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Ocean Carter Jun 2015
Sunsets.

Growing up I never liked the nights, As a child it signified the end of play with the rule that you had to be indoors at dawn.

I remember the evil  ticking sound of the tremulous hands of time as we were separated from our friends,
with the sun wrapping up in the fragrant petals of the freezing cold nights.

A spirit locked inside a world of silence and pure nothingness.
The hot fire sparks assaulting my fragile skin of the hands over the fire at the compulsory fireplace,It's  streaks of sorrow still trace their way into my soul.

Until the day [God knows when] I saw the beauty of colors blending together, forming a magical hue through (You guessed it.)
a cheap camera lens.


Sunset is twice as beautiful through a camera lens.

Now more than ever I go sit at my betch, snap the beautiful sunsets, and caption them with a nervous pulse knowing it’ll soon end. Only fair since nothing lasts forever.

Darkness closes in, the fun begins. I reach for your hand.
"Come with me into darkness."
My technology nightmare
Leaves me euphoric this morning.
Addicted, like drug trials,
I knew the risks going in,
Got hooked in The Cloud &
Now it always seems easier,
With diminished psychic chafing
Whenever I go with the flow, as the
Hipsters are saying again.
Yes, the hipsters:
Finally, some kids I can relate to.
At least on some level, their music e.g.
The first thing I did this morning,
Waiting for my laptop to boot,
Was put a CD on the stereo:
Matrix Reloaded: The Album.
I set the shuffle function,
Looping back between
Linkin Park’s Session &
Team Sleep’s Passportal.
You can tell a lot about
What kind of day it will be
By the soundtrack you choose,
Your infinite play list,
Don’t ever say these kids have no culture,
Or nothing to share with us old farts.
Old Farts: an apt, Baby Boomer term in 2015.
Kids’ music, some of it quite good,
Quite 60s-worthy if you catch my drift,
As we used to say while grazing in the grass with
Hugh Masekela & his Naai Mongoe-Swazi red,
Surfrikan homeboys & band mates, & that
ANC Kwa-Guqa Township posse,
Shadowing him since Sharpeville.
That’s right, Babaloo,
Go with the flow.
Don’t fight it. You’ve been spared the unintended
Consequences of government shenanigans &
Free market meltdowns.
Consider this a CEASE & DESIST NOTICE:
Cease swimming upstream Mr. Phelps.
Desist fighting tide & current, Michael.
A mariner’s distinction, yet serviceable &
Purposed for this narrative.
“And away we go,” croons a Gleason levitation;
Aloft we go into the wild blue yonder.
The Cloud: an exalted playground.
You are atop the slide,
Kindergarten lord of all you survey,
Sultan, Chinese Emperor & Venetian Doge,
A 90-caliber Duke of Earl,
You are euphoric, Mike.

The descent into the humanoid condition
(See Paddy Chayefsky’s Howard Beale),
Is slick and precipitous.
It begins when you first finger ****
A pocket calculator or touchtone phone,
Or use a Xerox machine.
From there it’s a quick slide down
The technology ****-shoot: video games,
Spreadsheets & word processors,
Emails, texts & tweets,
Laser projection keyboards,
Wi-Fi amplifiers,
GPS navigators, &
Apps for No-Strings *** . . .
By “****-shoot” I editorialize, of course,
In a state of future shock,
Resenting planned obsolescence,
Contemptuous of shrewd **** kids,
Wharton School sharpies,
Scoping out price curves & flowcharts,
Colluding at industry trade shows,
Powwows & confabs,
Releasing newer, more versatile
Models & spinoffs, according to a
Scheme planned three years in advance.

I salt the inevitable wounds of technology,
Taking my fight to the streets, realizing too late
My sole means of alerting the flash mob
Is by so-called smart phone,
*******!
Even the revolution has gone digital.
Poor Gil Scott Heron, dead last year at 62,
Poor Scott Heron, channeled into the
Harlem Renaissance by that loyal Chicago Defender,
Subscriber & reader, to wit: his Grandma,
A “Rainbow Conspiracy” co-conspirator,
Cooking ham hocks & collard greens for that
Mythical coalition of Young Lords,
Black Panthers & SDS.
Heron’s prognostication was wrong:
“The Revolution Will (In Fact) Be Televised!”
We’ve witnessed quite a bit of it,
Lately, prime time lately,
Live by satellite from once exotic places,
Places like Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Syria & Ferguson, MO.
I say “once exotic” because it’s hard to be
Visually intoxicated by images of screaming brown men
Sporting New York Yankee ball caps,
“Vote for Pedro” T-shirts and
$200.00 Air Jordan footwear.
Admittedly, the production values of
Revolutionary journalism have improved,
Action reported Hollywood-style,
Narrative arcs, scripted episodes,
Drive-by Potemkin villages & battle scenes,
30 or 60 or 90 day shooting schedules.
Spontaneous proletarian uprisings as Reality TV,
Riveting dramas,
High Nielsen ratings & $500K
Per minute corporate sponsors.
Let’s view the new fall line-up:
(1) “Mustafa Behaving Badly!”
(2) “Tunisian Tear Gas Talent!”
(3) “Gaddafi Gets Sodomized!”
So hard not to open
My eyes to the sky
I step quickly
From the shadows
Into the waning light,
My body feels heavy
But my heart feels light
Like out my chest it will break
Leave my carcass behind,
I'm writing again
Polished off the desk
Re inked my pen
The paper is crisp fresh,
There is a breeze
And the air feels new again,
Spring is bounding forth
Towards me and my mind
Is a reloaded gun
I'm going to take it easy
I'm going to take it slow
The setting sun
Behind me;
The coming night
Before me;
Wonder how many
Bullets I have left...
APAD13 - 053 © okpoet
judy smith May 2015
The Annual POCU Fashion Show held by the campus organization “People of Color United,” was held in the Student Activities Center on Saturday, April 18. The fashion show is the final activity of the year held by POCU. Junior Martell Prayear and senior Miranda Jackson were the show’s hosts and announcers.

