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Though the sift of time may sort
Beyond our comprehension, unseen
We may infer its shape from
Whatever marbles remain
Unbroken, and defying decay

Grains of truth and wit with just enough
Substance and optional glamour
To survive the great mesh of necessity
And bright enough to be cherished
By well nourished seekers of more
Never too dull, lest overlooked
But also
Never too bright to incite fright

Never one of innumerable sand
Washed away with the prints of men
Never a fabled relic, stranger to hands
A maze promising truth, yet with no end

The sun brings you warmth
The moon guides your flight
The Needed begs no envy
But relieves your plight

So don't distance yourself from
The thoughts of Old
Still so simple and intimate
As if in voices new

Raise a drink
And warmly cling
Love the great tomes of high above
Not as never reachable untouchable
Shrines of forgotten kings and gods
But as your dearest friend or perhaps
Even as a reunited lover, long separate
By the scarcity of soul pouring words
Reluctantly replaced with fleeting
Musings of often rapidly dissipating
Bland taste
Of fulfillment and disappointment
Never lasting enjoyment

Leaving us with hunger and thirst
For the seasoned fruits of old
That only visits ever so often
But each moment with, spent so
Cherished and with fear of time
Passing, as
A childhood tale, swiftly unfold,
Too briefly told
Left dreaming for once more
Often only to be granted in pages
Wrinkled and stained, shaped
By fate’s mold

Those pals that you’ll ever remember
Those gems that you’ll constantly
Caress over and over again
Those greats of highest degree
Are they so overdressed till envy
Till too heavy, and invites mockery
Are they so kissed by sugar till ****
Unconsumed, banished to rot

They are all soft and familiar
Always with the present
Of the ease to comprehend
As if you know them
All your life

Your Blakes, Shelley's and Shakespeare
Your timeless contemporaries
They never command as gods above
Or hide behind too much whimsy
Always a wise elder, a ***** friend
In sorrow, in passion, in dreams, in fright
Baring the truth like a mother’s wisdom
Or the sure brightness of lone stars at night

Prepare yourself for tomorrow sifts
By sharing the shape of collected past
In essence, not in likeness
For if you dress your soul
To not fall through
In great stones’ cast off dust
When the brush of time greets you
Your disguise will fall off
Lest you waste your growth
On shimmering cloaks
And when judged truly
To be found not as a pearl
But a grain in others’ clothes

If you fill the entire night sky with sparks
How will they find the one guiding star
No shadow to hide, to soften the light
Everyman be lost

If you pride yourself bearing golden straws
They will shower you with praising remarks
But when time leaves you behind after dusk
It’ll be dark as you crush

So tread plainly with only what and
All you are
With timid steps, and light feet
And only must in your keep
You’ll go far You’ll go far
Till steady heights beyond the lofty larks

Where children ceaselessly dream
Where children ceaselessly sing
Where Children Forever, we are.
Truth Bares Itself Plain
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Tuesday, October 8, 2019 6:07
Neo Aug 29
We as people get so easily caught up with endings. We look willingly to the future either merrily or in contempt in order to predict what will be the end. We do it in relationships, our careers, hobbies. When bad things come to an end  it’s hard to move on, but the glimmer of hope is what drives man’s spirit. When good things come to an end, it’s even harder to move on. This is because hope has been diminished. Endings are often sought as negatives. They invoke negative feelings and are thus viewed cynically.  We dabble so much with endings either past or present, we simply forget how to live in the now.

Endings are perfectly okay and necessary in this universe. Nothing is set in stone. The ending of something does not have to mean the absence of all. What is the end of a relationship is not the end of the world. It is not the upheaval of your life. It is the end of an era. A moment suspended in time by its lush awe and beauty. An era, and a moment, are the same. So it is required of us, in order to live easier lives, to live in these moments, and learn to let those moments pass.

Life is so easy to get caught up in. we become so engulfed in prolonged eras to the point that we don't see them anymore. The moment, in its prolonged existence simply becomes what we recognize as our lives. And when it gets ripped away…? All hell breaks loose. This is because we feel we’ve lost control of our lives, like every piece is slipping away without us realizing that it was never our lives to begin with. We can simply be an observer of the events that move and occur around us. Our personal perceptions and emotions towards these things have none, if little lasting effect on the outside world. So why fret? We should simply observe, from an outside perspective, the content, and value of our lives. That, in the end, brings peace.

