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Ace Malarky Jun 2013
the strain of labor
the pain of toil
the ache of legs and arms
the sweating brow
drudging farmer curse the soil
mutely chide the milkless cow

the demon waits for no man.
he rages forth
renders furrows charred
the fields so dry
the rocky ground so hard
does Famine truly want this to be so?
find him, ask him,
else we never know.




--Ace
A.
SEROTONIN FIX FOR YOUR AESTHETICS

B.
WHAT'S PAST IS MOMENTARY,
THE PRESENT IS ETERNITY

C.
ALL IS DUST

D.
PERSPECTIVE RENDERS ALL

E.
THAT ELYSIAN APERTURE DARKENS IN TOTAL RECKONING

F.
PERPETUAL CONTINUUM

G.
LOST IN AN OCTOBER DESCENT

H.
THE SOUL DOES ROAM

I.
EXCEED INTROSPECTION, RECEIVE INTENTION

J.
REAL MEMORY, SURREAL THEME

K.
FOLLOW THY HEATHEN DIRECTIVE (TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH AND) ON TO EXALTATION

L.
THE MATRIX HAS YOU

M.
GLITCHED HISTORY

N.
LET THE SUBTLE WORD SOAR

O.
YOU BROKE ME THOROUGHLY

P.
WAITING ALONE ON THIS SATELLITE

Q.
SHATTER THE SKY

R.
JUDGE WITH AS MANY ASPECTS IN MIND

S.
EMPATHY IS DIVINITY

T.
THIEVIUS RICTUS DEVILISH GENTILITY

U.
ADVENTURE WAS NEVER A CRIME

V.
CONTEXT IS ALL THAT EVER IS

W.
KNOW THY DRUG/KNOWLEDGE IS DOPE

X.
AZURE HAZE OF SUMMER VIBRANCY

Y.
MESCALITO TORNADO ON DESERT SANDS

Z.
DOOMSDAY KISS
{[UPPER-CASE](OBJECTIVE)}
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
October 2013

for Maria and Logan...

you need two hands, one foot.
count my years.
each finger, worth a decade.
each toe, well, a century...

birthdays.

point of inflection,
point of opportunity,
presents itself,
to rewrite history.

a second coat of paint,
gift-wrapped in weak excuses.
how I lied, how I ain't,
grimm-fated fairy tales
somebody created.

invisible suits of gold-cloth
worn to my party of
past rewrit and
future foretold.

one single thought,
memory,
seizes my heart,
as I fall to my knees.
cracks my temperate ease,
renders open the
woof and weave
of recycled deceptions,
causing all to be revealed
and ask,

what if the poetry ceases?

you know prostrate?
you taste grief?

have you not but
one pain,
one act,
one deed,
one memorization,
act of cowardice,
act of desertion,
mistake maden, taken,
for which
forgiveness
can never
be given,
be taken,
attained?

do, does, did.

let me then
win the birthday lottery,
let floods of relief from
daily chores, not drown me,
chauffeurs to drive,
masseurs to massage,
cooks to cook,
les delicious treats,
keep theologians, logicians
on retainer, if need
explanations.

none know, can provide,
still and yet, a
priestly sacred chord,
grants relief,
absolution,
song of hallelujah
the ache of
perpetuity worry,
that ancient pain,
grows fresher daily,
the loss of one,
of my body,
my primal knot
unreasonable,
everything should be
permitted to be untied,
on my birthday, no?

this day, these days
breathe through words,
molecules of vowels,
stem cells of consonants,
the fabric, the tissues of life,
veins are a dictionary
of corpuscles,
red blood cells are
nouns of nutrients.

this day, these days,
the infection of my soul
is tempered, kept at bay,
tamped down from the
full flowering
of white blood cells
of rhyme, verse.

what if the poetry ceases?