The fashion show is a competition where various designers, or teams of designers, are required to create outfits that adhere to a general theme, but also incorporate the designer’s unique, personal concepts. This year, the general theme for the fashion show was: Thrift Shop. Each designer, or group of designers, was required to utilize clothes purchased from the local Goodwill and maintain a $50 budget. Preparations for the event, Jackson said, were very short. “I was really surprised how well it turned out, because we started practicing for the show at four o’clock that day,” Jackson said. “They typically start practicing way a head of time.” Despite the delayed preparation, the fashion show was an overall success. The first designer to present at the fashion show was Victoria Webster.

Webster’s fashion line was inspired by professional work attire. “I think it can be hard transitioning college wear into professional wear, on a budget,” Webster said of her outfits. Webster was able to find three models to wear the clothes, which she said was a combination of the model’s personal items, as well as those purchased through Goodwill. The second fashion line presented at the fashion show was designed by Iyana Lynch. For her personal theme, Lynch designed outfits that were inspired by the different seasons. The third designer to present that evening was Alyssa Nieset. Inspired by 90’s menswear, Nieset designed a line of androgynous outfits. The final clothing line presented was a team effort from: Jeanita Blue and Angel Powell.

Their theme was considered “90’s Reloaded,” and featured various throwbacks to 1990’s pop culture such as TLC and The Spice Girls. Blue said that most of the outfits in their fashion line were inspired by “eco-friendly fashion,” and were intended to decrease hesitation toward shopping at thrift stores. While the judges finalized the scores for each designer or team, the Urban Dance Association entertained the crowd with a quick performance. The judge’s scores resulted in a tie between Jeanita Blue & Angel Powell, and Iyana Lynch. Despite the general tie, Blue and Powell were awarded first place, while Lynch was granted second place. There was an off-campus reception held in Cleveland after the event. Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/purple-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/green-formal-dresses
The hp deathstar  had all but sqaushed  are rebellion.
And the pub falcon  was being  looked for parked in front of everycyber  bar across the net  so it really ****** cause capt Gonzo
was really thirsty.

We had  taken refuge on endor for awhile  untill
thoose fury *******  got ******  over a simple misunderstanding
they sure were some horney little teddy bears .

In thinking over  were to hide  there  was mention
of  eurainus to which I replied.
Get your mind outta the gutter  man.
you just said eurainus.

Cp bathsebo  and  R2 Swanson said s0mething to which
I  jokingly replied hush the men are talking once wasnt to smart.
Ever been kick to the grown  by a steel high heel shoe
hopefully the numbness will wear off.

Master golden had  taught me much  
but that was many drinks ago.
How am i supposed to remember that far back
yesterday was a blur.

So **** it lets kick his *** already jack skyhorner said.
Darth Elliot was mighty the battle was hell.
I would have joined in but someone had to  rob the liqour
cabinet   besides  Honzo  Gonzo  a bit of a hangover.

As the stormtroppers  aproached  screamed like a 13 year old girl and ran to fire up the pub falcon.
As the others  said what about jack I said  im sorry but he's gone
it was brutle  i took out as many as could.

But Jack would want us to move on.
Just then  Jack appeared  and said nice scream gonz.
We blasted across  the gallaxy with no direction  cause ya know
how guys are about asking  for directions.

Fully stocked and and reloaded so to speak.
Drath Elliot    was amighty foe.
But no match for  the outcast  girly screaming
Capt Gonzo
And who ses you cant think up ****  when semi sober.
Cheers  amigos  see ya at a pub near you.
Graff1980 Mar 2016
If I remember correctly
That book that you taught
The BS we all bought
Specifically, said
No false idols in god’s stead

But today I see
Your televised priest
Asking for a G-6
Some deep strange ****
Talking about how
If god wants me to be rich

Hold up I thought Jesus said
Denounce all worldly goods
And follow me
Not get rich on cable tv

And thou shalt not lie
Well you blew that guy
When you told your wife
You’d be out for the night
But went out to **** some guy
Get two for one
Cause you just committed adultery son

I recall turn the other cheek
Not go out and get a gun
To shoot someone
With whom you disagree
And do we have to add
Thou shalt not ****

I also recall
The meek will inherit the earth
And as you have done
Unto the least
So you have done to me
Which doesn’t mean
******* on the poor
While sitting on your nice porch
I’m sure you got a lot to say
You can go on and shout out
About how we need to pray
But maybe you could start
Acting in a way
That doesn’t make your Jesus
Want to run the **** away
And stay in a place
Where he doesn’t have to face
Such deep hypocrisy
nivek Oct 2016
where all mouths are opened wide
and silence the only voice in town
I sighted a Blackbird fly and sing
orange beaked to his lover. And
his lover answered in silence
opening the door to death. A boy
shot the two lovers and reloaded.
Satisfied he had killed love this
time.  And he was all powerful.
Descovia May 2021
Back and Reloaded
I rock waves
My voice controls chaos in motion
Every breathe I set off explosions 💥

Split you ***** ****** apart like the ocean
I have the power, feeling like I'm Moses
Praying with spells to return home
with expectations from expialadocious!

