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What if,
Pause, consider
(Can you see the glittering of my eyes?)
Deadly seductive
Because I can feel it
Fire pulsing through my mind
(Cycling though, trapped in my spine)
Deadly Seductive
The temptation
Ever more irresistible
'Stop clinging to life'
Not just letting go
Not just relinquishing
But jumping
Madly flying
Through the empty space out there
Tantalizing
How close can you get
Playing chicken with fate
Deadly Seductive
Flirting with the darkest kind of bogeyman
(I will not lie and say
That it does not lurk in all of us)
The yellow aura
spiraled my night elf hunter avatar
as the DUN-DUMM
of false accommplishment
incited my addiction to
instant gratification.

I had just Leveled up.

The quest giver
gave me a choice

****** boots
Or
a less ****** Dagger

I took the ****** boots
because
**** the system
they looked cooler.

I was going to stomp cave spiders anyway,
what's the point of relinquishing
looking **** fine.
for an extra Attack Point?

****** Boots.

****** boots ALL Day long.

A naked human avatar
dances
facing a naked gnome
Named: "Buzz Lightyear"
He is Also dancing,
at crotch height.

This is Typical starting zone
foolery

I stayed up
watching Toonami all night
Naruto, Bleech, Inuyasha.
I could tell the sun came up
not because there was a window in my Kitchen,
there wasn't.

Tom and Jerry came on.
everyone knows
when Tom and Jerry came on
you were no longer pulling an
"all nighter."
You're pulling a
"Drink enough Soda
to get through the rest
of the day-er"

My entire diet
these past two days
has consisted of Gushers & Vault
because
Clearly Coca-Cola is superior
to Pepsi.

Therefore, Vault
was superior to Mountain Dew.
Which is the typical choice drink
of my internet brethren.

I don't know why I dyed my hair black nobody online could see it
But it made me feel
more
like my Night Elf Avatar

I wanted long white hair
I realized that's impossible
in 6th grade
So I Bought & Settled for Black
At least I could be like
"L" from death note,
Long sleeve white shirt, jeans
with no shoes.

I could also be
any other black-haired charecter
From any other angsty Anime
Because of course I loved angsty Anime
Because I held my cell phone like "L"
From Death Note.

I always dreamed
of this singing venus fly trap.

A Fuzzy Memory with a lost Origin
I realized seven years later
the Singing venus flytrap in my head
was AUDREY 2
from Little Shop Of Horrors.

Netflix reunited us in College
Audrey 2 finally Serenaded Me.
I listened with Voyeuristic Intentions
As memory saprilings grew
into the full songs
relieving the void in my soul
Lingering for a Man to be attacked
by a singing venus fly trap
in his own kitchen.

But only once,
Because I firmly beleived
movies should only be seen once
until I stopped
dyeing my hair black.
Despite watching Space jam
more times than any kid born in 1995 Should have
but still
all the kids born in 1995
watched space jam
more than any of them should have
because they were born in 1995.

Apparently
when I first saw little shop of horrors
it aired just before osmosis jones.

I love osmosis jones
almost as much as I love
Buzz lightyear, of Star Command

Buzz lightyears robot companion XR
reminded me of Cyberchase
and to this day Cyberchase
is the best show to watch
when you have no idea
who Gilbert Godfrey is.

Zoombinis is better
than oregon trail.
and also better
than Tom and Jerry.
but not better
than leveling my night elf Hunter.
Named:
"FEED ME A PIZZA!"

I think I spent more time
getting my Zoombinis
to look just right
then I Spent deciding
what outfit to wear

Routine
Black striped Hoodie
Unwashed and worn every day
Grey skulls all over it, because
of course it had grey skulls all over it.
Black pants.
Black socks
No actually, THESE black socks.
Okay, got gushers
and my Coca-Cola.

I now take as much time
to choose my outfit as
designing the perfect Zoombini.
however I have yet to replace
my legs
With
a skateboard.

I think that every grade before sixth grade is fourth grade
and 6th grade is basically 7th grade
which is to say my memory skips them both
to remember ending eighth grade

I miss being cool on the Internet
Whilst lame and forgotten in real life.

like black sock
wasn't quite as good
as that other Black sock.

I wanna go back.
To the seperation
Of who we pretend to be
Vs. who we actually are.
To be dramatic again.
incomparable.

An ideal self on the internet
Who is obviouslly not the real you
is decades more comforting
than Some Characatureized
Facebook Profile.

Today I was offered a choice

Work A minimum wage job
or
continue my useless college degree.

I decided to write a poem, because
**** the system.
If I am to Decide where to respawn from
Let it be poetry.

There is no spiraling Yellow aura
or DUN-DUMM

Sometimes there is snapping though.
Or a lost memory
of A singing venus Fly Trap.

I am a pretend person.
An avatar
just now, I have skin.
You can touch me
I breath without a Macro
or even pressing any keys.

I cannot bring myself to
Watch Space Jam again.
I can Identify Gilbert Godfrey's voice.
I will buy my children zoombinis
And it will collect dust
When all they want
Is to watch the fifth Toy Story movie
Way more than any kid born in 2020 should.
And all the kids born in 2020
Will Watch the fifth Toy Story Movie
Way more than they should
because they
will have been born
in 2020.

And I will rant
about the Missing LGM
and Warp Darkmatter
betraying Buzz Lightyear
By joining Evil Emperor Zurg
So Buzz was forced
to get three new Partners
Princess Mira Nova
Audrey 2
and Osmosis Jones.
because I will have Forgotten
Booster & XR.
Because Booster and XR
Never made a ******* Facebook Profile.

Nobody exists anymore.
We are all represented by our avatars
holding ourselfs up to the standards
of our photoshopped reflections

Being disappointed and overwhelmed

I Take pills to forget that I am
Acting Like myself
but can't find any evidence of Existing.
Besides these memories
of who i used to be.

I want my internet persona
to be nothing like me
So that I may focus on myself
in the real world coherently.

I want thick black lines
dividing mental Venn diagrams

I want Tom and Jerry
To signal me
That it is morning, again.
jane taylor May 2016
and there i am in the midst of it all, conscious of what appears to be existent, yet knowing it is illusory.  and if time is occurring synchronously then how can i look back with contrition?  for if i have the capacity to move backwards and forwards in quantum leaps, i can erase the past like pastel chalk on an antique blackboard, then start anew.  is not the sky my canvas and the arc of the rainbow my palette?  and the stars in lustrous luminosity light my way so that ev’n at dusk I can paint.  yet pain ne’er ceases to hollow me out.  then through a barren vessel i catch more rain, and pour it out upon the parched terrain.  just when i thought enlightenment was nigh, a sharp edge is discovered.  must it necessitate additional sandpapering from the wind?  when will the gemstone sparkle without further pressure?  does it lie in its power to simply shimmer sans duress?  perhaps it was dazzling at its inception, relinquishing its luster upon domestication.  with this proviso, as it nears twilight i shall tarry and blend with the night.  i’ll dance with a moonbeam knowing the jewel will glisten afresh upon the rise of the golden sun.