Though the bones creak,
the body they carry. resurrect
for morning, afternoon
and evening prayers.

thrice daily poetry I recite,
roses red, violets blue,
my marrow transfused.

though my prayers refused,
the poetry act immolates
the fringes of my disease,
for which the common cure
is not currently invented....

what if the poetry ceases?

but be assured, told
scientists hard at work,
on the
forgive n' forget drug.

meantime,
take a bubble bath in
rosemary and mint
trap some words,
tap some words into
your cell phone bone,
the poetry heat that
provides aspirin relief.

through this poem,
on one day annual,
I am relieved, relived
the muse is feted, sated,

gone for few moments
concerns, worries of
exposure today,
agnostic's foxhole of hell
is dis-remembered,
the gloss returns,
the faux dispatched,

ain't birthdays grand?

what if the poetry ceases?

what rhymes with
Sorrow?
mmmmm,
could it be
Morrow?

bath drains, rosemary and mint
odors dismissed, the  Argentine disparu,
the Spanish Medievalists,
the Neo-Raphaelites,
all gone,
didn't they have birthdays too?

didn't know
the Renaissance come
and go,
and nobody
tole ya?

please recall t'is the day
after my sweet city recorded my
naissance in the
Hospital of the Flowers
on Fifth Avenue.

the 'crats put the datum
in the bureau with the
night creams and
the statistics
as follows:

on this day + a few,
six or twenty decades ago +
a few centuries,
a question was born,
and an ache that is
sometimes relieved,
by a poem song.

though do not celebrate,
t'is a day to calibrate,
review, edit, tinker,
rewrite, often a stinker.

always one thought recycles:

what if the poetry ceases?

(how will I breathe?)
Notes: my birthday was a few weeks ago. One of a number poems I've written about birthdays.  This one was modified, but only slightly for Maria and Logan.
Stephen E Yocum Jan 2014
What is this thing,
This change in me,
What is this feeling,
That is happening to me?
This possessing of my spirit.
This seemingly lack of control,
That was not always so.

That a concerto slow turn,
Played and heard,
Renders me weak in the knees,
A sweet moment of human joy,
Or actual real grief,
Even viewed on a movie screen
Can tug at my heart so.

So too, a child’s sweet song,
Though sung off key.
A blazing sunset,
Orange and red,
A thrilling thing to behold.
Nature always a motivator,
All of these and more,
Pluck cords of my emotions,
Like the strings of a harp,
So easily reduce me to tears.
Not body shaking sobs mind you,
Just a slow gentle stream,
Nothing my sleeve can't deal with.  

"Men don’t cry",
"Sensitivity is only for women",
Or so I have always been told.
Well it’s taken me a long time,
But I have concluded this bias,
Is a load of unadulterated *******!
‘Cause as it turns out,
I actually enjoy it.
And see no reason I shouldn't.

Not to mention,
It keeps my tear ducts open,
And free flowing.
In touch as I am with my feelings.
Strange the changes that occur in us, be they age induced or
a softening of the heart. Maybe they were always there and
we held them back.
Meteo May 2016
What is it the wind whispers on your cheek my finger tips long to hear
What echo of sunrise renders each tear
What facsimile of midnight your finger tips whisper back
What secrets parade each eyelash.

How my fate lifts by the curve of your hips
How condemned I am hell-bent by the swerve of your lips

Such language infinite dancing loosely upon your palms
Such remedies recited by your resting tongue
Your mandible sacred where my universe began
Oceans devoured between us by our patience
For Mei
Andrew Rueter Oct 2017
I live in the wilderness
The Sun shines on the trees and through the leaves
Warmth envelopes my sanctuary
Until darkness approaches like a fog
The darkness is pregnant with sounds
I hear animals snarling while bones are breaking
Whimpers turn into blood curdling gargles
As the darkness renders invisibility among predators
And the darkness engenders vulnerability among prey
I desperately want to help but there is a darkness barricade
The darkness follows everything
The darkness swallows everything

I can hear planes crash
And the passengers scream
From within the darkness
I can only see muzzle flash
And the barrel's steam
Creating hardship
The darkness converts men to shouts of agony and rage
The darkness blinds us from the writing on the page
The darkness makes us believe
That it's our reprieve

Darkness has us in it's sight
When we choose to live in light
Even when we do what is right
Darkness takes flight
Becoming our plight
We try to fight back with futility
The darkness' bite has more utility
We are engulfed by negativity
As we lose all connectivity
And our mouths begin to foam
When the darkness is our home
Obadiah Grey Dec 2013
Sphincter factor nine approaches
food for the fish n roaches
methinks its time for me perhaps
to open up the rearward *****.