I am feeling alive for the moment!
Murderous mind, might slaughter my mother loving opponent
99 Problems, Team Beat It Up, None of you don't want it!

Walk it like I talk it.
Make you hustle and work
Like crossfit!
Be on ****** *** like debt
I am on it, like I own it!

****
Cash Rules Everything Around Me
Except dreams

Corruption Ruins Earth AlignMENT

DON'T FALL FOR THE SCHEMES

2021 IT'S TIME FOR A CHANGE

SO TELL ME WHAT
YOU GOT IT MADE

DOING THE SAME **** THING?
JDK Aug 2015
My hubris will be my downfall;
knowing this might help.
*gimmick
Ann Church Oct 2010
forget?


FORGET ???

forget??

I can only hope I will never forget again the lessons of my Heart's teaching, that to lay
aside the bleeding pen of my now and again rush to trust
leaves only deeply grieving, with no quick way of leaving
the memories of another careless unjust
which seems to gather no dust
just the edgy ripping of another
heart of gold dripping
breath by breath
that only leads to
more deserts of pain
reloaded with
Alone again.

~rumorsofme~
ConnectHook Sep 2015
“Humankind: be kind – be One!
I am appalled at what’s been done.
Benign intentions must restrain us.
Hate should never entertain us.”

The toad comedian Ban Ki-Moon
croaked a pitiful One-World tune
while gunmen paused, reloaded, armed
checked that they had no comrades harmed –
and then prepared for further battle
against the clueless kuffar cattle.

Ban stood upright to intervene;
surveyed the terrorific scene…
muezzins chanted, mullahs chuckled
swords were sharpened, bomb-vests buckled.
Dhimmi dim-wits went on shopping.
(Are heads in sand less prone to chopping ?)

Hesitating, he cleared his throat,
raised his pitch by a quarter note:
“These acts are most undemocratic
We are saddened; yet emphatic – “

(no one heard his discourse further
drowned by the sound of massive ******…)

So let’s consider what is meant
by rolling heads and bodies splattered…
time for Truth to represent
(as if such inconvenience mattered…)

Such events disturb our sleep
and force us to compose, on waking,
lullabies for drowsy sheep
as predators are overtaking.

Flags of doom and holy slaughter,
sons of Ishmael filled with rage
are coming for your wife and daughter
and yourself. You turn the page.

Rising now to storm your tower
(7th century back to bite you),
Allah brings satanic power
to convert you or to smite you.

****** dhimmis would have us think
such rage is due to unemployment;
pure confusion on the brink
of funding further troop deployment.

Meanwhile, mullahs sip their tea
while tenured academics prattle
watching MSNBC
as soldiers die in battle.
A poetic response to Charlie Hebdo massacre
http://www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?NewsID=49741#.VfDO0RFVikq
Where Ever U Go...

...Oh The Places U Will Go!!

Whatever U Do...

...Oh The Things U Will Do!!

As U begin this journey new
A poem I have penned 4...


Loup
Lupo
Lobo
Wolf
Ma’ iingan

...U

The voice
The very powerful voice

Rises deep within the aesculus
Creates a fullness, a resonance

Shaking the buckeye
And opening the 3rd Eye

Light afoot...
     ...through a dreamlike state

U glide through the underbrush
Time being taken, no rush

U stop and raise  your voice
For in this matter U have no choice

Whether a Growl
Whether a Howl

Your powerful voice...
   ...is the release of your soul

Your song rises high
Streaming across the sky

Your own hOwlPERA

          Or so U thought!!!

Because in this instance
From far off in the distance

Came that familiar, comforting call
That brings warmth with each snowfall

Touching your well trained ear
U know there is nothing to fear

A calm passes over U...
...for U know

That this message is true
And meant specifically for U

"Please Remember...

     ...I'LL ALWAYS Be There 4 U"

(c) 2017 Shawn White Eagle
I sound like a broken record...it has been so long since I last put my thoughts into prose. As my Lobo/Misigami/Minneosta begins this new path in this thing called life...I am proud of how my little pup has grown.  From being a helpless pup in the den...to those first steps exploring the outside world, eventually becoming an explorer in her own right...enjoying every adventure to the fullest...she has become not only a passionate explorer,  but a poet, an artist, a singer, an athlete, a student, a care giver...and so many other things that define this wonderfully loving person.  But most importantly...she is one of the most beautiful spirits I have ever known...and that incredible lupus spirit will continue to bring light into this world.  I love U Lobo!!  Do your thing and on the way...keep making this world a better place.

Live 4 Love
Babbino
Courtney O Aug 2018
"Girl you got this"
Your desire you might get
If you work hard, put yourself out there
A capitalist poem? I must be out of myself!

Dreary poem, this is.
Like true life - **** this ****.
I am Philip Larkin today
Or at least I try to be.
Misplaced in space, a nice wound in my head.

Girl
With her head buried in papers
Struggling hard, prey to Amway beasts
And lowpaid jobs and pocket misery
Let's **** this ****. Get rich.
A **** me hard, all I really need.

Girl
With no money and too many needs
You've got freedom but you lack the wheels
To drive you away from here

And this fight for a penny
Makes sense because we are. Sad system this one!
Our promised land...even if we break up.
I'll rename it, claim land back.