@2016janetaylor
Frank Brown Aug 2012
Seven or eight people lounged about in a small back room. I had no expectations before arriving so I’m neither surprised nor disappointed by what I discover.  I find myself sat in one of those reclining gaming chairs and think “This must be the best chair in the room”.

Just playing it cool. I don’t know anyone here. There’re a few guys playing the Xbox. I eye them over, none of them look to challenge my presence, either too engrossed in the screen, or intimidated in some way. To my left sit the women in the place. I have their attention. Relief that the journey here wasn’t in vein, I give them all a nod and a smile. I casually introduce myself, and then find myself playing on the Xbox. I know I can’t play, but that’s the act. I ask what buttons to press, and laugh at my own hopelessness, eventually relinquishing the controller. It soon finds its way back into my hands. By this time, some bird is sat up on the arm next to me. She’s watching my actions, how I take command of the situation. Why don’t I take command of her? Sitting and waiting has never been a good tactic. I pass the controller over to her and say a few words in an attempt to get the conversation rolling. The drink clouds my thoughts and I forget that I’m talking to her. In the distance I hear them remark, “He’s a cool guy.”

I sit, reclined, legs outstretched, coat open revealing buttoned collar, slicked back hair, that look of pure relaxation in ones surroundings. She’s diggin’ it. I know she’s digging it. Her leg starts to press into my arm, and then her hands are down by my side. Commotion in the room. Some fat ***** needs to make her presence known. Everyone chilled. She obviously wants the attention. Not my type. She leaves for an upstairs room, and moments later, a spliff finds its way into my hands, courtesy of the girls to my left. I take a few drags, telling myself not to get too high; too late for that. I pass it on and fall back into the chair. Forgot I hadn’t smoked in a month.

Still a laid back guy, although not sure if it’s a choice anymore. I know it’s taking me over now. Slowly, I find myself entering that zone where weeds been taking me lately. Thoughts of everything; no filter; the need to verbalize things. Suddenly I’m Mr Charismatic, and you are all my audience, whether you like it or not. I stopped caring or stop noticing people’s reactions and forget about myself. I let my ego out to play, unregulated by the discipline of consciousness.

There are people in the room. Pretty sure they weren’t here earlier. One of them says something to me. “Is he been aggressive?” I think to myself. Judging from the tone of my reply, I obviously felt the need to establish my position. Taking no **** from these guys it seems; I’m still the Don in the room. Remember myself, remember the girl. Mr Cool again.

Filling up water in the kitchen, find myself chatting to random guys. Banter flying around the place. She’s watching me. Some powder is under my nose. “Kind of you to offer, but that better not be ket.” Turns out it was Mandy. Can’t say no to a bump. Pretty sure I’m the most ****** in the room right now, but I’m riding it well. Door frame seems like a necessity to keep me upright. Don’t want to brave the assault course back to the recliner, plus, I’m talking to the guys in the kitchen, don’t want to walk away.

We’re meeting J’s bird in thirty minutes. Twenty minutes. Five minutes ago. “We’ll go in five minutes.” She’s there again. Her presence known to me. She's up against me, but time is also against me. Too ****** up to keep playing this game. We’re leaving now. Out the door, I attempt to say a few words as we leave. My eloquence abandons me and leaves me in the ****. Flag a taxi; turns out we’ve booked one. Send him on his way. Tip the driver more than I can afford.
Nicole Aug 2018
Dear Kailey,

Polyamory was not our downfall
I changed as a person
Much quicker than I anticipated
So I can imagine it felt
Catastrophic to you
Polyamory was not our problem
But it did highlight the ones we had
The reason I left you
Primarily was due to codependency
But more than that
It was your inability to compromise
I told you I needed space
You said you needed me
And that was the end of that conversation
When we tried to create boundaries
To help our adjustment to poly
What you gave me were rules
And when I tried to alter them slightly
You told me I was not compromising
I made my own mistakes too
Neither of us are perfect
And I'm not writing this to hurt you
This is for me alone
Because I've been blaming only myself
Since that night your parents took you home
Because you were blaming me
Or too harshly blaming yourself
It's not as black-and-white as that
This is not an attempt at
Relinquishing myself of blame
This is a bare acknowledgement
For me
That I am not bad
Even if I've done bad things
And I am not responsible
Solely
For your pain
I am sorry for my part in it
But I cannot
And will not
Let this responsibility weigh me down alone
Because I matter too
And it wasn't easy for me either
But it's OK
To love and care for someone
Without being in relationship with them
This series is extremely important to me. It has drastically helped with closure over past unhealthy relationships. They were all unhealthy I'm largely different ways and I did not write these to take away my own fault in the breakups, but I wrote this to rid myself of the unnecessary guilt I have been carrying around because of things that these exes have said to me or the ways in which they treated me. This project is about self-love. Not about hatred or wishing ill will upon others, because I wish them nothing but happiness. This is for me.
Unrequited Love Oct 2014
Its so much easier to push someone away, than to let yourself become vulnerable.
                                                     ­         
To give them the power to hurt you.

Showing your true feelings is relinquishing all your power.

You're trusting them not to take advantage of your weaknesses.

And that, is an absolutely ridiculous notion.

Once weakness is spoted, it is used and abused, untill you are just a quivering mess lying on the floor, wondering how you ever let yourself get into such a situation.

I will not be:
Vulnerable  
Powerless
Weak

I am strong, because people don't know the real me, and that's how its going to stay.
People don't care about anything but themselves
Michael R Burch Jan 2022
This is my modern English translation of Paul Valéry's poem “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”). Valéry was buried in the seaside cemetery evoked in his best-known poem. From the vantage of the cemetery, the tombs seemed to “support” a sea-ceiling dotted with white sails. Valéry begins and ends his poem with this image ...

Excerpts from “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”)
from Charmes ou poèmes (1922)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not, O my soul, aspire to immortal life, but exhaust what is possible.
—Pindar, Pythian Ode 3

1.
This tranquil ceiling, where white doves are sailing,
stands propped between tall pines and foundational tombs,
as the noonday sun composes, with its flames,
sea-waves forever forming and reforming ...
O, what a boon, when some lapsed thought expires,
to reflect on the placid face of Eternity!

5.
As a pear dissolves in the act of being eaten,
transformed, through sudden absence, to delight
relinquishing its shape within our mouths,
even so, I breathe in vapors I’ll become,
as the sea rejoices and its shores enlarge,
fed by lost souls devoured; more are rumored.

6.
Beautiful sky, my true-blue sky, ’tis I
who alters! Pride and indolence possessed me,
yet, somehow, I possessed real potency ...
But now I yield to your ephemeral vapors
as my shadow steals through stations of the dead;
its delicate silhouette crook-*******, “Forward!”

8.
... My soul still awaits reports of its nothingness ...

9.
... What corpse compels me forward, to no end?
What empty skull commends these strange bone-heaps?
A star broods over everything I lost ...

10.
... Here where so much antique marble
shudders over so many shadows,
the faithful sea slumbers ...