------------------------------------
AAChoo !!

Oh, liddle sister, Josephine,
you sure don't keep your
nose real clean.
got stalactites
o' pure pea green
my infectious sibling
snot machine.
----------------------------------------
I thought that I might shoot the breeze
with God or Mephistopheles
and ask them please to ease my wheeze
of my bad back and dodgy knees
---------------------------
Croak with the raven
bluff with the crow
the urchin
the field mouse
beneath the hedgerow
in a flurry they scurry
away away go.
Yelp with the *****
howl with the hound
and bay at the moon
till the sun comes around.
------------------------------------------
Gino's bar and grill.

Away, away afore Bacchus
doles out befuddlement
and Morpheus has his way,
lest I awake to find myself
in the company of
sodamistic bedfellows
with buggery in mind.
---------------------------------
Harry Potter has grown a beard
he lives alone and turned out weird.
Dumbledore, Albus, no more
turned his toes and 'ad a snore,
Voldemort, who's *** is taut
has no nose with which to snort.
====================

Ahem !!

Behind two Lilies- sits Rose,
then Daisies
for two and a bit rows.
with Poppy, and *****
Petunia, Primrose.
and Bryony - who gets up
- my nose.
----------------------------------------------
Amen.
God bless the Cows - for beef burgers.
God bless the Pig - for their bacon.
God bless the wife n her sharp knife
for the slice of their **** she's taken.

-------------------------------------------------
We can, no more fetter the sea to the shore
nor the clouds to the sky
or tether the glint
in a lovers eye,
As sure the shore loves the sea
so shall I love thee, together,
together for eternity,

-----------------------------------

It bends for thee
sweet chevin,
the cane thats cleaved
by three,
wilt thou now
sweet chevin
yield, my friend ,
for me.
-------------------------------------------------
There's Marmalade then Marmite
and Jams thats jammed between
the buttered bread of bard-dom
a poets sweet cuisine.
---------------------------------------------
I took up campanology
and fired up my ****.
I rang that bell
to ******* hell
till the busies
came along.
--------------------------------------------
so, I've been whittling away
at a buoyant ****-
fashioned something approximating
a poo canoe-
in it, I intend to
surf the **** tsunami of old age
to-- death;
I have named it Public - Service - Pension.


----------------------------------------------

A surreptitious delightful tryst,
with my honey, my sebaceous cyst.
she's my pimple, my wart,
my gumboil consort.
she's the zip, in which
my *******, got caught.
--------------------------------------
Frayed at the bottoms
ripped at the knee.
baggy and saggy
big enough for three.
faded and jaded
and stained with ***
but I'm due for a new pair--
Yippeeeee!!

---------------------------------------

Ther­e's Cockerel in my ear
and he bills and coo's for you
whenever you are near
goes - **** a doodle doo !!!!!,,,,,,,,

---------------------------------------------

Oh,­ for the snap shut skin
in the blue twang of youth
and to un-crack the spine
on the book of love.
now the gulping years
have flown away
we take sips of the night
and are spoon fed the day.

-----------------------------

Zeus made the Moose to be somewhat obtuse,
a big deer- rather queer- I fear.
then God gave him the nod to look funny and odd
the spitting image of you - my dear !!!

---------------------------------------

Knobbly Nobby.

Nobby has a great big nose
a great big nose has he,
and nobby knows
that his big nose,
is big, as big can be,
nobby has two knobbly knees
two knobbly knees has he,
his knobbly knees,
are as knobely
as knobbly knees can be,
don’t pity dear old nobby
for soon it’s plain to see,
that nobby has a great big ****
as big, as big as three !
now nobbys **** is knobly,
as knobly as a **** can be,
so nose and knee and ****
make three,
and we - are ****- ely.

----------------------------------

The Woman that wouldn't eat meat,
had reeaally, reeaally big feet,
her **** was as big as an hermaphrodite brig
and her **** were as hard as concrete….


