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Salmabanu Hatim Jul 2018
The glass is refillable,
Even your life,
Cheers!
Enjoy as much as you can.
me Mar 2018
Another day, another chance
The broken road, that continues on
Pain, and the joy of when it leaves
Fantasies which hold more truth than reality
Lyrics when the music is missing
The music when the lyrics are missing
Friends who are family
Family who are friends
Refillable glasses
Refillable hearts
Refillable lives
Silence, which speaks
The joy of children, young and old
The dented, scratched, crooked, redefined, unconventional....
                                                     ....... beauty of Love
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
always woke up with nothing to say to her
not a thing.

we slept in rooms separate,
but she would bust in on me,
occasionally, to have an occasion,
never knocking, just door pounding,
just to annoy, just to see
if I still cared, hoping to revoke
what passed for pseudo-serenity.

some times entireties
would pass
before you had the energies
to swing
your legs over the
side of the day~bed,
conceding, white flag surrendering,
losing the commencing-avoidance of
the start-of-the-day battle of
pseudo-existence.

hoping against hope
you don't meet,
hoping against hope
she doesn't say accidentally,
good morning.

so you don't have to
Lincoln~Douglas debate,
aerate, concentrate, orate,
how to answer without bitterness
intended to maim.

knowing you could not e'er possess
a good morning, day, night,
by definition, by ruling of the
gods in charge of never.

sometimes you made it out
of the apartment that had
no ingress,
only egress,
happy happy no converse.

used to go to a Barnes & Noble,
get a refillable endless Starbucks,
from open to closing.
read all day, sitting with strangers,
till my **** hurt so bad,
didn't think I could walk again.

now and then,
smiled at the ladies,
tho nothing could come of it,
nothing ever did.

she never asked me
where I egressed too.
didn't care, that was better
for sanitizing my pseudo-sanity.

came home cautiously,
door opening silently
in case I was home prematurely,
she still there.

sometimes you wake up with nothing to say
to yourself.
that is even worse,
cause the meaning clear,
breaking point is near.

have a picture of me from those days.
a cellphone photo I took myself,
of course.
serious, bearded, short haired,
red eyed, unfiltered.

Sometimes I think I will banner it,
so you can tap into a part of me
that words just cannot do injustice to,
more than was already done.

here, while composing,
I fell asleep.
tired?

maybe.  maybe,
sometimes you just don't want to remember.
Jon York Jul 2016
Nothing lasts forever is the hardest
lesson we all learn in the hardest way
and the world is going to judge you
no matter what you do, so live your
life the way you want and work on it
every single day and be done and
know that to be outstanding you must
get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

Every positive change in your life begins
a clear decision that you are going to
either do something, or stop doing something,
so stay too busy on your own grass to
notice if the grass is greener on the other side.

It's nice to be important. but it's more
important to be nice and know the truth
doesn't cost anything, but a lie could cost
you everything so make it your mission in
life to be so happy and loving that you
have no time for hate, regret, worry, or fear.

Words are free, it's how you use them
that could cost you, so focus on what
matters and let go what doesn't and people
who wonder whether the glass is half
empty or half full miss the point.
The glass is refillable.

The secret of being happy is accepting
where you are in life and making the best
out of every day knowing happiness is a
choice that requires effort at times, so make
today amazing and stop complaining and
appreciate what you have.
                                                          Jon York     2016
Akira Chinen Sep 2018
They will sell us the addiction and then profit off the treatment they pretend to be a cure but it ain’t nothing but a revolving door of pills and rehabilitation and relapse the doctor is just a dealer with a license to ****** what little humanity we might have left side effects of no free will and plastic smiles and refills of suicidal thoughts and if depression doesn’t suit us they can strap us down in high anxiety and low self esteem straight jacket pin strip suits to cover up the tracks and scars that decorate our arms where we mixed our blood with the poison to feel like someone more than human high above the clouds in the atmosphere where we can always see the son of Jesus dancing as we let our mind run free in its cage beneath our skulls and when we’re down and numb we cut ourself twice to see if we can still feel and three times for superstitious reasons that we hear whispering from something crawling just beneath our skin and we add up the two by two of who is who and the devil is only real when he’s human but the myth is easier to blame for the down fall and disease of modern man and what’s so modern about mass ****** isn’t that the commonality running through all of our history what have we done to earn the crown of most intelligent as we destroy the only planet we have to call a home it seems to me we are all addicts of complicity and stupidity and what are the wealthy going to do with all their profit when we have buried the last of our humanity and its **** **** **** for the spoon and needle and bottle of pills for cheap thrills and we got nothing to lose by using our last few moments making sure if were going to die from our addictions we’re taking them on our last ride there’s no cure for the living that live each day as they already dead walking in circles of relapsing rehabilitation of refillable suicidal thoughts all in a single pill all in a single pill all in a single pill to cure everything but the addiction
lmnsinner Jul 2017
he arrives around 10:30am,
after the morning rushers
and multiple malingerers
have surrendered to the orange clocker's
rocket red glare stare,
that little dictator of time that
rules lands far and wide,
well before the hoped for lunch crush,
every restauranteur's faraway *******