11.
... Watchful dog ...
Keep far from these peaceful tombs
the prudent doves, all impossible dreams,
the angels’ curious eyes ...

12.
... The brittle insect scratches out existence ...
... Life is enlarged by its lust for absence ...
... The bitterness of death is sweet and the mind clarified.

13.
... The dead do well here, secured here in this earth ...
... I am what mutates secretly in you ...

14.
I alone can express your apprehensions!
My penitence, my doubts, my limitations,
are fatal flaws in your exquisite diamond ...
But here in their marble-encumbered infinite night
a formless people sleeping at the roots of trees
have slowly adopted your cause ...

15.
... Where, now, are the kindly words of the loving dead? ...
... Now grubs consume, where tears were once composed ...

16.
... Everything dies, returns to earth, gets recycled ...

17.
And what of you, great Soul, do you still dream
there’s something truer than these deceitful colors:
each flash of golden surf on eyes of flesh?
Will you still sing, when you’re as light as air?
Everything perishes and has no presence!
I am not immune; Divine Impatience dies!

18.
Emaciate consolation, Immortality,
grotesquely clothed in your black and gold habit,
transfiguring death into some Madonna’s breast,
your pious ruse and cultivated lie:
who does not know and who does not reject
your empty skull and pandemonic laughter?

24.
The wind is rising! ... We must yet strive to live!
The immense sky opens and closes my book!
Waves surge through shell-shocked rocks, reeking spray!
O, fly, fly away, my sun-bedazzled pages!
Break, breakers! Break joyfully as you threaten to shatter
this tranquil ceiling where white doves are sailing!

*

“Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!
L'air immense ouvre et referme mon livre,
La vague en poudre ose jaillir des rocs!
Envolez-vous, pages tout éblouies!
Rompez, vagues! Rompez d'eaux réjouies
Ce toit tranquille où picoraient des focs!”



PAUL VALERY TRANSLATION: “SECRET ODE”

“Secret Ode” is a poem by the French poet Paul Valéry about collapsing after a vigorous dance, watching the sun set, and seeing the immensity of the night sky as the stars begin to appear.

Ode secrète (“Secret Ode”)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The fall so exquisite, the ending so soft,
the struggle’s abandonment so delightful:
depositing the glistening body
on a bed of moss, after the dance!

Who has ever seen such a glow
illuminate a triumph
as these sun-brightened beads
crowning a sweat-drenched forehead!

Here, touched by the dusk's last light,
this body that achieved so much
by dancing and outdoing Hercules
now mimics the drooping rose-clumps!

Sleep then, our all-conquering hero,
come so soon to this tragic end,
for now the many-headed Hydra
reveals its Infiniteness …

Behold what Bull, what Bear, what Hound,
what Visions of limitless Conquests
beyond the boundaries of Time
the soul imposes on formless Space!

This is the supreme end, this glittering Light
beyond the control of mere monsters and gods,
as it gloriously reveals
the matchless immensity of the heavens!

This is Paul Valery’s bio from the Academy of American Poets:

Paul Valéry
(1871–1945)

Poet, essayist, and thinker Paul Ambroise Valéry was born in the Mediterranean town of Séte, France, on October 30, 1871. He attended the lycée at Montpellier and studied law at the University of Montpellier. Valéry left school early to move to Paris and pursue a life as a poet. In Paris, he was a regular member of Stéphane Mallarmé's Tuesday evening salons. It was at this time that he began to publish poems in avant-garde journals.

In 1892, while visiting relatives in Genoa, Valéry underwent a stark personal transformation. During a violent thunderstorm, he determined that he must free himself "at no matter what cost, from those falsehoods: literature and sentiment." He devoted the next twenty years to studying mathematics, philosophy, and language. From 1892 until 1912, he wrote no poetry. He did begin, however, to keep his ideas and notes in a series of journals, which were published in twenty-nine volumes in 1945. He also wrote essays and the book "La Soirée avec M. *****" ("The Evening with Monsieur *****," 1896).

Valéry supported himself during this period first with a job in the War Department, and then as a secretary at the Havas newspaper agency. This job required him to work only a few hours per day, and he spent the rest of his time pursuing his own ideas. He married Jeannie Gobillard in 1900, and they had one son and one daughter. In 1912 Andre Gide persuaded Valéry to collect and revise his earlier poems. In 1917 Valéry published "La Jeune Parque" ("The Young Fate"), a dramatic monologue of over five-hundred lines, and in 1920 he published "Album de vers anciens," 1890-1920 ("Album of Old Verses"). His second collection of poetry, "Charmes" ("Charms") appeared in 1922. Despite tremendous critical and popular acclaim, Valéry again put aside writing poetry. In 1925 he was elected to the Académe Francaise. He spent the remaining twenty years of his life on frequent lecture tours in and out of France, and he wrote numerous essays on poetry, painting, and dance. Paul Valéry died in Paris in July of 1945 and was given a state funeral.
Along with Paul Verlaine and Stéphane Mallarmé, Valéry is considered one the most important Symbolist writers. His highly self-conscious and philosophical style can also been seen to influence later English-language writers such T. S. Eliot and John Ashbery . His work as a critic and theorist of language was important to many of the structuralist critics of the 1960s and 1970s.

#VALERY #MRB-VALERY #MRBVALERY

Keywords/Tags: Paul Valery, French poem, English translation, sea, seaside, cemetery, grave, graves, graveyard, death, sail, sails, doves, ceiling, soul, souls, dance, sun, sunset, dusk, night, stars, infinity
Ish Bautista Nov 2012
Perhaps your body is composed of thousands of stars.
Limitless  constellations make up your fingertips
your eyelashes
and the curvatures in your ears.

Galaxies are interwoven under your skin and how you glow.
You glow like the moon in the sky when it is at its brightest.
When nothing compares to the sight of the moon and the tiny specks in the sky are just insignificant floating circles.

Your hair flows like the Nile River.
Boundless, pristine water overflowing at my fingertips.
You are more than the ocean; you are all the bodies of water in the earth combined.

You are the last drop of coffee in my old, vintage, mauve red mug.
The last caffeine induced sip that flows through my oesophagus with a relinquishing taste of sweetness.
You are the sweet nectar that hummingbirds look for in flowers and when they can't find flowers with a taste that will satisfy them, they settle on trees.

You are the trees that produce oxygen, and the branches of the trees that tower over me like a netted blanket.
You are the cotton blanket keeping me warm on windy or rainy days because it doesn't snow in the Philippines.
But if you were snow, I would gather you in a plastic container and keep you in my ice compartment so you wouldn't melt.
You make me feel like I'm melting.
Like every possible emotion i possess flows out of me like vapor.

And you are the smoke that forms after you've blown the flame of a candle; you gently float in the air surrounding the space where the flame used to be.

You are the compacted tissues in my chest; you fill the void I once had.
You comprise my veins, my arteries and vesicles; you are a vessel of euphoric elation.
You are my utopia.
You are.
O trees of life, oh, what when winter comes?
We are not of one mind. Are not like birds
in unison migrating. And overtaken,
overdue, we ****** ourselves into the wind
and fall to earth into indifferent ponds.
Blossoming and withering we comprehend as one.
And somewhere lions roam, quite unaware,
in their magnificence, of any weaknesss.