--------------------------------

Hearken the clarion call of the crows
afore the snow-
they caw,
hey, get your **** into gear lads-
we gotta feckin go !!!

-----------------------------

Gods pad

I took a peek within
your house
wherein on pew, I spied
a mouse,
and in his hand,
a Bible clasped,
and out his mouth,
a parable rasped,

---------------------

I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose.

But then again
I wear a flat cap

and stroll through meadows.

----------------------------

Would you care to buy our house?
It's minus Mouse n devoid o' Louse,!
Spiders, Roaches, Bugs or other,
have all been eaten by my brother,
snaffled up n swallowed down
then jus' crapped out a - yellowish brown.
so would you care to buy our house?
from an oddly pair -- devoid of nous

-------------------------

Though the Crows got her eyes
and the Worms got her gut.
comes as no surprise
death can't keep her mouth shut.

-------------------

Bevelled slick edges
and reeaal eeaasy slopes.
Chilli dip wedges
with fresh artichokes.
Wanton loose wenches
and swivel hipped ******
Daft dawgs and dentures
and granddad - who snores.

-------------------

Been whittling away at a buoyant ****
and fashioned something approximating a canoe,
in it, I intend to surf the **** tsunami of old age;
I named it, "Public service pension"

-------------------------------

.
Well,
     I could wax on the wings of a butterfly
but, I ain't that kind o' guy.
rather kick the nuts off ******* squirrels
pluck the wings off - blue assed fly.
I'm the stuff that flops off dog chops
when he's up for it and high.
an infection in your sphincter,
a well
that's jus' run dry.

----------------------------------------------

befeathered­ and bright scarlet
is my ladies bonnet,
jauntily askew and -
lilting on a paramours
grin.

"- Gladlaughffi -"

I'm reliably informed that dear ol' Muma
sported a goatee around his **** sphincter,
now, whilst this is merely educated speculation
from my esteemed friend his "groom of the stool" ! 
who was in fact required to wear a mask,
ear muffs and a blindfold whilst he went about his business,
He did possess reeaaally sensitive fingertips
somewhat akin to a blind man reading brail,,
and, swore blind that said "**** sphincter' spoke him in Arabic
and asked him for a quick trim, (short back and sides)
I myself being a practising proctologist of some repute
am inclined to believe my friend the "groom of the stool"
as I've come recognise -- Arsolian when I hear it !!!!!!!!
-------------------------------------

In a Belfast sink by the plughole
where hair and gum gunk meet
'erman the germ-man  and toe jam
bop the bacillus beat.

________

Doctor this I know as fact
that I have a blocked digestive tract,
I'm all bunged up and cannot go
my trump and pump is - somewhat slow.
I need unction jollop for junction wallop
some sorta lotion to give me motion.
If you could please just ease my wheeze
then I needn't grunt and push and squeeze.

-----------------------------

They are breaking out the thwacking sticks
and sparking Godly clogs
pulling tongues through narrowed lips
at the infidel yankee dogs.

------------------------------------

As a paid up member of the
lumpen bourgeoisie poetry appreciation society
I can confirm without fear of contradiction
that poetry is indeed baggy underwear
with ample ball room, voluminous in the extreme
and takes into account
the need for the free flow of flatulent gassiness
that is the want of a ****** up poet.

-----------------------------------------------

She's a rough hewn Trapezoidal gal
a gongoozler o' the ol' canal.
She's copper bottomed n fly boat Sal.

I'll have thee know that
that there hat
is a magic hat,
it renders me invisible
to the arty intelligentsia
and roots me firmly
in the lumpen proletariat .
-------------------------------------------------------
Said the sneaky Scotsman, Jim Blaik.
if the pension, you wish to partake,
bend over my son, lets get this thing done
and cop for this thick trouser snake !!

I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.

Fandango'd o'er the cornflakes
and the spillage in isle four

-----------------

I'm linier and analogue,
a ribbon microphone man
mired in the dust of the monochromatic,
the basement, the attic.