most days, to the last counter stool,
he beelines,
the least desirable seat in all of diner-land,
adjacent to the noise of kitchen,
and its higher risk perilous,
two way swinging door "entera-ance,"
a residence to be avoided most studiously
though hardly a corner to go unnoticed,
by virtue of its iffy existence,
unless one likes the increased chance of
being a victim of a crashing accident

Mr. Condiment Man
goes in and out,
silently unremarked
in our land of spacious skies
and amber waves of plastic

customarily any "regular" is
happily accorded a
rousing Sousa welcome,
but that mistake now twice made,
a historical hurry up-to-be-please-be-forgotten incident,
the Condiment Man's invisibility
second only to the
Famous Cinema Actors
seeking breakfast
amidst the common people

no words are passed,
no pleasantries are planted,
the rule of incommunicado silence,
for both sides now,
most happily observed,
like a UN peacekeeping boundary

quick appears Cream of Tomato soup
accompanied by  ever multiplying handfuls
of packages of Nabisco crackered packets,
with a ketchup Heinz handy

a soupçon of five iodized salt shakes
into the soup interred,
released from the prototypical
stainless topped, glass shaker
whose universality of usage seems to be
a Federal law o' the land

the meal in silence arrived,
silently but oh-so-slowly-consumed,
it's extenuating circumstances
lengthily enhanced by intermittent deliveries
of additional cracking crackers,
and an unrequited, unacknowledged,
"topping off" soup refillament

this one act play presented daily,
with a free tall glass of water in red plastic
also refillable,
as needed
a play with no official ending,
no white topped, green lined,
ripped from the ubiquitous diner pad,
scribbled, billing ever presented

but the loose change precisely,
scrupulously counted then
upon the counter left,
materializes by the hands
of the Condiment Man,
which is sourced from pockets various,
in places where no pocket belongs

you can set you watch by his timed departure
at five minutes of Twelve,
he is no longer,
the play thus ended,
the audience to feet leaps
relieved and appreciative
of the quiet man's drama
and his most excellent
silent soliloquy

some strange human need satisfied,
sated, and pleased
for all parties concerned,
when the New York Times
revealed that this condo man
left a 50 million dollar estate
to Meals-on-Wheels,
here was no shocked groaning,
only some perfunctory observing
that frugality had a place,
and that this fantastick show,
now closed, would be
sorely missed,
for it had become a condiment itself
in the lives of so many
March 2017
Akira Chinen Jul 2017
We sip our coffee and cream
  and drink our whiskey and beer
Then listen to wolves
   dressed as doctors
     with deaf ears
       and big empty eyes
        and blood stained teeth
Who tell us to dull the pain with pills
  and drown emotions
   in prescription prayers
    refillable
     at the small cost of our souls
And we sit in front of flat screens
  and smart phones and insta-gratification
    and press the illusion of our face
      between pages of a metaphor
        disguised as a book
And the imagined life is better
  than what is really going on
   so we script our day to day lives
     and step into the ring
       and wrestle like big men
         pretending its not just
           another form of ballet
We've doubled down on dumbing down
  and we're losing more than we're gaining
    but we keep spinning the wheel
      and the barrel
        and pulling the trigger
          playing the game
            of suicide
          and Russian Roulette
There is two bullets for every name
  and a bomb of every size
   waiting for its time to go BOOM
     and war is just a business
        for the rich
      payed for by the innocent
       and the ignorant
Death is big money
  and blood is cheap
    pump up the world population
      and the rise of inflation
        keep education at a minimum
          as well as a wage
Keep the poor hunger
  and give them an illusion to hate
    divide and separate
     fear is the season of reason
      needed to segregate and dissipate
       any sympathy or empathy
        or kindness or love
We live in a nation of sheep
  being lead by a pig
   and it sounds like fiction
    but it's horrifyingly real
     and he tweets and he oinks
      and he huffs and he puffs
       and he is just a sad little man
        having a bad hair day
         day after day
The world is watching
  and laughing
    a nervous laugh
Maybe it's nothing to worry about
  maybe I'm just late for my pill
   and my beer and my whiskey
    and maybe I just need a little
      cyanide and cream
       to lighten the mood
        of the black coffee news
I was asked
"Is the glass half empty, or half full?"
I answered, "the glass is refillable"
But they do not understand
How long it has taken to get to that
The medicines I take
The mantras I repeat
Every minute, hour, day
The fact I submerse myself in life
Trying to find that "normalacy"
The medicines help
They keep my monster locked away
At least, I like to think they do
It is still there
Taunting me behind bars
Attempting to break free
Devour me with its darkness
I may seem normal
Happy-go-lucky
But they don't see
How much I fight
To keep the monster from me
This monster of mine is forever there. Lurking in the shadows. Crouched and ready to strike. It will take the simplest of things and turn them into catastrophic events. I fight everyday to keep him within...

