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1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.
Simon Oct 2019
Probability isn’t the luck it deserves for wanting desperately to be noticed by any appeals. Generating new focuses never thought possible. If so… Who is the recipient? Who is the lawmaker? Who being the justice department? Goods to making essential markers on productive velocities. Justification is outweighed by department alone. Growing ever scarcer without benefiting attitudes in place. Conjecturing solvent pleasures across many fields. Fields of accessory dependents ensuring a collective term is agreeable. Except, what if probability is outweighed not by something further from its own attitude? What if it can’t benefit itself? In question, becoming misshaped, mispronounced, or misinterpreted. Depending on who’s right, or who’s wrong shouldn’t matter until claims are assured. Propagating across the many fields of accessory dependents. Dependents outweighing the logic one is misshaped by. Demonstrating probabilities mispronouncing sense of terms for oneself. Wrapping up in a crumbled conjecture. Propagating a newer field of already surveyed products. Truth is in the stream that propagates those fields. Accessory moments dependent on gaining tension through the rise of the recipient. That’s the only way probability will ever learn. Hence why it shuts down if it ever involved itself. Itself without its own recipient. Its own justice department. Lawmaker without any dependent ideas would ever appeal to its own logical making, if it’s never dependent on itself. Only flashing the accessory dependent on other influences. Influences going way down the line of certainties without pleasure. Urges relapse. Furthering its own clustered rut! One without mistakes diverging deeper into uncertainties. Taking risks isn’t noticeable. When probability taking risks enough to (blush) down the line of certainties without an aim involved. Scattering their rut from within. But how does it involve probability? It doesn’t. Probability is the representation of how one constant judge itself for pleasure. When pleasurable actions are dependent with a blank impression never sought out. To focused on probability. When probability isn’t fruitful by its own design either. Only way it works. Never looking back in itself. A reflection of tempted attitudes fluttering in a swift, but rigid wind. Wind never tempted by its own sway. If one is to admit what they aren’t even aware of changing. Another shutdown happens! Justifications for probabilities own reckoning depends on other solvents. Solvents who don’t even understand the probabilities of there own life makings. Able to learn what is dependent onto others. Never within themselves directing their starry performance. What happens when things are finally noticeable within probabilities that will exceed probable actions of the force that dictates fates majority complexes? Complexes without variety. Varieties misshaped by mishappenings of trust. Which includes a basic awareness of some factor never hesitating to judge within the core of being itself. A view fate designs in its weapon of probability very well. What is fate up to…? Never can guess when probability shuts down all appliances out of contact with no one but itself left in the dark. Probability is. Everything has just become disowned. Fate exchanging glances with itself for one last second, before rapping up this little diverse expression. Pinpointing its weapon of probability without knowing why that is? Hinting at fate not being the only recipient to follow in its weapons obstructed desires.
Probability without luck is forever undetermined. Having faith in itself, will redeem the actuality of actions placed without words. Luck? Faith? Lots of hints one hasn't fully realized.
ryn Dec 2016
The sun awaits
just beyond the horizon.
Time gets scarcer
as it bathes us
in its glow.
And our bodies can only
afford to
crumble to dust.

All that we know,
what we knew,
will only be cast...
Imprisoned.
Within the tight confines
of expiring memory.

We must pave a way
to a secret place.
A route to safety...
One that we could share.
Somewhere only we know.