Girl
Lost in a tough world
Stay your ground.
She knows
The meaning and the key
Is simply love
And for what love can't afford
(None of them really blissful things)
Hard work, and luck
(None of them glee)
RMatheson Apr 2011
"Blood keeps drinking away, certain of its destination. Driving through New Orleans at night. Gotta find a destination...just one fix." ~ Ministry

Sick
I gargle your blood one last time
I hear you tell stories of authors
you love so much
while inside my head digs tunnels
to China

At first unwrapping,
(a child with no eyelids)
the chunk of tar
always seems fist-sized - until it is gone

High
You are suddenly there,
a cool summer morning anxious to be far too hot,
wind blows through you as if it were
balloons
in rainbow hues.

Reloaded conception, sanity.

Sick*
Stupid -
doing your part by recycling cans,
wasting water cleaning each one out,
equation a zero-sum,
positive multiplied by a negative.

Aokigahara, a Sea of Trees,
redolence of a carrion flower attracts flies.
They land, bring up dissolution and
spread your legs
where they deposit the eggs.

Beachy Head, a white plume of efflorescent death.
spysgrandson Oct 2016
he sighted
a ****** of crows
lined on a dead oak branch  
he could see only silhouettes
against a gray dawn sky    

he closed one eye
pulled both triggers
on grandpa’s old gun;
all of them save one fell
from the lifeless limb  

the sole survivor
looked down on him,
but did not move, not an inch
not even when he reloaded,
aimed and shot again
* a two minute poem has no requirements other than it be written in two minutes--after the two minutes, editing is permitted; e.g., changing tense, omitting or changing words (adding words is not permitted), changing number or even changing the order of words within in a line--it is an entertaining form that has potential for one to make economical use of words and time
Arbela falls into the hands of the castes of the Etréstles of Kalavrita, plummeting like lightning and surpassing the scorched farmhouses of extraterrestrial Mosul, into its intrinsic compartments. On the other hand, there was the power of Maceo, his Syrian, Mesopotamian, Medean, Parthian, *****, Tibarian, Hyrcanian, Albanian, and Sacesanian troops were immediately found, they were scattered like Leviathans disturbed by themselves and their debased Titans, in all execrations not specified of this avalanche, so that they are carried by their leading dean, and donated to their physiognomy as limpid preys of misfortune to be foretold for them in the exile of their bravery. Later, once embedded in the crevices of its stenches, they would search in the foolish emanations of the Phosphorus (Morning Star of Venus), showering it with the glories of the morning and its distractions, exchanging the decomposed inert matter towards the Achaemenides, incontinent to be bordered with all the fascinating dawn. Those commanded by Maceo; the commander of Darío, brought a heart to be transplanted from a wise Dervish who had set out to install it after conquering the epic feat, and its conjecture. They believed they were seducing their attached lords who supported their disconsolate ones, but they brought through the substratum of character that moves the incessant squeaks in the bitterness of the hemlock sheathed in the Xiphos, toasting towards the twilight to mark the retreat between lights.

Etréstles saw a lost proscription on the battlefield, expelling it from the divine heaven of Arbela. By the conferred Vernarth is adhered to in this round by caressing Alikanto by the right gibbous of his steed Kanti, this would cause them to cross in the same line, and give a split oppressive kinetic curve for the hyper spearmen to vibrate with the spin of twist their contracted masses, adding field at the tips of the sky to the despondencies and the static Persians. Thus they fought together close to the infantry, in a famous order, plagiarizing the movement and linking the ribs of the Syntagma's ranks from left to right, to fluctuate in the forces of their graceful Falangists with anxiety. By observing this Alexander Magnus, he redoubled his heavy cavalry and also challenged such a concert in the maneuvers executed by Etréstles, calling it "Diabolical Office", since they traveled inseparably in the Runes of circulatory movement and in the cardiac system or Kardiá, reimplanting it in the spin of turn back of the infantry and the cavalry, but with the entire mass of their blue lapis lazuli horses…, wheezing from their nostrils!

Auriga says: "Your venereal milestones come to disturb the new beings, they come to occupy your organisms with arrows on their bodies deterred by the magical quiver of Artemis, with new incarnations and manly gallantries"

Etréstles jumps from Kanti, and represses some militias that were surrounded, and manages to see Vernarth, to the sound of the noise of his transmission reloaded on the intimidated enemy. At times, he would hold on to one of his executioners to resist the pain in his ribs. As he clenched his sword vigorously and resisted the suffering that paled in his face but increasing the size of his arms and legs, to unleash the great booming voice of Sheol, which led him into the great stupor of the resigned Persians, then a whole is clarified in the miscellany it was of the fervor and pain of the expelled souls, to witness the amount of their independence consumed.