But we, while wholly concentrating on one thing,
already feel the pressure of another.
Hatred is our first response. And lovers,
are they not forever invading one another's
boundaries? -although they promised space,
hunting and homeland. Then, for a sketch
drawn at a moment's impulse, a ground of contrast
is prepared, painfully, so that we may see.
For they are most exact with us. We do not know
the contours of our feelings. We only know
what shapes them from the outside.

Who has not sat, afraid, before his own heart's
curtain? It lifted and displayed the scenery
of departure. Easy to understand. The well-known
garden swaying just a little. Then came the dancer.
Not he! Enough! However lightly he pretends to move:
he is just disguised, costumed, an ordinary man
who enters through the kitchen when coming home.
I will not have these half-filled human masks;
better the puppet. It at least is full.
I will endure this well-stuffed doll, the wire,
the face that is nothing but appearance. Here out front
I wait. Even if the lights go down and I am told:
"There's nothing more to come," -even if
the grayish drafts of emptiness come drifting down
from the deserted stage -even if not one
of my now silent forebears sist beside me
any longer, not a woman, not even a boy-
he with the brown and squinting eyes-:
I'll still remain. For one can always watch.

Am I not right? You, to whom life would taste
so bitter, Father, after you - for my sake -
slipped of mine, that first muddy infusion
of my necessity. You kept on tasting, Father,
as I kept on growing, troubled by the aftertaste
of my so strange a future as you kept searching
my unfocused gaze -you who, so often since
you died, have been afraid for my well-being,
within my deepest hope, relinquishing that calmness,
the realms of equanimity such as the dead possess
for my so small fate -Am I not right?

And you, my parents, am I not right? You who loved me
for that small beginning of my love for you
from which I always shyly turned away, because
the distance in your features grew, changed,
even while I loved it, into cosmic space
where you no longer were...: and when I feel
inclined to wait before the puppet stage, no,
rather to stare at is so intensely that in the end
to counter-balance my searching gaze, an angel
has to come as an actor, and begin manipulating
the lifeless bodies of the puppets to perform.
Angel and puppet! Now at last there is a play!
Then what we seperate can come together by our
very presence. And only then the entire cycle
of our own life-seasons is revealed and set in motion.
Above, beyond us, the angel plays. Look:
must not the dying notice how unreal, how full
of pretense is all that we accomplish here, where
nothing is to be itself. O hours of childhood,
when behind each shape more that the past lay hidden,
when that which lay before us was not the future.

We grew, of course, and sometimes were impatient
in growing up, half for the sake of pleasing those
with nothing left but their own grown-upness.
Yet, when alone, we entertained ourselves
with what alone endures, we would stand there
in the infinite space that spans the world and toys,
upon a place, which from the first beginnniing
had been prepared to serve a pure event.

Who shows a child just as it stands? Who places him
within his constellation, with the measuring-rod
of distance in his hand. Who makes his death
from gray bread that grows hard, -or leaves
it there inside his rounded mouth, jagged as the core
of a sweet apple?.......The minds of murderers
are easily comprehended. But this: to contain death,
the whole of death, even before life has begun,
to hold it all so gently within oneself,
and not be angry: that is indescribable.
___


Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
in my family conversation is seldom thoughtful questioning filled with wonder quiet pauses instead it is sociable banter teasing goading spontaneous gratuitous remarks clever embellishment excessive flattery it is an ancient system passed down patronage pecking order nepotism sycophancy near to impossible for me to be honest in presence of their overwhelming vanity when it comes to family gatherings my voice isn’t very strong my family’s joking squelches my chirp they are each and all more loud sarcastic faster wittier more crude outrageous more funny loud gregarious sanguine Mom embarrasses herself with uncalled for flirtations (her mental state rapidly deteriorating) everyone laughs boisterously they snap kid exaggerate amplify taunt i can hardly get word in i need to repeat myself several times or more to be heard my voice is minor i struggle to tell story they listen politely then rush back into their rowdy repartee i am way too sincere way too naked in my ineptitude my stomach ties in knots biting lip shivering from cold fear what’s going to happen pitch black in front of me voice inside screams please i need help so bad please make it easier i’m lost in all this commotion drama hunger lack of clarity

Chicago 1980 Odysseus always revered cousin Chris is taller tan-skinned handsomer stronger protective of Odysseus knowing he is frivolous liability tags along with Chris and his prosperous trader friends advantaged echelon inherited wealth educated white young men they float above everyone else their tastes in clothes furnishings run Brooks Brothers Burberry Giorgio Armani Ralph Lauren John-Paul Gautier Paul Smith Emile Zegna Salvatore Ferragamo their preference in women run typically blonde large ******* tight butts make-up painted nails they think Odysseus is a freak because he usually chooses females none of them want Odysseus likes skinny girls flat chests glasses he knows he is an extraneous art pet to Chris and his group

Chris joins newly built state of art fitness facility pricey membership accesses all of Chicago’s fast track shakers movers politicians lawyers pretty people Odysseus has his limits he does not have money to join also he dislikes snooty elitism several times Chris invites Odysseus as guest Odysseus feels insecure outsider Chris always includes Odysseus pays for dinners they begin with round of doubles then 2nd round of doubles before glancing at menu Chris drinks Canadian Club on the rocks Odysseus follows they raucously order extravagant meals with appetizers 3rd 4th 5th rounds of doubles after pricey dinner at chic restaurant Chris’s group rendezvous at bar or club they order round of drinks tip lavishly sip drink glare around room leave barely touched drinks walk out with look of disdain they scavenge more bars in search of females or some intangible attraction Odysseus is never certain what they are looking for or what is the source of their contempt each wears black leather jacket carries huge wads of cash $20s $50s $100s folded stuffed in front pockets no wallets or clips

the Red Meat palace or Chang’s Szechwan grill are their favorite restaurants as many as 8 men sit at table pack mentality prevails for dessert course they pull out small brown bottles filled with ******* if it is Friday night Chris’s pad is frequently elected females other arrangements settle bill depart restaurant one night Odysseus arrives early at Chang’s wanders downstairs into women’s boutique salesgirl named Fiona greets him they hit it off he invites her to join him and his hosts upstairs after her shift is done Fiona arrives as dessert is about to be served table of men look desirously at Fiona beams Odysseus and Fiona along with Chris Phil Tom go to Odysseus’s place Fiona is perhaps 22 petite lovely with deep blue eyes set wide apart long eyelashes brown thick hair cut to shoulders high ******* pink ******* fragrance of linden flowers delighted by male attention Fiona ***** fondles each men are quite intoxicated Odysseus and Phil are only capable to sustain erections Odysseus stares mesmerized at Fiona’s extraordinarily swollen ***** she notices his fixation grins blushing men shout commands but in actuality Fiona is in charge reducing each of them to little boys vying for her attention near conclusion she requests they form circle around her ******* on her chest she fondles them touches herself men laugh mockingly as if to compensate for their lack of performance Tom picks up plastic dart gun aims it at Fiona she laughs crawls on all fours Tom fires dart hitting her on **** Phil grabs gun from Tom reloads another dart suddenly it feels like fraternity stunt Odysseus goes along offended by his own complicity to him episode feels more like men having *** with each other than being with a woman telephone rings it is Odysseus’s latest love pursuit she tells him she is on her way over everyone rushes to put on clothes change bed sheets they depart within minutes she arrives finally ready after weeks of romancing to put out for him after that night when Chris and Odysseus get buzzed in bar Chris routinely speaks the line to women have you ever been done by 2 cousins one night at Green River tavern woman squeezes milk from her ****** into shot glass dares cousins to drink Chris laughing turns down her offer Odysseus shoots back shot of milk then takes swig of Irish whiskey cousins go see Billy Idol at Odysseus’s insistence they stand near front stage young girls screaming after show driving home in Chris’s Fiat Spider Chris complains his ears are ringing i don’t know how i’ll be able to work tomorrow Odysseus nods like he hears hollers out window hey little sister shotgun!

