe and warm Within his womb of tranquility, dreaming Whatever dreams the pure and innocent's Do dream, then abruptly ripped from All that peace, out into all this! At that moment I too wanted to join in, Echo his howl, his guttural protestation, I too swept up by that ethereal wave of disturbance Feeling his struggle as if he was drowning in new found air. For me, as if at this moment of his birth, I too was being reborn. My knees grew weak, I was for a instant dizzy, I struggled to regain my own lost breathing. Restart my own heart, fight back the water in my eyes. I let go of his mother’s hand, she with eyes closed, As if sleeping, exhausted from too many hours of labor, My respect and love for her and her magnificent efforts, Expanded then to boundless. The tender masked women in white, They with shining, smiling eyes, Quickly cleaned, and wiped him dry, Swaddled him in a tiny blanket and laid him into My unaccustomed arms, and for the very first time In our lives, I looked upon the face of my son. At that precise moment, some purposeful mental, Primordial emotional switch, was indeed flipped, And I, WE would never be the same again.
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Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
A Child is Born
He came, reluctantly pulled by his head At the hands of a masked man, Using large metal, Salad Tong appearing forceps, Rudely, crudely yanked from his mother’s Cervical embrace, into the glaring, First Light of intended living and breathing. His head now misshapen, (To return to normal they assured,) His little body more blue than pink, Umbilical cord around his neck, Absolutely ridged, not moving, No sound did he make, appearing more gone than here. My own breath did cease until to my relief, His tiny arms and hands did give notice Of life, followed soon after by a fitting Shrill scream of rebuttal, a rebuke to The light, the air, the rude process That had brought him there. One moment at peace, safe and warm Within his womb of tranquility, dreaming Whatever dreams the pure and innocent's Do dream, then abruptly ripped from All that peace, out into all this! At that moment I too wanted to join in, Echo his howl, his guttural protestation, I too swept up by that ethereal wave of disturbance Feeling his struggle as if he was drowning in new found air. For me, as if at this moment of his birth, I too was being reborn. My knees grew weak, I was for a instant dizzy, I struggled to regain my own lost breathing. Restart my own heart, fight back the water in my eyes. I let go of his mother’s hand, she with eyes closed, As if sleeping, exhausted from too many hours of labor, My respect and love for her and her magnificent efforts, Expanded then to boundless. The tender masked women in white, They with shining, smiling eyes, Quickly cleaned, and wiped him dry, Swaddled him in a tiny blanket and laid him into My unaccustomed arms, and for the very first time In our lives, I looked upon the face of my son. At that precise moment, some purposeful mental, Primordial emotional switch, was indeed flipped, And I, WE would never be the same again.
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47
Answer me by Nat Lipstadt Why are the children if not hurting themselves, so busy hurting others? I know hurt in ways you cannot fathom, And I rise up daily with a but a single quest: Banish the hurt, expel the hurters, And practice the one true faith: Kindness and Grace. Sometimes the madness I read, too much, too much, And I walk away and store my poems in another place. But I am reminded, There is no such thing as too kind, So I wander back, Chagrined and Chastened, Hoping one among you Will help to raise up Me. The Rebuttal Ask me now to fight your war and I shall vanquish legions vast Call that I, a mountain scale and I shall conquer summit fast. Command me firmly, forth to go and I shall strive as best I can But call me to administrate and I will call you fool, be ****** Thus some have talent to be red and some attend to hues of green But few have skills of rainbow shade, few, at least, that I have seen. Some wear fear upon their smile others writhe with minds that burn, They wallow deep in misery, whilst others stop to see and learn. Some are black and some are white, for most the favoured shade is grey.... Roar ye might for judgement's fall, but futile friend... as death's delay.
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Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
Sparring with an Aged Adversary
It's as easy as life, this chronic rebuttal and no matter how right you are you're always wrong placing bets with your own ****** It's as easy as life, but who's to say life is easy? certainly not those who have left and gone on to bigger things; they'd like to believe in all this in retrospect but things should be simpler. It's as easy as easy as life guessing is not easy.
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Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
Imagination
The jagged edges of rocks Get smoothened by flowing water Yet, the broken mental edges Cannot be soothed by the flowing emotions Holding on to life, hanging from a precipice Not aware of the surrounding, but mental agony Blurry eyes and senses, leaves you forlorn Donning a black cloak, coalescing with darkness Oblivion beckons with enthusiasm To make you a part of the lonely journey Travelling with a heavy load of denials Yet, the rebuttal, becomes the only truth
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Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
Agonized Mind
If I were to elicit success's embodiment And to feel it's enrapture, like sin It's touch, coarse as salt to the fingertips? Would it smell like a rose on the wind? To risk, for a shared surreptitiousness That very boldness independence empowers, to instead announce allegiance to the flock of the age When drinking after hours Should it matter on the stage... As a coy rebuttal to loneliness In prioritizing what you need, by finding "circuitous" after a dip in the thesaurus for describing a sentence about trees ("When, obviously, it's actually describing something...far more potent...than any mere tree.") ...what fails to show up on the page? Such is the world that Art wanders into All big gestures 'round a clattering din ....but instead, "Success" has meant to me A home in my arms And she feels like a world resting beneath my chin A thought that cancels out Art's disappointments ...And her breath is a rose on the wind.
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Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
Success
Born and brewing on the road A choice on me has been bestowed To grant one side my presence there Take time to choose; contrast, compare. Offers, one side, an easy life Let's sing all day, and play the fife! The other, it seems, is harder still, Yet full of life; a forest's trill. "Come here!" one says, "there's much to do!" "Have fear!" one says, "it's brutal too!" "It's crueler there," says one, in rebuttal. "It's cruel, but fair," one says with a scuttle. Forever struck, undecided on the road For which side is better; my humble abode? Made soon is this choice, for ahead comes upon Two lights on the hill, like a double edged dawn Quick like a deer, I unfold into action. Be part of the woods? Or a slave unto fashion? To the judgement of others, their eyes on my back? Or the home of the hunters, to survive their attack? To the glistening great cities with the smog thickened air? Or the rolling green trees, all alone in despair? So towards the lights I will run, on the road I will ride. For I will always remain with one foot on each side.
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Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Chosen Side
there are moments with you, and moreover, tiny moments within moments, and so forth, when it feels impossible to be any closer to you than the cigarette between index and rebuttal. [it should be saying a lot(but it's not)] like on those southern nights when honey stained our lips and lives and judgment; they showed up in the back of a police car, armed with a deadly arsenal of threats as empty as the bottle of whiskey in the corner. they left, and we delivered, before the state could sweep ash away into the dustpan of a foster home and furthermore into the wastebasket or dumpster of the so-called effectively efficient system. we caught some air mixed in with the paper souls betwixt index and profane, and discussed past lusts and loves and losses and the insanity of the preceeding few days while the accompanying ebb of breath and flow of fire beat gently on our consciences. the new year; i never thought i'd make it here, and neither did you.
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Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
wednesday, january 2, 2013