Because when we remove ourselves from the equation, we reach an equilibrium with the universe. The perception of self within that world skewers and distorts what we miss and take for granted.
Remarks by me
Plush and Prim is your White, Feathery Plume
Soft the Inertia of your Thighs update
I pray this time, your Victory resume,
Revive your Year's Fortress not far too late
In your eyes you reject the Gambler's View
For no such Attitude ever won Hearts
The Paddles you took - timed and faster blue
Were enough for us to make Key Remarks
This Beauty, defined as Hair-Painted Wind,
Tad effort needed to brush your Canvas red
Pour out! Pour out! Pour, Passion's Purest Sprint
And let your Spirit drape these Words instead:
I'll just be right here, cheering for your Cause
Whether win or lose my Soul will not pause.
Poetoftheway Apr 2018
so someone remarks and thus a poem commissioned...

a better world, a wish no one can turn a back to...
a literacy of mine own, a bridge too far...
but such a lie too glorious to ignore...
blessed be the wisher for he gave this day
water and wine to a lapsed Jew who reincarnates
the containership of body and soul from the Star of David,
burr etched upon his chest, and embraces lost tourists
who unfated unfazed stumble
upon the guide dog of his verbal chicanery and funny bone,
smiling for as long as it takes to cross that last bridge,
nearer our god, you than me..
for Elea
I don’t know who
I’m supposed to be
Who I am
or who they want me to be
The answer’s not
so easy to see
Not well known
There's an uncertainty
Knee-**** answer
is to be
wholly free
I'll explain
in detail
Paint a picture clearly
A tutor's not needed
No need to study
No higher degree
With candor
I’ll speak

Let me tell you about
so-called “un-pleasantries"
The list is quite lengthy
A few;
maybe three
Gonna rattle them off
What's been mentioned to me
Not the worst of mistakes
but a category
May irritate some
To others
‘let be’
Saying that’s who I am
and as such
accept me
A minority group
not the majority
and by far
and by few
They are lost in between

Some say I’m intense
and can be
quite chatty
a talker
‘Verbose’ tendency
Don’t deny what is true
But not always guilty
The day in
and day out
doesn't constantly stream
Not sustained
They can change
Just like who
we will be
Not robots
Not copies
or placed on CD
Live a life
of routine
but not one
on repeat
Even still
I must say
there are worse things to be

Empathetic and kind
I give generously
All I have
My last dime
Will donate
each penny
I'm not searching for credit
Approval don't seek
Like to make others happy
Inside, I’m complete
When I focus on others
No discrepancy
I’m not dwelling
or thinking
of my tendencies
Please don't offer
your pity
or give charity
Try to bend; compromise
don’t perceive me
as weak
I'm the chivalrous type
Will get down
on one knee
Not walled off or closed up
Bare my soul
Give freely
But there's more
locked inside
So when time comes to speak
It’s a flood
a deluge
There's an intensity
Give too much
Give too quick
Try to stop
inside keep
I can bottle
it up
but sometimes
it still peaks
Little may trickle out
it will seep
If an access is given
in a heap
When I love
I dive in
You may think I’m a freak
The emotional type
Tug heart strings
and I’ll weep
Not a blubbering fool
my emotions
run deep
A calm hand
I can sooth
In a crisis
I’m strong
This unfortunately
is something
that I know
But don’t wish on
to speak
Life presents me
two roads
With both closed off
to me
Feel locked up
in a cage
while I look
to be free

A locked door
Here I stand
desperately for the key
Wanting answers
A new found decree
Need a mantra
A mission
affecting systems
The true stem
of what’s me
My core
Sprouting roots from a tree
Happiness from the Sun
or beneath canopy
Not about
getting answers
Away goes the fee
Hamlet asked long ago
If 'to be or not be'
I know that it's different
Just work with me please
My point
is the question
In life, what to seek?
A life
that’s authentic
or society
We conform
and adapt
What they want us to be
If like me
you're unsure
It can drive you crazy
Take a chance?
And be pure
Live a life that's taint free
In return
you'll endure
Side remarks
and critiques
Is the juice worth the squeeze?
Be like them
or unique
Written: September 22, 2108

All rights reserved.
[Anapestic Hexameter Format]
L B Feb 2017
She let the tape go—
on record
one evening for an ordinary hour
Five years later, we play it back
for laughs after dinner—then as now

“Remember how the stove door screeched
at the house on Olive Street?”
And our voices!
Phoeb’s, lighter–tired
wrapping the nine’s tables in elastic yawns
like flash cards in a rubber band
“Phoeb, your pitch changed so—
while  I turned...”
to run water in the tub
lamenting the **** of Two
in frenetic escape of hands
Running rebel taunts in Time’s strict face
who would not dare disturb her dawns
only mine—
Roused by the first round of another day’s
ring of twelve
digits that insist
like uniform with apron waiting
on ironing board that’s never folded

Now the **** of Two cries out
of success in *****
Then, Oratorio for Soap!
The splashy version
with endless bubblings of “Rocky Baby!”
and obbligato of “Where’s Shampoo?”
in jubilant glissadal plunge
an octave through vocal whoops!