------------------------------

Simple simon met miss Tymon going to the fair,
said simple simon to miss Tymon - "pfhwarr what a luverly pair"
of silken thighs and big brown eyes and scrumptious wobbly bits,
Said simple Simon to miss Tymon---------- shame about you **** !!!

So sad sweet Shirl thought she'd give a whirl to clubbercise n pound

Squat, slightly,
tilt head 45°
and squint.
See the shimmering blurry
dot in the distance?
That, timorous ****,
is ME !
Fast twitching my
narrow white ****
to the pub.

There was a young lady named Sue.
whose ***** and **** was askew,
whilst taking a ****
she'd aim it and miss
and she lifted 'er hat when she blew.


Oh Mon Dieu !!

Obi.
Skye Marshmallow Nov 2017
Poetry.

A world of bitter sweet extremes
Bleeding hearts and unknown eyes
Forever friendships and lovesick smiles

A world of black and white
Wrong and right.

We live in freezing ice
We live in burning fire.

Furiously typing colour
Into a world that renders grey
Never letting duller shades shine through
Observations of an aspiring poet.
pisces Mar 2017
Run away and stay soft for me, not rough
can't bear the innocence, we've all been so blind
insomnia renders us awake
with thoughts in our heads but nothing in our minds
Wearing the crown of magnetic allurement ,
Sheathed , Sanguine , Egregious and Effulgent !
With a beguiling pace she coyly approaches in shades of shimmery reds , bowed with obliging politeness .
Gracefully walking into 'thy' life and grasping 'thy' strings of happiness.

She lives  in 'thy ' mind with enticing gravity ,  residing within 'thy' heart for eternity .

Unveiling her true self  shedding all dignity and peace , she renders her de bouch self as she now plays 'thy ' perfect host.
She titillates 'thy ' mind like a ghost !

Bewitched by the 'sorceress' ,
'Thy' life is succumbed to the tempest !
Alas !  
Now their is no escape for  she paved the way to desperation  .
Captivated by the "SUPERIOR  TEMPTATION" is 'thy hopeless mind swarming with aggresion and a helpless heart flanked with  apprehension, depression and destruction !
Such  my friend is the devastation of  the " TEMPTATION "
© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Effulgent ,Egregious, Sanguine, Allurement ,debouch ,Sorceress..
Contemporary#Archaic# Shakespeare's language#Metaphor #Symbolism
Lizzy Nov 2016
i know what my problem is,
what my problem has always been.
i hate myself
in every way possible.

i hate the way i look
but thats just the surface.
i hate the way i think
and feel the most.

my mind twists everything
into an unrecognizable image
and tells me that this is the way
things are and have to be.

and i feel with such despair
that my heart renders
my mind useless
in the face of fear.

i can't talk myself
out of a panic
because my heart is so loud
that reason is lost in the sound.

so i hide my heart
and my mind
and i do what i can
about the way i look.

but it's not as easy
when my heart
and mind demand to be heard
when my composure
wears off at night.

then i turn into
the pathetic disaster
i've always been.
the mess of a person
that i've kept hidden.

and believe me,
i want to change.
because i know
that asking someone to love me
the way i am
is far too great a task.

who could look at a person
that screams curses
at the mirror with such relentless
sadness and hate
and decide to love them?
well i was hoping you could.

i don't know if that's
too much to ask,
for someone so beautiful
to love such a mess.

am i way
out of line
to wish that you
would hold me and tell me
that everything is fine?

should i leave such desires
for daydreams and poetry?
because my stupid heart
wants me to beg you
to stay and love me.
ryn Jul 2014
It pulls me deep with a grip so relentless
It swirls me senseless with tendrils so sensuous
It overwhelms me so with determined fervour
I can't breathe, I can't fight, I get pulled under.

It renders me helpless but every bit I'm enjoying
These currents they push and carry, entranced I'm dancing
Try to swim and navigate but almost seem futile
Defy all logic, in this magical enchantment I smile.

I squeeze in an occasional breath that's deep
Reality streams in like water running in steep
But in a heartbeat I exhale to expel it all out
For I am addicted to the current and its strong-armed clout.