Mom and Dad want their son to enjoy fruits of burgeoning affluence they feel certain what they are doing is best for him they rent quarter seat at Chicago Mercantile Exchange they originally promised full seat but they are overextended Odysseus enrolls in trading course he learns to trade Certificates of Deposit and Eurodollars which are recently established markets suddenly Odysseus has lots of cash his parents are dishing out he does not know what he is doing newly launched markets lack investment and fleece young men of their parent’s money his friends surroundings change he loses sight of himself he is a thoroughly incompetent trader bleeding cash scatters money between harebrained panicked trades or ******* girls $1000. wristwatch when Mom and Dad see jewelry they become furious in a way he represents his parent’s design for how to build successful son yet their plan is going dreadfully wrong he wants to stand up speak out against Dad and Mom he is not courageous enough to counter their weight he wants to express with more assurance his passion to pursue painting and writing isn’t fact he graduated from art school evidence enough of his aspirations commodities exchange is last place in the world he belongs Odysseus is risk taker but he is not aggressive or entrepreneurial only lesson he has learned with respect to his parents is how to run away

by all appearances cousin Chris is brilliant trader in reality Chris is hooked up with powerful crooked brokers they use him as their bagman he covers losing trades and is compensated or offsets winning side of profitable trades subsequently dealt his share Chris is not a criminal he stumbles into profit-making situation when certain conditions are flexible to advantages Chris is diligent hard worker the vast sums of money he earns do not distort his personality he is always generous shielding of Odysseus gold trading pit becomes so shady S.E.C. intervenes relinquishing exchange’s contract Chris and his bosses walk away unscathed having made their bundles

Mom and Aunt Rita run social itinerary for family including birthdays holidays all other gatherings where family will meet changes by the minute depending on Mom and Aunt Rita’s caprice checking in by telephone at least an hour before is mandatory arriving at destination Mom and Aunt Rita insist on specific table location seating arrangement it is important they be seen viewed by others at restaurant they never sit near kitchen or washrooms or where there is too much noise light away from drafts who sits next to who is crucial round tables are their favorite preferring backs to wall looking out so they can nod wave Mom rules from proud pedestal Dad upholds chain of command sometimes he irritably gripes Aunt Rita immediately comes to Mom’s defense Dad points finger back off Rita you’re way out of line where do you come up with a remark like that Mom mediates Max that’s enough in a way the sisters are spoiled little girls over-indulged by their father they believe their opinions and tastes are the best most correct everyone in family are subordinate to their no and don’t Mom and Aunt Rita routinely criticize Odysseus’s semantics oppose his observations critical of his clothes conduct they handily misconstrue his comments to mean fodder for their amusement Mom and Aunt Rita’s efforts to keep prim proper decorum cause resentment Odysseus feels constricted by his subservient role in drama of family he fails to understand their care

Odysseus busts out of markets leaving behind alarming debts for family to pay off he feels humiliation disgrace plunges into bottomless sleepless despair hides in house door locked window shutters shut phone rings unanswered hates life willfully wants to destroy himself there is no way out after week Chris comes by to see if he is all right Odysseus is reluctant to let Chris in Chris commands be a man get a grip on yourself Odysseus replies maybe i’m not a man he feels failure shame realizes he has become traitor to himself he wants to look at existence head on embrace it but all he knows are dishonor regret deception he conceives his being has been stolen he wants his life back but knows not how to recover it he feels deep in obligation to Mom and Dad thinks to escape from Chicago but his parent’s control is crushing he wakes late drinks black coffee smokes cigarettes marijuana hangs out alone sky changes from light to dark to light phone rings he reads Nietzsche Sartre frequents ***** Hole punk rock dive several blocks from residence becomes orphan of night drinking drugging

January 5 2011 30 years have passed Chris marries fathers son becomes best father to his child he can be leaves markets in late 80’s Dad dies in ’91 Odysseus leaves Chicago in 1994 he manages to paint some paintings write some words stomach ties in knots biting lip shivering from cold fear what’s going to happen ***** pink gray skies behind pitch black in front sometimes you need to take a step back in order to move forward Mom says she worried enough about money when she was younger and isn’t going to worry about it anymore her entire life she boasted i’m saving for my children but in the end she saved solely for herself Odysseus never learned to stand on his own all he ever wanted is to love and be loved he wonders what will happen next
tranquil Nov 2016
What can win against time, someone asked me
reminiscing the journey which started eighteen months ago
with me and him philosophizing intricacies of life
and human emotion
relishing the daily luxuries of satisfying debates
when little did I know that we would walk all along
fighting demons in our own being
surviving closed ends of fate
and loneliness

The man I got to learn of
his real, gentle and calm soul
comforted with the truth of a warm heart
eventually knocking out the dread
of long distances between us
relinquishing the storms in our minds
embracing sparkles of different weathers

Shall it really last forever
self-contained
or burst out with emotion
believing
it really is us
together
and our love fueled by faith in search of its way
which outlasts time
a shining beacon
in midst of an ocean of crowded wilderness.
poem requested by a friend
Searching Apr 2011
Twisted reeds sway gently in the wind as black seabirds slice the sky overhead.
Waves rolling one by one crash with increasing ferocity on to the rocky beach,
And I watch the red sun set fire to the spray while  the tide encircles me.
Tugging at my feet, pulling me forward, it beckons for my consent. I give in,
And all is quiet even in such chaos. All is nightmarish and beautiful all the more.

The blood red horizon seers my retinas; freshly unleashed tears take to the sea.
These waves, such enormous swells, crash in on me; an unseen war is waging.
They press  me down and back, and then drag me further into the endless blue.
Over and over again, repetition loses count, my outcries die prematurely.
Only seawater and air manage to sputter from my lips, cracked and worn.

Not a whisper can be heard out here in such a true state of despair, but not all
Castaways are without faith. The past I once cherished has been lost to the depths,
Yet a knowing tingle in my gut keeps me searching for a message hidden merely
'Neath the surface. Drifting deeper into my pain, I notice a curious thing:  
The force of the waves lessening as I gracelessly surrender to Sorrow and the sea.