The lightened atmosphere of emptiness in the tunnel of the Profitis Ilias was felt at the top of the surface, where the entrance acroteria of the Hexagonal Progeny stood and trembled. Majestic gravitational waves struggled here inverted, seeping from the volcanic base of Patmos in vertices of physical fields and elementary particles, very similar to the caves of Gethsemane, in the suggested stop of phylogenetic mechanics and the establishment of phonetics, all embedded and propelled by the particles impacting on them, causing mass opposition in the internal void of the duct covered by the Iaspis saddles, propelling unions in progressive waves and in viscous fields, very dense when generated by the Christi Arms and the Souls of Trouvere. These elementary particles of God were submerged in excited basilisks of composite particles in the dynamics of energeia, preexisting already cited and adopted by Vernarth in his last parapsychological regression where he collided in the Higgs Ipso facto field. In the areas W and Z, rather in the W of Wonthelimar and Z of Zefian as patterns of lights without mass in their vectors that were attracted by the tidal wave of their matter, where the viscosity is perhaps, the confusing darkness of the fossil material, mutating by atomic energy from the starvation of the Febo Shemesh, or false Sun of Leviathan in its collapsed asthenia. It was captive of a viscous moraine that collided with each other, exciting occupations of the empty field, already typecast in the Higgs boson, and in the Wonthelimar photons that it had to spare, to be prone to the binomial W and Z, in the energized tangent of the shallow elementary bodies transformed into particles with mass. The interaction of the particles resembled the quantum field of the Garden of Gethsemane, with asymmetric and rocky spellings, which supremely became immanent in the trinitarian energy that absorbed them in their arrest, concatenating the converted tendency of the Higgs field into a physical structure. quantum symmetric, therefore in a perfect trinitarian triangulation of elementary particles, activating equidistant from their uniformity to each other, in all the spinning spins, and in the three ataxic angles of Zefian instability on the way to its fourth Bolt. The static yearned for the tendency that propagated in a fourth Angle, but this time in the Hexagonal Progeny, on its six sides receiving the two equilateral triangles, subtended by non-massive forces, that is; weak in the charge of a photon, but if it had to cross the field junctions that were suitable for listening to the physics of God. We have to understand that all dogma gathers interactions with the Diaisthisi or foreshadowing field, that it recovers the mass of all this, or that ventures the idleness of some silent particles that make up its weight, and it's mass globality related to its material existence, sponsored by the proton in a cubic meter if it is accelerated. The underlying field here on Patmos will be one of superior physics from the Higgs or God Boson, for the granting of mass and weight in the empty wind tunnel at Profitis Ilias, resisting the necessary ineffective light from the apocryphal Phoebus Shemesh of Sheol (Hades and Erebo), to constrain the symmetrical balance of magmatic basality of intraterrestrial energy, providing the supernumerary of it, converted into Light for the reborn world of the Apocalypse. The carrier elementality of the Patmos particle, in its context of quantum physics, will be listed as the Apud Secundus Finale theory, to generate interactions in space-time, which reduce physicality and delay when attending to its credibility, in the face of supra-abnormal events and carriers of their hyperactive dogmatic apathy, under the understanding that the graph of their brain activity is a genius of quantum physics, provided with massless energy, which vertiginously adheres to the protons of their consolidated physical force, turning it into an inert atomic kinetic element, and in a dynamic one of physical solidity. For all the solidities of the wasteland of the Apud of Gethsemane, this will not be consecrated as a mystery, rather it will aspire the just act of immense mercy of the body compacted in the emotion of feeling gravitated, and accelerated, transfiguring itself into an atomic elemental impulse, which crystallizes Creative Faith, that is, the Vernarthian Duoverse! The Boson is massive, all the matter that is conducive to it will be poured by the verticality standard in creation, theoretically predicting in the tree of physics, whose conduit hyper live between the root and its foliage, and will consulate the effect of its origin. , for greater challenges of your divine experience.

Song of the Libyan Sibyl (bis): “the candles will ignite, the Iridescent eyes of the Mashiach will sparkle in the probable mortuary settlement of Vernarth in the oasis of Siwa:“ Oh my warm breath of Libya that flatters my cheeks, and my shoulders that they rustle in the light of Zeus's callused cerebral coexistence. I sing for you my Didaskein; treating or teaching the bewildered flock that confuses the messages that were born B.C., not having a reminiscence of Irradiation in the mastery of the continuous shift, as it does not contravene latent ignorance, but does find it satisfied and effulgent ...!
Codex XV - Apud Secundus finale
Tuffy Mutombo Oct 2017
At first his hand prints were soft
Touching me gently, slowly and softly
Then his ego got fed
They became hard
Found strength to swing

My face the target
Swinging and swinging
He hit with a passion

I was his lover and his target
I forgave and he reloaded
Bullets in hands
Shot and my heart he destroyed

My inside pain became seen by many
Bruises and bumps, cut lips and black eyes
They asked why I never left
I told them he took something from me
He took my heart and left me feeling empty
To fill that void I replaced his love with my pain
Some called him an abuser
I called him my lover

To me it was all the same
This piece was written from a woman's point of view. It's not easy to know and hear of stories of woman that have been abused. If you know about someone who has gone through this kind of pain stand up for the voiceless.
Ann Church Oct 2010
forget?


FORGET ???

forget??

I can only hope I will never forget again the lessons of my Heart's teaching, that to lay
aside the bleeding pen of my now and again rush to trust
leaves only deeply grieving, with no quick way of leaving
the memories of another careless unjust
which seems to gather no dust
just the edgy ripping of another
heart of gold dripping
breath by breath
that only leads to
more deserts of pain
reloaded with
Alone again.


~rumorsofme~
Geno Cattouse May 2013
The little metal box it.hides in plain site behind the velvet painting of a Zulu warrior slightly off center a bit to the right.
The warrior. Hmmm.No The vault.

A naked dwarf. He struggles quietly at midnight to  gather and drag my blocks of raw marble across crystaline floors to the vaault then
He stands there for hours before clcking the numbers.Clack goes the handle. Success.

The hinges have rusted since last deposit. He looks furtively over his shoulder as the metalic groan turns to a squeek. Abra cadabra.
Time to do work. Stealthy old fella he whistles while he works.

One block,two, three and so.
He forces the stones through a the four square door.
Rubs his hands together. Wipes the drivle from his chin
Then walks out the door backwards. The one he came in.