It's a whole new realm that has been so long hidden
Mystical and whimsical, this overgrown path that's hardly ridden
Fortunate it feels to have discovered such a find
So consumed, that it fills my body and my mind.

This tidal wave in my heart, with strength so unbelievable
Wearing away the uncertainty and everything else sensible
As it beats upon the shore of my guardedness
Revealed the tender core filled with love that's limitless.

Forever I wish to be submerged in this dream-like state
Floating and drifting, clumsily in a child-like gait
I have found myself in this love I'm drowning
Swim up and awaken is a thought I'm not longing.

Engulfed in a blanket of love's sweet loving
Feeble attempt to embrace back is all I'm trying
"Enjoy it, and receive what you can" said the voice in my head
My heart replies, "I think I'll love her forever instead".
I am death. I no longer live or breathe and I have no soul, unlike life, what is the journey of the soul. - You think, this guy is a nutcase, maybe drops some wisdom like this, but in life he must be a loser. But how the hell he renders that friggin' skull?
It talks again.
- You and all other mortals will never be at peace, while you do not distribute any of your own true self. - What the hell again? Why the hell me?
- It is only you who can decide when do you live and die. In your case, take that as a friend's advice, not a threat.

It is getting to be more fun with this reanimated one, however I can't get used to her or his appearance. And man, what a lie, not a threat..-****- is it messing with my brain?!
To be continied, stay tune!
Denise Egan Jan 26
Brightly you burn; dancing in the ever so gentle breeze,
I flutter cautiously; dodging your odd, dangerous flicker,
How could I be drawn to something so dangerous?
Something that could execute me in one swift movement,
But I keep fluttering, around and around and around,
Until I become so exhausted that everything becomes a blur and I fall to the pits of despair,
It would take a thousand words to describe my devotion to you,
Every moment spent in your angelic presence renders me incapable of logical thinking,
So I rise once more, for you to watch my shadow play on the walls of your heart.
Aaron Feb 18
Look back - my sight was black and white,
A decidedly dividing definition;
“Surely now I see what’s right” –
What a presumptuous premonition.

Fast forward a few:
“All scenes shall shatter.”
Nihilism, not new; just
Cognitive chatter.

Even Nothing now ends
in a burst of ferocious flame;
The love that she sends
renders the Big Bang tame.

You ask what I believe:
As though it’s set in stone;
As though there’s some reprieve;
As though I’ve fully grown.
I'm not great with titles. Recommendations are always great. <3
Pricers Feb 13
My life is a maze that wont know until you know the father sleeps with the flock as they past over yonder where they go is unknown to the just the sleep renders to all but the wakers
MicMag Dec 2018
My thoughts run sprints
My mind won't slow down
But when pen's put to paper
No phrases can be found

I knock on their door
But the words won't come out
Locked in their room
They just laze and pout

Inspiration's still here
But my muse has gone mute
Its stubborn vow of silence
Renders my thoughts moot

It's not mere writer's block
I'd say it's more radical
My poetry has decided
To take a sabbatical
Eloisa Jun 2
My stronger warrior soul is confused and lost
Longing to be free from the visit of unpleasant thoughts
For five years, I was a wanderer between the glorious light and the evil of darkness
Which  seldom renders me adrift but often empty  and frightened
I would only try to dismiss the spell, the fight
Then battle to find my soul and to restore my heart
At length, amidst these giant storms and misery
Never would my tongue reveal my real unutterable agony
But the memories of the past became too haunting, more violent
And now I’m at the edge of the dark and eternal uncertainty
For sometime, I continued to believe that the nightmare was gone
That my visions were blessed with joy, and my dreams were untroubled
Suddenly, I awoke with the same frightful dream as before
The devil visited me again in my hours of sleep
Where did he get his powers and permission to torture me?
I contemplated one more time and realized
I understood why I dread my dreary destiny
I have not completely forgiven the devil for what he has done to me
So now to release myself from the chain of pain
and suffering
I’m breaking free from the sweet revenge I daily seek
As I command my wings to flee from hell and whisper my forgiveness
I heard a hymn from my  guardian angel’s melodic voice
A wonderful prayer for my deliverance
William D Hearns Oct 2018
She is beautiful, with her hair in disarray. She sets man against man, woman against woman, and both against each other

She whispers into the ear of sleeping children, who awake as adults in her service.