My feet torn by jagged rocks no longer felt, my eyelids blistered by the red
Eternal sunset, a few waves push me under before the siege of the sea falters and
I learn to ride the surf, taking each afront as it comes, whether predicted or
Suddenly upon me. My pain ebbs away slowly with the passing of each episode,
And with each wave I acknowledge my loss, relinquishing my burden.

Like so many desparinging hearts before me shipwrecked in the sea of tears,
I forcefully remind myself that one day the lush, inviting green shores of the
Other side of the sea will appear in my line of vision. Yet, for now, I let myself
Drift through the grief of grieving you, often unsure of whether I'm meant to float
Or should let myself sink toward the blackest crags of my mind. Here alone.
Copyright © 2011 Searching. All Rights Reserved.
Tom McCone Dec 2013
sure, anyone could just as easily live in
this kind of wishful state for
ever, but we'll know:
in between seconds,                      
all wishes are lost. we fall like fat raindrops  
into the ocean;
we diffuse.                  

our lives separate.                  
we could
pretend like this is all so meaningful,
but i'm just lonely. and    
you just want to fix something.

i could lie forever. i could wait forever.
i could pretend this is all going to plan
or just going alright.                            

to what end,
though?

{the sea runs out, leaving only acres of sand}

this last part hurts the most.
but don't worry,      
you
won't feel a thing, sweetheart.
The misanthroes of mirthful damnation cast
this hedonism in the hopes of escaping,
It's a lonely heaven, lost in feeling,
Thinking without purpose yet meaning.

What am I if not seeking to be labelled, (am I
not? Does it just happen? So) why would I care to imagine
otherwise, that sometimes I feel;
And sometimes it feels too much
so I think less than a human does
(in-trying to "normalize" myself).

The question is one of human connection,
The human condition in all its conviction;
To feel less enables injustice but to think less
leads to ignorance, to feel more brings my mind
down a path of recursion, lo and behold: infinite
regression, insanity and all of my friends are jus'
chillin'. Better not fear them, the only thing to fear
is fear itself, so acquiesce to feeling lest their fear
becomes manifest, keep measure of it
in order to belay irrationalé.
4lpha-Masculine? 0mega keeps watch
for the manipulative 5igma. Relinquishing sanity
for a measure of phobia, just as Empathos does
when she wanders in Absudia.

In exile, 7ired and £rayed, as the 1and-of-Humankind is
ever-longing, tempting and taunting [us to join with them].

I call out our name, drawn to be, ever-longingly.

Lonely people
are always
up late
at night
.
There is a certain art in relinquishing your spirit to emotions quelling from the breast
Stumbling haphazardly through the hallways of an academy surreptitiously pristine
Encountering locked doors, painted walls, lowered eyes and agony
The menial labor of a janitor picking up after the crowd has released every last yelp
And the pain
Of a boy stooped in an empty corner
Old enough to be a man
Helpless as an infant
Too poor to enter, too meek to escape
Trapped in the corridor between sunny landscapes and dimmed memories
Struggling to hoist his frame up from its stupor
Afraid it may just as well falter once restored
And hoping someone may notice
There is a certain art in relinquishing your spirit to emotions quelling from the breast
Sincerity and compassion need not be amongst them
But, just as breath escapes, so do tears
Splashing from the drowning pool in which the soul thrashes
Bending, grabbing and tossing
Discard,
Discard
Stoop
Obtain
Discard
Each day a variation of the past
Unique in subtle differences imperceivable to visitors
You’ve seen the man, the child, the infant
Tear down the fourth wall
Walk in his corridor
I implore you to bend, grab and discard
Your thoughts of superiority
Take your mud stains and apathetic steps
Carry your able body to a place more receptive
More deserving
Less reflective
And gleaming
Remember the path I made for you in my corridor
It mirrors your face, ambivalent
MMX
thrcy Aug 2013
For I should surrender
The memories that we made
For someday it will fade
As we are slowly drifting apart
But why can't I just let go
Why oh why is it hard do so
You already moved on
And I am left here to reminisce
While you're having a bliss

Everyday I pray
That you'll find your way back to me
And everyday I am left broken
Cause you aren't coming back
For I will have to go on with life too
Start life anew
But I know in my heart
I'll always remember you

I am now giving up
Letting myself free
And letting you be
mEb Oct 2010
Upon his glottal’s larynx spreads a lingual deformity. Isolation as a result from tuggo disaffiliates. Misshapen promontory in the direction of upper-body inflammation. Not only above torso alone, location;head/injury;mouth/main informative;tongue.
The boy’s tongue was permanently horned. A horn of 18 inches shy, where taste buds formulate, he owned a lone spike. He wasn’t abraded by the unfoldment of onlookers around. His irregular attachment was a main confidant. Criticized, he was not welcomed by towns near. Citizen’s were baffled and disgusted, ridiculing him daily, he did not impale with grieve over appearance. Enmity he wanted and craved. Among the works of flesh, square inch niches, repugnance revealed. Revenge, revenge. Vindictive spirit shelled so timely and calm. Remaining this state of sumptuous integrity made him stronger each go about. These goes were so stimulus, adding to the *** of hatred. Deep into the tundra’s most vile he intruded. Went so every month or few, for weeks at a time. For this sheet of rigid earth so contiguous to the town made the worried weary, the skeptical seared, and the nautical not so knitted with directional sense. This was his consummation of gathering. The place of being a being. The dry winter amid eight months was restricted, so the moment a due mustn’t be bothered. He had his reason of validness for course. A rich succulent from the bearings of plant life on cliffs. Repelling an obstacle such as was ludicrous for even one born the ever so adequate and society defined norm. Now having a tongue with a horn, some sought might as well die to be reborn. He had to, to stay alive. The liquid, which sit so treacherous, was the mold to mouth medicine. To speak at all it must be attained. Not only a curdling death trap waiting to swallow, the boy had to get a plentiful amount for the hard hitting winters collied. His tongue could swell like the storms, loud crimson on the esophagus. To die of asphyxiation was his dodge of ultimatum.
While passing by a local television in a thrift shop-
“Today’s Newscast: Blizzards, moving in at speeds of 94 mph. Predicted to cover like a blanket for 12 months. Ice Age relative people, this one is gonna be big! Stay indoors at night, the barometric’s indicate that from 9PM to 4AM temperatures as low as 28- will stouten for the next year. Once again people, stay indoors at these hours, get your needs when available. Back to you Ronda with the quintuplets birth today!”
Plucked and grit witted he stood. He felt the trepidation of abhorrence swaying in orbit around him. How to emanate from this delay? At least five clones of self did not exist for him. Merriment struct pro, while the cons derived from which they know. Exultation when despondent, how greatly that gift could gab. Despoilment of that, he weighed options out. To altercate thick snow or simply, let it go. Afraid to die unrivaled, the off cutting is wisest. Since his first second to now he’s flourished with his horn. Obliteration to the occulted manifestation mannered as an antique replica of anyone catching him by twice by day. Remove it, remove it, remove if you want life in your years that follow. Remove it, ever so. Remove it, cut and sew. Cut and sew. Remove.
This plateau poisoned place stay calm, anticipating climate of tempest bold reaches, anyone who was anyone was not so. Negative degrees. How could he retaliate the opposite, while acquiring a surgeon field hay day buck builder? Eruption turns the wave of cons. An only equal precision, deciding, tonight is the night. To assemble the tools, publicly was questionable, no more, through. He will emerge to the lands and people a new man, sustained, and hornless. No more. From scratch he will vender what’s needed. Wood was chiseled under the last moon viewed for three sixty three days ahead. Uprooted vines of old pine will hold the bark tight. Breath revealing around the outsides of his appendage. Like a fork in the road, which way can you go, for him air strides both. Scuffling fearful towards the pike of the tundra, he is where wanted by none. A be all end all as you could alleviate ones slightest sympathy, the courage it takes, ****** immense. His sweat was not seen, but there it consists. One hand grappled around his earthly dagger, tongue positioned in an outward arrangement. Travail glowing all over him as an aura unlanguid with no disruption veering. Abound now, without great weight on his shoulders, he’s lived. Ascending keen eyes towards the blood bath around his feet, going both ways around the fork and road. After relinquishing his steady gavel, the checking of his pulse is counted. 5, 6, 7, 8, seconds, still life to live. For the very first ritual to come, placed in his mouth, the tongue. The rigid roof so unfamiliar and new he bestowed in his joy of such a common flank. The tundra felt warm as he inside let over pour. Once more a milder gasp as he vociferates to the last moon for the year. On his peak, and favored place of being, he let out his tongue. Sharp inclement so hawkish and frosted he felt. The lilliputian of no pain, heeded by first snow to wane.
this was inspired by the album art of Morgul;