I was asked by one who does not suffer what it is like. This is the best I can do to explain. If you do not live with it or deal with it everyday, you do not fully understand. Sorry if this sounds more like a PSA. It just needs to be said.
ogdiddynash Apr 2017
Mr. Condiment Man

he arrives around 10:30am,
after the morning rushers and multiple malingerers
have surrendered to the clocker's red glare stare,
the little dictator of time that rules lands far and wide,
and the lunch crush is but a restauranteur's faraway dream

most days, to the last counter stool, he beelines,
the most least desirable seat in all of diner-land,
adjacent to the noise of kitchen,
and its associated higher risks perilous,
a two way swinging door "entera-ance,"
a residency to be avoided most studiously

though hardly a corner for one to go unnoticed,
by virtue of its iffy existence,
unless one likes the increased chance of
being a  victim of a crashing accident,
Mr. Condiment Man goes in and out, silently unremarked
but very noticed

in our land of spacious skies and amber waves of plastic,
customarily any "regular" is happily accorded a
rousing Sousa welcome, but that mistake now twice made,
is a historical hurry up-to-be-please-be-forgotten incident,
and the Condiment Man's cloaking invisibility second only to the
NYC's Famous Actors seeking breakfast amidst the common people

no words are passed, no pleasantries are planted,
the rule of incommunicado silence, for both sides now,
most happily observed, like a UN peacekeeping boundary

quick appears Cream of Tomato soup accompanied by
ever multiplying handfuls of packages of Nabisco
crackered packets, freshly fracked, with a ketchup Heinz handy,
a soupçon of five iodized salt shakes in the soup then interred,
salt released from the prototypical glass shaker whose universality usage seems to be a Federal law o' the land

the meal in silence arrives,
silently but oh-so-slowly-consumed,
it's extenuating circumstances lengthily enhanced by intermittent deliveries of additional cracking crackers,
and an occasional lip smacking,
and an unrequited unrequested unremarked
  "topping off" soup refillament,
this one act play presented daily
with a free tall glass of water in red plastic also refillable,
as needed

a play with no official ending,
no white topped, green lined, ripped from the ubiquitous diner pad, scribbled, billing ever presented,
but the loose change precisely, scrupulously counted then
upon the counter left, materializes by the hands
of the unacclaimed Mr.  Condiment Man,
which he sources from pockets various
in places where no pocket rightfully  belongs

you can set you watch by his timed departure
at five minutes of Twelve, he is no longer,
the play thus ended, the audience to feet leaps,
relieved and appreciative of the quiet man's drama
and his most excellent silent soliloquy

some strange human need satisfied and pleased
for all parties concerned, when the New York Times
revealed that this C.C. man left a 50 million dollar estate donated
to Meals-on-Wheels,
a fortune amassed by speculation in
condo's (ha!),

there was no shocked groaning,
only some perfunctory observing that frugality has its place,
and that this fantastick show, now closed, would be
sorely missed, for it had become a
condiment itself
a spice in the lives of so many


~
O.G.D.N.
Ottar Jul 2013
He was a bright kid,                                                             ­                                                               
H­e was as brilliant, as the son
Any father would be proud of,
His dad was!
And still is,
How could he not be?,
High School, Masters, PHD,
He had the grades, and
If he was like his dad his
Heart was in the right place,
But the lake did not care,
His mom,
His sister,
His dad,
They have all cried tears
That burn and soak stains
That never seems to come out,
And never stop,
Sepia memories,
Unforgettable,boy to man,
Un-refillable,
Undeniable, emptiness,
Now heart wrenching sad.
Sad.