All fear her, for she cannot be known.

She masquerades as order, enticing humanity; the fire that huddled neanderthals gaped at in thanks become the flames that consume.

To fight against her is futile, but it is in our nature.

She has never left us; she will continue without us when we are dead and gone.

All the monuments in the world bow to her in worship or are crushed in submission to time and war.

She played gods and men alike.

She is both the catalyst and the conclusion.

Some marvel as the fires of her destruction dance reflected in their eyes; others weep.

To say that she is coming would imply that she has ever left.

How could we impermanent things ever hope to banish something so primordial.

She breeds hate, mistrust, and strife in those that capitulate; those that resist her only magnify her power.

She bore Hardship and Ruin, Quarrels and Disputes, Lies and Oaths, Anarchy and Starvation,  Forgetfulness and Pain. Manslaughter and ****** were her giggling toddlers. War and Battle took after her brother, their uncle's favorites.

She brings inedible food that is coveted by all who encounter it.

She has bathed in the blood of civil wars, her most decadent vice.

She renders man's efforts futile, to fight or submit is destruction.

She will reduce the universe to an ever expanding hellscape of fire.

She is the secret joy of many.

Nothing will escape her.

She is everywhere.
Bryce Sep 2018
The loving puddle in the gutter off market street-- the one that fills with dirt and **** and damp newspaper, plastic soda cup, strange indecipherable Chinese pamphlets with bleeding characters. She smiles at the sun and renders its visions on her face, and with great tension attempts to demonstrate her willingness, her blushing consent to being totally subsumed by its whims. Of course she trembles at the diurnal stampede of feet, but is not afraid-- for she too speaks in eternity. She has evaporated before-- she has kissed the incessant sky over Marrakesh in the soft morning and dreams of the sparkling mountainsides in the night, when she is divided by callous rubber tires or cast below by competing distant rains. Yet she has always found her way back home; Nestled in the subtle indentation of road besides the brickway near Battery.

"Dewdrop, let me cleanse
in your brief
sweet waters . . .
These dark hands of life"

It was one of the waning days of winter, in the blurred haze of rains, when we left the coast and began our journey home. As she drove, I watched the pebbled streaks roll across the window into great vertical streams, to be cast off indistinct along the stationary road. Upon all our sides, Even the black-toothed mountain tops lost their grandiose summits into the fog. Off the road, next to the sagging remains of a gas station, a man sat beneath the naked fist of an old willow tree. He, with a teal umbrella, twirled the nylon circle so that the collecting sheen of water spun and spiraled centrifugal out into the bombarding camaraderie of fellow drops. The damp fields sat empty of life behind him, casting into evanescent black oceans of dirt. As we hurried past, I turned back-- and following him with my own watering eyes, I watched for as long as I could--until he too faded silently into the mist.
macayla Mar 10
Sentiment tied with grief. The worst kind of feeling that overwhelms your body, shaking you to your core, ratting your bones and unsettling the blood that sits in the tiny, twisting canals of your veins. I attach everything to you nowadays. I annotate your love and life to every song on my Spotify playlist, I draw lines and connect you to the good parts of my day. I can’t get rid of you from me and my life. You have overtaken the sun, placed your hands over mine, and every time I close my eyes I can feel your hair on my neck.

Your voice is like warm static. Your presence is like a warm jazz chord, a seventh or a ninth, like sunlight peeking out from the gaps in between two people embracing each other. You are a breath of living. You are a breath of stunning colours, stark orange and burning red, translucent blues and almost invisible, pale yellow. I can smell the wind, the sea and the sky when I’m with you.

I hate looking up the traces of you online and offline. There’s a sick feeling, the feeling of acknowledgement of how tight your hands are around my throat. I feel like I should be guilty of something, like I am the only one at fault for letting myself indulge in someone so distant, far away, but still so bright and expectant. Someone who plays and listens in a mascarpone-cream colour.