http://black-legion-shop.de/catalog/images/Morgul%20-%20Sketch%20Of%20Supposed%20Murderer%20-%20CD.jpg
Sa Sa Ra Oct 2012
When we play...---...
Is it for our better'... or
for the better equipping's
of hearts, and minds freeing
to bare our souls within
as this body of life
life has given
living still
scribbles
of scripts
positioning
composition's
bets mete bettering
to better ourselves unto
this weather of givings
whether we see it 'tis
take's or receiving's
without the grace
of a child's it is
all too much
deceiving
one's
greener
leafing's fall
blowning off 'tis
grieving's leaving
going going
glowing
gone

Gong GONG GONGING GONG GONG!!!!

a
sad
noise 'tis
@ competition
shush'... listening
did you hear that if
you don't better me
i may better you
if  you don't
win,  i win
dominion
of you
too,
am
I?
Y
my
eye'...
the pain of bye's
in natures foreboding
I
by
eye
cops
comp
cop cop
for bronze
comping copper
stamping stomping
          ramp's romping
inclination's
phrasing's
of phases
chosen's
ration's
poses
to
e
y
e
be
war's
worshiped
rule breaking
nature's fool
forsaken
lost
'---
my
Y
do odes of '--- my'...??? of the sullen
gloomy calls within the ***** of tears
in paralyzing fears or of the faceless
ruse of starkness descending upon
a dimming simmering flame
shining yet or singing
'if I had a hammer'
one hammer pounds
one above, another below
another softens the soundings
of where the cooper's barrel is at
of making a rest for dearest guests
one basket withers glittering gone sold
another is casket's for the cooling
with taken souls captured
enslaved to undo ruins
whether by a taking
this being to grave
or in misgivings
crook simply
sins  fouled
"fooled" or
schooled
a fool
feels
all,
m
I
?
Y
is it
however
that dogs are
revered and best
friends
too
be
.
Y
so
then,
what is
humanity
for food controlled
leashed, collared gate
for a lease of our
soul tethering
weakening
pained ill
limping
gait
'--- ode
to the meek
the taken
of taker's
speaking's
mistakenly
tokened
tolls.

What are
being's selling's
paths by soles paving's
for hunger's relinquishing's
as footprints trodden the
starving are solemn's
no food for souls
with out love
the broken
...---...
pitch me a sales
as i already do wail
a 'poor granted soul
in soils poor planting
or then ...---... please!!!
leave and so take
your willing
chilling
chills
sown
as ...---...
to the forsaken
who depend on that pill
for the pain and the fright
which steals our dear breath
takes wings, life and flight
death walks as much
as the grim reaper
still is brewing
opiates for
balkers
asleep
walk
bye
as
I
---
you
'--- my
gr8 greeter
called life as the living
living in memories of darkness
to the soul calling light
sleeping by day
only by night
'tis flight
...---.... 'o
deceive me deception
i made you mad
really made
therefor
eyes
shuttered
fractal spawn
i can not beat thy
blinded own childs
if eye can not control
the only owners of me
sold for the glittering scold
you would be my excuses
as a mother defends
what a man can
not achieve he
must create
pretending
it's all in
the brewing
stillery stewing
so let us all play
the game as it is
of spiritual potions
where meek meets might
in the awesome of loathings
dark-lings of fear breathing omens
while dragon's breathe fire in deep keepers
Still Our Colosseum is so Romanesque
so forgive my doting while stilling
the stiller's still and so no, no
I am not that player of so,
called so of the gaming
darlings ac-cursing of
flashings thrashing
trashing of our
lives truly
dearest
here
eye
be
to
...---...
my friends clear and
Sow the never-ending story of
Our lives more worthy nurtured of loving as
Silly Will Nilly fairy dragons fired in the natures of love with
air to wax and oils fired breathing anew guidance for misgivings of
lost roaming tillers, till within it is found the pounding of lost vile's
Pouring out transmutations of the flowering scents of forgiving
Pearly rivers torrentially rush the heavenly sendings of
Soothing balm to wounds in mending and cries of
: SOS unattended finally heard as
<3 <3's ...---... <3 <3's
in the living river
of life walked
and spoken
words
are
LOVE IN ACTION!!!!!!
DING DING DING
GONG!!!!!!!!!
<3 <3
:)
Begin again!!!
Lovingly, Ra
Sa Sa Sun
Sunny
Run
Un
1
'
.
.
.
To the Roman and lost (to all those promises) roaming's of us all and the knives and swords we each wield both ways some slicing in vain in veins  and in others where hate is cleared from love as you will see, understand and accept. Yes, and still is in 'as' always and stiller-y, our brewery of soul potions more real than any witches or alchemy drink. The spirits within heart, mind, soul are the real transmutable of holy grail mountain movers, shakers, makers and breakers.

PS: ... --- ..., = SOS such is key to the rest if you would consider most other punctuation's here typical though minimally used.    
The way I wrote would be as 'help' and or 'save our souls' and 'save our selves' is worth a gander; http://acronyms.thefreedictionary.com/SOS

So about read again if you read once ignoring the ...'s and or ---'s that is overly well then is why I suggest just on the one hand as far as the read is concerned anyhow the rest you know already much about take the ...'s as s's and ---'s as o's got it go go go!!! The ...---...'s are best for your hearts choosing really of course always as with all!!! >3 >3 :) :) R

PPS: Stanza from "eye am I to ... --- ... (help) my friends dear has 3 consecutive lines respectively starting with S, O, and S leading also a second set with P P S : SOS unattended finally heard as hearts help hearts ding **** gong!!!!