…I had not thought
she hardly talked
but sang and squealed or whined in tunes
Her voice lay open to her soul
a roost of piercing humming birds
small of words
but filled with sweet and want
incessant wings and things to say....

How could we have forgotten?

“Are these your boots?
Your clothes laid out?”
From sound and talk, we still can hear
frost phantoms
in winter window rattles—then as now
And Phoebe remarks how one voice
didn’t change though—
“Still talking to herself”

We laugh
and let the tape go....
This is one of those poems I'm so glad I wrote because no photo or recording could ever capture this memory as well.
Luz Hanaii Apr 9
She wrote some words trying to hoover me back,
lacking the feature to know that my sensitivity
could see through her subtle yet devious remarks,
once again the snake wore her cloak of kindness.

"even the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel."

Words were never her lack, but her choice of words,
charity and empathy did lack.
If she could perceive as well as I do,
she would have known I forgave her long ago,
I'm lacking desire to  be entangled in web once more.
A narcissist will try to get back those he/she find to be good supplies, the term is called, "Hoovering" such as the Hoover vacuum.
he is a turtle
she is a rose

he moves slow
she daily glows

he is rough and coarse
she smells perfect

he closes his eyes
she flies in petals

he proposed her
she refuses

he goes down underwater
she amuses

he came as a wet pet
she firms her guards

he tells a story
she discards

he stops trying
she loves the scar

he stays in front of her
and she remarks

what do you need?
what do you want?

his voice is crisp
he utters at last

I just need affection
I just need admiration
I just need approval
because I am a narc.
Robert C Howard Jul 2013
If I could be a fly on Einstein’s wall
I’d buzz about from chair to curtain
watch him check out plans and gadgets                                            
and scratch remarks on his papers.
When the clock edged to noon
his stomach would growl,
he’d fold up the prints and say,
“It’s a relatively short walk to the café.”

With Albert out I’d take the run of the place -
practicing banks and dips and vertical lifts.
I’d munch on scraps of Brie and fowl
left fused to the edge of his table.

When the tumblers turned
I’d buzz back to my wall, eager to witness
whatever this sage would chance to say.
He’d go to his desk to file reports
and stack them neatly into a tray.

Without warning he’d rise from his chair
scattering papers across the floor.

“MASS AND ENERGY ARE ONE, ” he’d shout, -

I’d buzz and swoop and fly circles and loops
and taxi in on his collar.
I’d beat my wings to cool his brain.
But wait…Whose voice do I hear?
Oh, it’s you gentle reader.

“Stop, hold it right there, ****** pest!
It couldn’t have happened that way!
Have you no shame or respect for God’s truth? ”

But I’d stare you down with my compound eye
and scornfully twitch my wings.
Consider this, troubled sir,
you’re the one scolding a talking fly.

*July, 2006
Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems
pub. CreateSpace -
karin naude May 2014
you have conquered my heart
the weak link of the trinity
my strong and fierce mind
you are yet to impress, potential is not action
she sends warning signals constantly through the nervous system
warning against future heartache and tremendous disappointment
with smirk remarks about:
    always having to put heart back together again
    always having to help heart rationalize things
    having to protect heart from foolish action
my soul watches and listens
yet to enter the debate
only one requirement mentioned
God fearing and true follower of Jesus Christ

boldly i stand and ask my Heavenly Dad
resting on his chest
"Dad is he worthy of the King's Daughter?''
the answer scares me
did i listen correctly
after knowing his checkered past
its the wealth of the heart and the content of character that matters most

Verse 1:

A gun's pressed up
Against my head
All the time
In my mind

I see a sea
Of violet red
All the time
In my mind

I feel
A pain
That Ne
Ver fades

I hear
A scream
And then
I see


A million ways
That I could die
I feel them all

I hope that
They will come
Come and
Take me

A million ways
That I could die
I see them
In my

I pray that
They will come
Come and
Save me

Verse 2:

The executioner
Takes my hand
And leads me to
My final stand

He asks me for
My last remarks
But I have none
Just hit your mark

Cause I feel
A pain
That ne
Ver fades

I hear
A scream
And then
I see


Verse 3:

No I don't want
An easy death
I want to taste
My final breath

I want to feel
The sweet relief
That only death
Can bring to me

I wanna feel my
Final breath
I wanna sha ake
The hand of death

I wanna fe eel the
Sweet relief
Tha at

Donall Dempsey Oct 2018

The view
gazes at him.