I’m so pathetic. Here I am, listening to your self-made playlists, pretending like you are listening to them at the same time as I am.

I wish I could un-love you, as an idea. Reality makes me shudder. It renders me silent, and I resign to aloofness. I can’t enter your bubble, or be a part of the same world as you are in. It’s so comforting, but I know that as soon as I raise my hands or step a foot inside, everything will be ruined.

And you are the last one I would ever think of ruining.
All rights reserved to Macayla :-)
Every time you seductively call out my name
I get weak in my knees, It's not just your  bewitching face
I have to hold on to your smile
So I do not float up and get lost in space.

I love the taste of your honied lips.
Your name just as sweet
I completely love every part of you
Is all of this real? This must be a cheat
Kissing every inch of your trembling body
To the melody of my heartbeat
Slowly taking in your aroma
renders every part of our souls satisfyingly weak

Your happiness my precedence
In the way that I love you
this must clearly be evident
You are live art, poetry in motion
A true picture of eloquence.
Love words that come from within
Ink my tears of happiness
Feeling this happy must be a sin
I grin
Thinking how lucky I am
Knowing we both feel the same
Together drowning
In loves ocean.
Simon Mathole Dec 2018
Life crumbles my visions asunder,
Ignorance shoves me into clumsy blunder,
Love throws me into the zone of blinder,
Forgetting that I'm a Pathfinder.

When life deprives me off the briddle,
When everything seems to be a puzzle,
When my story goes like a riddle,
In grief, I hear life playing it's own fiddle.

Heavy weight makes my legs jiggle,
My blistered feet make me stumble,
But 'they' see me and chuckle,
While they used to praise me in hotels.

Engineering renders me a plater,
In my own house, am made a janitor,
I date a ****** city bunter,
Money in my life is a gutter.

Physique portrays me of a working Caliber,
So they ask "Do you work here?"
Yet behind the curtains am a begger,
A begger in fashioned attire.
Stephanie Oct 7
Her gaze steady, without blinking she exhales the words as if she's been holding her breath...
"You have generalized anxiety, major depressive disorder, panic disorder, and a touch of OCD"
She looks at me curiously as if she's just let out a terrible secret and is waiting for me to freak out
Unable to read my expression, her concerned voice cuts through a faint ringing in my head,  "How does that make you feel?"
Relieved?  - my erratic behavior has a name, well name(s), naming your demons renders them powerless..right?
Hopeless? - the way she reads the disorders like reading off a grocery list, so many diagnoses, how could i not be a lost cause?

Fast forward to every relationship I will ever have with another person.
I usually end up apologizing, as if I’m hurting them with my slightly crooked smile and fingers that won’t stop tapping
He asks me "Why are you like this? What's wrong? How can I help?"
(I'm exhausted from trying to pick apart which diagnoses I'm battling at the very moment someone asks "What's wrong?")
So I default to ambiguity -  I shrug and I tell him "I don't know, I'm just sad...or something."
Mark Feb 10
If from your depth of chest you gift me more
And lace that gift you'd give as that bestowed
I fear my worth undone for your outpour
As meager even now to what your owed.
For beauty of your eyes lends light to mine
My darker shades may taint your glow unjust.
Not by an absent love, but lack of shine;
Before you graced were I a love in rust.
Ah! That, I do possess, so renders you
In greater light, as darkness does the moon
And had you worship'd more than what I knew
Alike how winter's day gives summer boon.

I need you as your beauty needs my eyes
They grant you form, without all beauty dies.
JA Perkins May 31
We swore we'd run it
till the wheels fell off
and when they did,
(because they always do)
we concluded that bad things
happen to good people.

But we were wrong
and justifiably so -
for who could stand against
the arrogance of youth?

And now that the enamel has
long been worn from our teeth
and vibrance faded like the
hues of our hair, we stand corrected:
For each renders his own suffering.
Some to bring us up..
Some to tear us down,
but it's all for the good of things.  

It was given by God that a man
should suffer for his own actions,
but not for demise, cynical observer,
but that he should learn and become.
A contemplation
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