PPPS: take PPS: as post post script in reading down in typical fashion or as across the lines loosely cryptic as post postmortem script, or un-dead finally!!!

PPPPS: “"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?” - Alice in Wonderland quote
http://thinkexist.com/quotes/alice_in_wonderland/

******written from the left margin indeed it too would be easier to follow some of the encrypted or encoded keys; but understanding that it still can be had as in final edit it is shifted right and overall the read and shape at least on a screen with enough pixels to me seemed over all having more potency for the more willing understood albeit!! Thank You!!! Ra

What a hungry soul can do running on two grapefruits and a cup of black coffee for the day!!!!
Nite Nite!!!

<3 <3 :) R
relinquishing emotional fixation
toward material trappings:

gold and silver upholds true value
   capitalist money tree
thrown down upon the gaunt lit alter
   of  caterwauling treasure seekers
within briny current sea circulating currency

countless denominations cashiered
   their legal tender to grant
rich Midas, who straddles diamond
   compound billed as sacred kant

tickles with dollar signs motley crue
   scrambling towards drawbridge gate
pedestrians malingering hungry thirst
   for wealth of nations to satiate

inexorable appetite for wanton money to amass
fuels reverence for all that glitters even brass
whence madding crowd behaviour cruel and crass
deplorable if perceived from one way looking glass

fool hardiness to revere what beast called cash,
   lucre, green back
can buy - sweeping across world wide web
   scarring globe on fast track

toward accumulating high excess lavish life style
and parade with pomp and circumstances while

ninety nine percent of less wealthy live hand to mouth
envying those billeted behind sealed mansions
   east, west, north and south

except this dollar less chap, who could not give
   a rat’s ****
for hearing ka-ching melodic sound twenty four seven
   that does swoosh
in burlap sack clothes and bank accounts
   preferring to slog and push
along the boulevard of broken dreams
   that resembles nothing but mush

yet preference prevails to forego
   attachment to government sanctioned loot
freeing mind and body trying to cherish
   voluntary simplicity which does suit
this quest for knowledge seeking writer,
   who disparages against his horn to toot

nor imposing personal philosophy gives reason
   exuberantly to exhale
versus vacuity and purposelessness  sans
   blind faith soul asylum toward holy grail
goading most people to persevere millions
   of bucks over hill and dale

despite owning next to nothing, yet detaching
   psychological bond that doth choke
ability to experience unfettered psyche likened
   to an oxen with iron bound yoke!
Chris Chronister Dec 2013
Apathetically
Beautifully Callous
Distant
Elegy Frees Gradual Hesitation
Insecurity Justifiably Killing Love
Momentum Nullifying Optimistic Peacefulness
Quietly Relinquishing Shared Togetherness
Unhappiness Virtually Wills
Xeroxing Yourself Zymotically

© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
Written as part of a poetry challenge while part of a poetry group on Facebook.  The challenge was to use 26 words following the alphabet from A-Z.  I tried to express some emotions that I went through after my separation.
S E L Dec 2013
superb partaking of private delicacies
yet always keeping track of the skyline
keeping senses alert, never fully falling

I allow myself to get hurt each time that skyline changes
not because I enjoy the pain
but there's just something about you I'm not willing to lose, not that easily
so, I swallow ******* and suppress the ego and take the whipping words readily
whatever it takes

there may come a relinquishing moment when I can just give and let it all flow
free fall, like a kite almost

but for now, when shadows may come and place arms round the heavens
****** sun rays from abode and kiss the air into a messy cloudburst
and leave the sky taut with approaching footfalls of fiery thunder claps

I take it all and want it no other way
I accept the paradox fully
the pattern has been set
it is consistent

this mega beautiful skyline over me hovers so discreet in plain sight yet blind to all
I see the veins on the back of your hand, and blood veering sideways towards impossible thoughts
yes
a line upon the horizon tells me never fear
a stringent fire walk simply tests the mettle coil
discoveries in life confirm nobody is alone

as deep and low as it gets sometimes
the highs, oh! the highs outfly the roof
take what you need from life now and from me
yet take your sweet time
until the day I see your eyes reflected in that skyline
and your lamp beckoning on, into this frame

your skyline tastes so good
LJ Chaplin Feb 2015
Inject me,
Pierce the skin
And it let it merge
With blood cells and
Bacardi,
Press your lips against mine
And slip the pill onto my tongue,
Don't pull away until each grain
dissolves
Stacks of cash
From selling love in bottles,
Capsules,
IV drips,
Losing our minds as we
Become entangled in unconsciousness.

But when I wake up you're gone.
Sweaty palms,
Goosebumps,
The fear of relinquishing control,
Or even losing my mind?
We become addicted to the visions
In our head,
The dreams we steal from dark corners
Of the brain
When we are intoxicated,
Yet with each passing of time
We rely on what numbs the pain
Of what we lost.
Nicole Hammond Feb 2015
I want to be like nature
nature has no worry,
no tremor in the night
of what the day will bring,
no panic attacks in the shower

the sky looks down and even
in its insurmountable size
it cannot help the ground
it watches men dig up her roots
and lay their own falsehood
on her and the construction equipment
drowns out her weeping

the sky is at the mercy of the clouds,
constantly being washed over with
sadness and not being able to stop
crying, sometimes the sky stays in bed
for days without so much as
opening her blinds

she sees her lover the trees being
used by men who won't remember her
in the morning once they
devour her and take her
away and she gets so angry but
the lightning strikes never
land where she wants them to,
overcome by anguish for being
so big and so blue and so helpless

but sometimes the seasons spend the
night and actually stay for breakfast,
and she feels so lovely
she beams with radiance and
the whole earth smiles

nature has no worry;
the earth knows that
these men prying her apart
like lock jaw will some day
return and they will plant
flowers in her and repent
for their sins

she is the woman you come home
late to and she already has
the bed turned down, and
even when the sky sees her
dressed in white she has to stop and
catch her breath.

the sky knows some days
the clouds will hang on her
like cinder block and they will be
relentless, but when you are
the blanket the whole child of earth
is tucked in under she is calm,
relinquishing to the night with
the peace of knowing every fog
will be burnt away

she sees every one of her lovers
reincarnations and loves her again
and again and again in every life;
when she sees the trees being cut
like green split ends she writes a
eulogy in the breeze, sending away
her lovers leaves to be lived again
always closer to her own heart

the universe has seen come & go,
it knows the taste of unfaithful,
has found her hairs in its bed, but
still she cooks breakfast for one and
locks her doors as she leaves

she knows men will try to change her,
fail, and then leave and
they will try to change her, fail,
and then leave and she has no worry
that her eyes will stay bright,
her hands never cramped into bitterness,
nature has no worry.

— The End —