©DWE072013
For A.M and family at the loss of their son 072113

something so rare to take part in creation,
as a writer, of words,
as an artist, of a work,
as a parent, a child,
Nothing compares,
to the joy when they take
that breath, your joy is
so full the room bursts at the
seams, even though the years
ahead will be so difficult.

You wrestle with your creation,
winning only when you recognize,
that was never yours to limit
and control, only guide the chaos,
and hope,
and pray,
and hope some more,
and believe,
in the relationship of
father to son and
mother to son and
sister to brother and
family,
then
they succeed or fail,
they fail or succeed,
but
you love them,
love them
them,
even when he left
without asking,
before you were ready,
to say goodbye.
Brody Thompson Nov 2016
Dont mean to toot my own horn;
To shoot my own ****;
To pop my own corn...
But I believe I need a pat on the back
Cause I'm madder than a hatter
As a matter of fact
Ransacked and back at it
Attack attack get back you animals
Crack you in the mandible
With an upper cut with words
With what you heard
Preferred hermit crab
Dab at home alone
With Joe Peschi
Freshly squeezed ecstacy
In the strawberry field next to me
Resurrecting complexity
In depth perception is the equivalent to *** to me
Get to be **** with what you sputter out
Sssstutter nnnow that I mmmmention it
Leave you hanging like a suspension bridge
Ascension is essentially but a smidge of what it is
To be star
Who we are to a blind man
On this very night can
Divinely define us
Or confine us
But if you combine whats
Up and what's in
You win infinity times
Subliminal criminal
Killing it for a living now
Separate the syllables
Take what you're giving out
Prescription is refillable
Your own medicine
Your *** is what your head is in
We needed Nicky Tesla
**** a Thomas Edison
**** decrepit specimen
Might've made the mess we're in
A little more avoidable
Maybe make it Enjoyable to be from planet earth
The worst dirt pile?I've seen in a while
Squandering potential
Pondering presidential
Candidates made of hate
Divided states of Emergency
Divergency is urgent we
Could be so much more than self importance
Hordes of the masses finally off their *****
And protesting the fact that we aren't but packs of classes
He is me as you are he as you are me and we are all together
Every time
If the weather is fine or not
We got to stop this **** poor metamorphasis
For the better its imperative we live
It's just something that I repeat to me
We cannot add division
If we want to live in peace
Equally.
nawke Jun 2018
Of the 364 un-birthdays, best occupied by your craziest , unthoughtful and refillable teaports, who rather like to celebrate year round with you, though uninvited, it would be wise you decline hosting the party too.

"Well, why not? What's wrong with a Thinking party everyday?" 
 
I hear you asking.  Is what they do best by default afterall -- one is naturally invited whether one likes it or not.  

My reply would be "Mad Unthinking does not a party make!"  

Unless you like going on hater shooting rampage.  Otherwise, battling the twinkle little tea trays hovering in your delusional sky is rather, shall I say, a pointless endeavor.  Far better you meditate on that.

Luckily too, the only day they wont be celebrating is that one day on your special birth date.   Since it's the single time of year you're more than likeliest the happiest by design, among friends and families!  

But why just limit it to a day in the entire calendar year?   You should "happily uncelebrate bad-everything " or "celebrate happily good-nothing" for the 364 days in your mind.  And all should be well.  

Just remember, lift the tall hat and check under the hood, you may discover mad party always get you plenty of room.   But they merely recycle as a visage.  Chances are, you'd love to gate-crash and bring your best butter and bread knife to spread it all over time.  There's no "while" as they "mean", so to speak.   Especially when you are hangry and you had "nothing" yet, taking less is far healthier than filling up a buffet of nutrionless bad food.    Like clouds in the sky, let them go.

About that Raven too.  They are just cryptic messenger going backward and forward with unintelligible riddles that will spin your too clever head to a nevar resting point.  The codename is analysis paralysis.  

Akin to a kite in the sky, you can break the thread.  

Otherwise, you may end up like Alice to steal time, beat time, pass time and may get lost in a treacle well with much surgarcoating and sentimentality. Only to wake up 2 hrs later than you should have, to reality around you.  

So let it be known, and shed light into, the unknown parts of the 364 unbirthdays.  If you manage to go out, have some social bake and cake among humans now and then, you'll soon forget to uncelebrate them and lose all the over-muchness anyway.  

That's my wish for you !
Mind our minds.  Nevar let the unknown parts go unnoticed.   Inspired by Alice and Anthony.
keepsake7 Dec 2019
the glass is refillable

— The End —