My vault is reloaded with pleasure and pain.
So I can write poetry again and again.
Diana Garcia Nov 2017
Written by Diana Garcia
Oh the beauty I've created
This party of texture has me inebriated
With the right amount of finesse.
All the best foods leave a mess.
And this burger is finger licking good.
I'm living in between meals right now
So please don't let me be misunderstood.
Avocado breakfast burger, you are my god
Cause I've a single prayer, not for money not for a hot rod.
I prayed so my tummy could be full.
Not to any religious icon, to me that's all kind of dull..
I prayed to my skillet, hoping someday I'd be able to fill it...
I've got good rhyme going I hope I don't **** it**
It should be a crime to be this poor.
But it's better than sleeping on the floor
It's better than a million scenarios of which I don't have much time to explore.
For now my tummy is reloaded
Onward I go, happily bloated..
Good day
Kafka Joint Oct 2019
I'm thinking,
I have doubts about my thinking,
I'm thinking about my doubts.
Exhausted, I fall asleep.
Alex S Jan 2017
Let him sleep tonight
For his bed has been made.
A corrugated cotton sheet spangled red and blue
Reposing over hackneyed *****
Soothing the sores and aches of his daily grind.  

Let him sleep tonight
For his eyes are heavy
From the sight of comrades blown sky bound
Where he hopes to unite with them
For moments where they can rest at wanting ease.

Let him sleep tonight
For he has already heard his lullaby -
An opus of shrapnel and sirens
Bleeding through a shell-shock ensemble
Singing to the rhythm of the reloaded gun.  

Let him sleep tonight
For his flesh has gone cold
And his voice left desiccate,
Thirsty for the warmth that only an eternal blood and
Brotherhood can offer.
Amber Nov 2015
after spending

a lifetime on love

writing epic fiction

about romeo and juliet

Before I could escape

faith decided

to automatically

delete my lover

It destroyed my life work

I had put my soul on hold

I had tired uploading

but all was lost

the page reloaded

I was frantically

trying to PROTECT

my  faithful lover

from a system that

destroys   anything beautiful

I was dictated a new start

by force
Iz Feb 2018
my mind will finally be hollow when explosive entities of its existential warfare finally self destruct.
until then,
Recondite rifles are ruthlessly reloaded with unanswerable questions regarding the purpose of seemingly non purposeful things;
lack of resolve wrecks me.
Unanswered ammunition degrades cerebral cells, intercepting normal neural connections:
I cannot think properly in the midst of pellets of panic

until then,
Selfless soldiers employed by future uncertainty battle against selfish soldiers of MY physical being, employed by my diminishing desire for sanity.
They engage in trench warfare: digging desolate ditches, hammering holes, all of which eventually collapse and contribute to the constant compression of my cortex.
But Compliments and Hope fracture into particles of sand that are ****** into the openings in my pupils by amorphous wind which is structureless anyway
these particles are vacuumed down my optic nerves and pile into pillars of petrifying plant-based picket fences that try to guard against the existential warfare plaguing my mind
But more explosive entities enter through my ears and reproduce in my temples waiting to self destruct

until then,
Forces convolute: existential warfare compresses my cortex into inevitable flat nothingness, while pitiful pillars of disillusioning dust collapse because the wind that whisked them inside NEVER EXISTED ANYWAY
Eventually i will implode

Until then,
numbness gnaws at my heart to balance the bullets
waiting to implode
until then,
Existential Warfare bombards my brain with bullets of black metal
here is what I mean
Still i TREND, NONE I dread.
Fiend or friend, None I trust.
Still I stand, blooded yet undead
Voluptuationist Sep 2014
The cemeteries are full of "if only's" and "I swear I never meant what I said's"

* My eyes hang like torn hammocks after a thunderstorm.

* You can't turn poetry into prose, believe me, it's like turning a goodbye into a bowl of narcotics.

* Burning cigarettes in pairs like a reenactment of the twin towers.

* I see your shadow in the corner of dark alleys, clutching a bottle of whisky and my notebook.

* I am having a conversation with every doorway you've stormed out of.

* I am the drunken murmur on the lawn of a funeral home.

* Your ringtone is the sound of a pistol being reloaded.

* But does he kiss you like you are an ocean and although he's terrified of the water, he's perfectly fine with drowning?

* Drowning myself in alcohol because your eyes make me sea sick.
The untitled series will be a series of 10  random scribblings found in my journal. My journal is comprised of these scrawlings from whether I am bored in class or heavily intoxicated.
Paul Donnell Mar 2017
The night was washed out in a errie blue grey. The moon made the beat for me a bit less anxious.. This part of the city aint never been kind. Taking a long drag from a stale ciggarette i thought about the dective boss man introduced me too at the bar. A Robert Cobalt. A steely dispostion and eyes that cut through in a way that didnt make total sense. He told me about a  lead. Riches and adventure await if I'd just put aside some morals and go with it he said. Diamonds.. Always been attracted to the worthless things, theyre just rocks but I bet a fist full of em.would make any man feel like a god. The light turned green and I wondered what would make a man get all twisted up and go after such a thing. Turning a corner towards 8th street I looked out my passanger window and saw something not too out of the ordinary on this side, a man approaching a women, knife in hand and a gait that meant bussiness. I turned on my lights and told the sunnuvabitch to stop where he was, guess the man was desperate cause he ran full force towards the women, after her bag id guess. Reflex and training set in and i went through the motions, the whole time thinking theres no way i could be fast enough to stop this. What i sae next surprised the hell outta me. Calm as could be, right before the man got to her and right as i was stepping out of the car she threw an elbow right into the mans chest. He doubled over, caught of guard by the heavy blow. She grabbed the back of his head by his hair pulled him up straight and flat laid him out with a well placed blow to the jaw. Subsequenctially my jaw hit the floor. I walked towards her slowly, the threat neutralized. She stood calmly and lit her self a smoke. She told me her name was Tessa. Tessa rosiere. A privite invistagator. I guess i looked more shaken than she did as she offered me a ciggarette. I stood there for maybe a bit too long without saying anything and the man started to groan and stir. I asked what she was doing out here this late already knowing the answer. Following a lead she says.. Before i can ask more theres a bright flash a strange smell and a dull pain. I look down and my stomachs leaking blood. Cant remember much after that. No idea who had shot me but waking up in the hospital on the east end was surprise. Still alive i guess. The sterile scent of the room made me feel like.running and the sight of all the tubes sent my heart faster than it needed to be. Shot in gut. Either by tessa or by that ***.. Maybe even some one else who knows. Still alive though.. Oddly the tgought of diamons crept into my scattered brain. The idea seemed more than appealing now.  No more late beats in a bad part of town. No more getting shot,  no more having to work. Just a fist full of diamonds and the freedom.to do as i wanted. My last groggy thought as the flourecnest lights blurred was of Cobalt.. I'd find the *******. And see what he had to say
.sleep took me like a riptide.