The landscape gathers
itself about him

as if he were a piece of pigment
in a painting a blob or blurr

of blue or green or
something in between.

"What a wonderful little boy!"
a passing cloud, pauses...muses

and says once more in case the hill
hadn't heard.

"What a wonderful little boy indeed!"
a tree agrees...winking...its leaves.

A river runs through him
alive in his senses.

The grass runs all over
the field tickling his naked toes.

Sunlight throws
itself at his feet

bows before him in all
its glory.

A breeze throws his hat high
up in the sky and

returns it to his hand
as if by command.

The clouds grazing now
upon a hill top

fascinated by his presence
how he has come to be.

"He makes us feel
so very much alive!"

One cloud nods
to another.

"Oh, there's a poet in him
to be sure to be sure!"

the river remarks
its voice clamouring over stones.

Time that sheep dog barks
but the clouds only luahg

"See how he lends us
his voice

in order that we may think
and speak.

Look I'm talking
in human words."

the farm shouts its name.

Again and again and again
the river exclaims

sunlight dancing in its voice.

A bird stands stock still
upon the air

neither coming or going
just standing on nothing

as if it were a punctuation mark
typed upon the sky.

Time returns now
in policeman mood.

"Move along now...nothing to see here
move along now!"

And the landscape loses a voice
the sky its ability to see
the cloud has no words
the bird become a dot

only the sunset
whispers to an horizon

"What a wonderful
wonderful little boy!"
multi sumus Apr 14
Disheartened and ardently harkening as this partisan charlatan arvantly darkening the arden within

The clark embarking imparting starkened remarks and then

Disparted but scarting the scarp regarding the spark therein
Tiger Striped Jan 24
since we learned to speak, we have only

spat out the words before us

repeating remarks we hear and see

with impotent intonation;

the pretense to make it our own

we are watery reflections

longing to move freely, by ourselves;

to feel the wind whip wildly 'round

to scrape our knees on uneven ground

but we lie on the surface,

repetition rippling through our shallow skin

perhaps, one day, we shall learn

to stand

and to create
JB Dec 2018
I don’t need someone to make quick snide remarks
or to say sorry this is happening

I need someone who understand
without words

not that there are any to say

I want no need to explain

just a hand to hold
a beacon of warmth
a heart to love
Leo Mar 4
Cheers and applause from the darkened room
As a silly villain remarks on doom.
I'm standing by, aside it all,
Allowing the curtain to rise and fall.

Silence reigns as the lights go down,
Awaiting the call, so the quiet can drown.
My eyes again scan the sea of heads;
For a moment, thinking of just regrets.

In a single second my mind is made
To live for others and give them aid.
For even after you bid adieu,
I can still live my life for you.
You've a long time to think whilst you wait for your cue.

The first of three poems I wrote backstage
Chris May 2016
I'm sick of scratching my pupils
To get the smudges out.
I'm tired of the days being beautiful
And not flying my way
Where's the ******* rain and the crash
Of angry thunder striking clouds flat--
Where's my god, and is she listening yet?

I remember a speech that started
Off with a scream, or maybe a plea
About letting the weather
Finally agree with me.
I must be slurring the words wrong
Because I haven't heard you sing along
Since a couple sips ago.
I'm spitting remarks at your
Wretched door, but
You still won't bring the rain.

I only go on planes these days
In hopes of turbulence thrilling us
With the way your words shatter sky.
You don't know where I've been,
Trying to fly so close to you
In hopes you send me crashing--
But you've been quiet lately.
I never realized how vicious silence could be.
Still you've been too quiet lately.

I've been praying for you--
For you to cannonball out of your
Hidden heaven, flailing,
To be swallowed by the ground,
Covered in the heavy dirt and dead dreams
You left everyone else to drown in.

I've been preying for you--
For you to let your guard down
So I can rip that ******* crown from your head.
The heretic's story never told,
Unwritten in the Book I never read.

Are you really soaked in lightning above,
Or could you be hiding
Twisting in knots right here?
Because my lord I think your tongue is forked;
Crooning songs full of love, but not convincingly enough.

I've been stunted by pain
Of dodged calls and locked doors.
Who have you been loving in there
Besides me?
I'm starving for your attention.
But I'm done shouting at the sky.
It's time we speak truth to each other,
And you say those three words
I say too much, and you don't say enough
I hate you.
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