It wasn't long after when I got out of the hospital. The doctor gave me all kinds of prescriptions but I knew the only medicine i needed was waiting for me in a smokey room full of tired souls. A double on the rocks. I walked into the run down pub and the smell of cigars and whiskey welcomed me like a hug from my father. Only not as warm. "Double on the rocks. Keep me comin til I leave." I said. Muddy Waters was painting the whole place blue. "That's not gonna help you heal, jewels.." A voice said behind me. I turned around and it was special agent Heller and her trainee Agent Ronen. They had sweet faces but you'd be a lucky man to not be on their bad side. Heller blew smoke in my face with a smile. I guess that's as close as I'll get to a "welcome back". We sat and talked for a while while Ronen looked at her phone. She wasn't into conversation much. Once we were all sure we had one too many, we were ready to call it a night until Ronen got a call. "****. Don't pack it in just yet." Heller scoffed "I'll be ****** if I'm gonna go wipe some rookies nose this late at night." Ronen looked at her boss sternly. "You're gonna wanna see with one. It's not rookie this time. Murphy Pendleton just kicked the door in on a **** lab on 92nd street". Pendleton. That crazy *******. Hearing his name ****** me off. "You guys can go handle that ******* on your own. I'm not..." "No. You're coming. I saw your badge and Gun. You might as well be on the clock Jewels. Let's get down there before he scares off the camera crews again. It's gonna be a long night." Heller said putting out her cigarette in my drink. She was right. No one ever wants to walk in on a crime scene if Pendleton is involved. Chief Cobalts been after that ******* badge for years. But ******* does he get the job done. Tip the bartender, grab the coats. Time to see what fresh hell was waiting for us. Before we left, I put Tom Waits on the jukebox...

I don't even hear the sirens anymore. We all got in Hellers squad car and headed to the crime scene. I see the lights flashing from the roof of the car. But the sirens might as well be the sound of a car passing or a telephone ringing. When you hear something everyday, it just fades away. Heller and Ronen sat up front and I was in the back. I had forgotten how cramped it was back there. It took me back to when I was a stupid kid. Back when I was afraid of those same lights and same sirens. Back when i still saw people passing by, not just potential criminals. We pulled up to the crime scene and the press was everywhere. The whole front of the building was taped off. "Well at least there aren't any bodies in the street this time. Looks like Pendleton could be getting soft on us." I saw Ronen let a smile slip across her face. I couldn't help but laugh. We all know Pendleton's rep. I guess you gotta have a dark sense of humor for this ****. One of the rookies I liked was holding the line. "Ventus. What are we looking at?" I asked while lighting up a cig. Ventus looked down at her feet. "It's not good. He really just......it's not good." She said in a tired low tone. Heller put a hand on her shoulder. "Go home Tera. We can handle this. Jewels. You go on ahead with Ronen." Heller said. We walked under the tape and towards the scene. The door to the small shop was handing off the hinges. Bullet holes in the glass. Blood on the floor. The red trail led us to the back room. One. Two. Three. Four. Four dead bodies. Blood on the walls. And in the cleaning supply closet on the back wall off this moldy dreary **** lab sat Pendleton on a over turned bucket. He still had his pistol in his hand. "Ronen. I'm gonna..." I started. "Psh. You don't gotta tell me twice." She said before exiting back to the front of the store. A shoe shop with a **** lab in the back. That's a new one. I started towards Pendleton. It was hardly a graceful entrance on account of having to dance around dead bodies. About 3 feet from Pendleton is where I noticed, the man wasn't shaking. He was just sitting. "Pendleton. What the **** are you doing? What happened here?" I barked. "Got a lead on this lab and came to investigate. As soon as they saw me, the pulled their guns. I didn't wanna get left out so I pulled mine. The 2 up front ran to the back. Caught the tall one in the shoulder. Reloaded and came back here. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom." He said. Calm and collected. "There's only 2 guns on the floor. The other two, why are they dead?" I asked. "**** Jewels. Maybe after I dropped the two with guns, the other 2 picked them up. Maybe I did what I had to. And maybe I'm not in the mood for all YOUR ****** QUESTIONS." He yelled looking up at me. His teeth showing like a mad dog. His gun was still in his hand. "Get your **** together Pendleton. This isn't the time or place for your ****. And put your ****** gun up. The cameras are right outside." I said quietly. Pendleton was a loose canon. And I made it known I hated his guts. But hey, you can't choose who you work with. "What's the matter with you? Normally you woulda left by now. Why are you sticking around for this one?" I asked looking around the room. Pendleton reached in his pocket and pulled something out. "I pulled the IDs on all these guys." He said handing me for drivers licenses. "Jacob Wrens, Joseph Brown, Tanner Wilcocks and David........Cobalt..." I read to myself. I darted my eyes at him. His face was dead. His eyes were grey. "Murphy.....are you telling me......one of these kids is the chiefs son?" I said slowly. He looked down at the floor, opened his mouth and said ".....was"
saving a story, a wee bit of mine mostly my friends.
I was early to bed but soonest my eyes were forced open
It was time to wee-wee,
Moving with one eye closed in my script of pausing the melting dream.
This day was rare only once it came
It obeyed to all my options as i ashered it in with hugs for 24hour plan
You make me lazy and strong
To drink and yet work, yes i love all how about to read, watch, visit; forgetting a morrow story, though by dawn it comes crawling to my bed.
A ring of reminder, list is reloaded non & accomplished.
See what you have done to me
You only come once with much joy and pain
I return for slumber to the songs of birds
Then assurance is to me that a one 24 is a terrorist and judge of my 6 tage.
craig apogee Apr 2015
like a flash of lightning striking a proud and strong tree
smiting it at its core
relinquishing it of its sturdy base and graceful posture
reducing it to a mere slump on the floor

how does one pull themselves together
when it feels as if their chest has exploded
a ***** trapped door in your mind
imploring you to try reminisce, memories reloaded

you have been robbed of such luxuries

reminisce at your own peril
pass that stairwell where your passions knew no bounds
enter the room where your fruit of love first blossomed
there is no joy, just a dark tunnel and empty sounds

blindly, try feel your way out
you feel every memory on that cold wall
slicing your hand on the shards of your broken love
streams of blood to match those streams from your face to the floor

but wounds heal
scabs form and the bleeding will end
but what about the wounds within
does a shattered heart ever truly mend
i have no answers, literally not one.
Benji James Oct 2017
Look who's back 
with a lyrical attack
One to divide all nations 
But I'm trapped in a game
Where I can't even make a name
Isn't it a shame 
Still looking for someone to blame
What's the reason 
that keeps me from making music
Guess it's time I came to claim 
What is rightfully mine 
I've been down a hard road
A bandit in time
And holding me back 
That's is a crime
By the grace of God
I've got to give all I've got
And maybe that isn't a lot
But you think that will stop me
I think not
I had to come back
With brand new tactics
Cuz lets face it 
I've let this go on for far too long
And to not do anything 
would just be wrong 
It's time to build an army 
Come back strong 
Cuz I've been waiting 
For a moment for far too long 
Yep guess I got it going on now
Anticipation is starting to build 
And I may not have much *** appeal
But that doesn't mean 
I can't make you squeal 
Say my name, 
ain't no more chains
Holding me down
Got my gun reloaded
Back for another round
And maybe you scratched 
my name In the side
Of a piece of shrapnel 
Try break my pride
Think I give a **** what you think 
**** life's not bliss
Living on the edge of a knife like this
come along for a ride 
Inside of my mind 
Come through the darkness, blind
That's not enough to keep me 
Off of my grind
The stars realigned 
For a person with passion 
I'm back on the rise 
No natural disaster can stop me
No bullet can **** me 
No razor blade cuts will scar me 
Sometimes things cut deep
But I'm impenetrable 
After everything I've been through 
Won't burn through the pages
Don't lie, you know I'm dangerous 
Not afraid to dance on the tables
Cuz I've been through it all
Ain't nothing gonna phase me no more

©2017 Written By Benji James
Pellets to the gun
I know this night hasn't been fun
Running out of excuses
On why I say no
But if I say anything
I glow
So what do I know?
I can never admit it
But you don't know how many times I've reloaded just to unload.
Leroy J Harris Apr 2014
Song is my choice, what say you brothers?
Rick reloaded his bow, nocked it back, aimed his next assualt,
He'd use symphony to set her free, see the girl released from silence,
Or cleanse her of the inner monster sullying her soul, plaguing her mind,
And crushing her heart.
John smiled, drew back his humming axe for more blows to come,
He rose his tenor to lift leaves and rocks, in clods and clumps,
Stealing foundation away from treacherous underbellies, slithering towards them,
Drawn fangs overflowing with venom, bringing the ground to a sizzle,
Rushed as a blurry confluence of approaching green, darting back and forth,
Paul removed his hand barring Kevin from impulse, allowing him to strike,
Delving into the allowance of angels.
Allan Mzyece Dec 2016
I asked myself, "Why gravity pulls me down, when I aim up so high?"
as you watch me fly up in the sky
I will beat Gravity
I will kick gravity like Jet Li
Mass and Weight dont count to me,
I will go Bruce Lee on gravity
Gravity is forever an Enemy
I was born to be a star, so how can I shine when I am being pulled down?
I am not just another one in the Crowd being directed by Sanity
I am fighting Gravity with my Insanity:
A Metrix Reloaded fantasy! Watch me defeat my Enemy
Watch my Poetry Defy Gravity in a million ways
Curtis Dec 2014
The distance from an epicenter
In such a way we can measure

Two thousand fourteen
Only distance percieved

All this and all around
one layer to surround

All the layers are all from one
Every piece and all the suns

Once exploded
Ever reloaded

To travel to another day
Carry on in the same old way

But to another layer
Is for a real player

— The End —