I'll go to this place
where no one can.
I'll wait and anticipate
your arrival at this place...
A place only we know.
Inspired by Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know"
anastasiad Dec 2016
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frankie crognale Feb 2015
My family is absolutely ridiculous.  Every single time we have a family gathering, it always somehow results in everyone sitting around the table absolutely heated over political issues and everything that’s wrong with the government.  They’re all disgustingly republican.  It’s almost painful to listen to their views on certain things.  I’m the only person in my entire extended family (that I know of) that is more on the moderate/liberal side.  From what I’ve gathered, moderates/liberals are more of the younger crowd of people, because now that the older generation that was shamefully conservative is becoming scarcer and scarcer, some people are beginning to wake up.  They're also more of the "artistic", open-minded, down to earth humans, which is what I consider myself to be. I feel as though I've been shaped into who I am today because of the people I've associated with, the media, blogging, and just simply opening my eyes to what the world really is. We have a choice as human beings on whether or not we want to see the world as what it is, or the world with a filter over top of it, so we don't really see it for what it really is. Some may argue it's the "romanticism vs. realism", or at least I would. I learned that from one of my ex boyfriends, which was sort of the turning point in my views of the world. His name was Stefan, and he lived in England. I don't think that's even a real relationship, but he definitely helped me realize some stuff, although I already had fairly strong views on certain things already. One of those being the debate on same *** marriage. This hits very close to home for me, in far more ways than one, and is probably one of the things I dispute over most with people. I won't get into it completely here, but I am 10,000,000,000% for it. Just as same *** marriage, I have very strong feelings about self expression. It is our first amendment right to freedom of expression, and in school we are violated of that.  I couldn't imagine having to go to school with my hair in a bun, no makeup on, no more than one piercing in each ear, no ****** piercings, no nail polish, etc. To me, that is a violation of your first amendment right, let alone having it go against everything I believe in. This is why I'm so eager to move to New York City; where I can look however I want to and attend as many protests as I want and create as much art as humanly possible. Until the day the rest of America wakes up, the early risers will continue to brew the coffee in hopes one day the sleepyheads will smell how wonderful it is.
this is an assignment for my american government class expressing my "political personality".
John R Apr 2012
Once, in the time of plenty, we were great hunters.
Quick, brave, artful -- we deserved our feasting.

Now, each day the prey becomes scarcer.
We explore ever further, and walk back, weary.
Lately, our children have come to  know hunger.

Why, though we perform the sacred ceremonies,
do the gods not hear us?
Ellie Geneve Apr 2016
You still make your own bread
because it reminds you of your mother
working hard to feed her 10 children
during the dreadfulness of war, near the flaming stove

It reminds you of a time when things were anything but easy
When you had to save your meal for a scarcer time
When you woke up before the rooster's call
and prayed for your family's safety
When you realized just how much
burden and uncertainty your rib cage can carry
When you learned what strength really is
and how grief truly feels
When dehydration turned your tears into dust
When sleep was a luxury your worried eyes could not afford
When every new breath felt like a responsibility
and every water drop down your throat
felt like blessing you couldn't afford

You still make your own bread*
I think people wonder why you want to remember such a painful time
But I understand you completely

Pain is the bitter flavor your taste buds are used to
It is the background music of your video

The idea of remembering the painful past
Is not to feel pain, it is to feel the joy within the pain

The flour taste remaining on your lips
after you voraciously devour the loaf of bread
The weight your thin arms learned how to carry
The look of appreciation your mother gave you
The sense of responsibility that made you feel needed
The sunrise that made you feel yet alive
The 5 minute snooze that gave you energy
The relief after tear-less cries
The prosperous smiles
And the loss of fears

You still make your own bread*
It tastes terrible
But I love it endlessly
Zulu Samperfas Nov 2012
Social Darwinism
How we fight each other
in the marketplace of scarce resources
come scarcer
How I remember the claws of a rooster
flapping his wings
protecting his flock of unfed hens
so starving they'd eat their own eggs
His claws scratches my legs
The wings flapped and air
moved around him
like a small storm
I was so young

Today, working in a place
that's like a rock offshore where thousands have been
washed away, and drowned
and we are still there on those small slippery
places trying to do our jobs
and not get knocked off
by a passing wave
or a rude shove of desperation as someone falls

Invisible demons
Rumors and gossip drive this place
Men, not women, rule it
Impatient men who are scared for themselves
on the higher rocks
still feeling the spray
watching the struggling toil of those below
and turning inward to their own sadness and fear

All there is, the only safe place
can be inside
and yet for me it's not there either
An attack comes and part of me takes that side
A being eating itself, destroying itself
Thinking at the same time that this will solve the problem
If only enough flesh can be cut, if only enough suffering
can be wrought
I will be purged of these feelings
Donall Dempsey Oct 2015
TWO LITTLE GHOSTS


Two little ghosts
shuffle down the street

looking very frightened.

A gang of skeletons
break out into a clatter of laughter.

A girl ghoul & a boy ghoul
hold hands

dressed in their best
mouldy school uniforms.

A moon laughs
at a bunch of little devils

who should know better
...but, don't.

Witches are a bit more scarcer
on the ground this year

than last Halloween

thinks the real ghost amused
at the humans

dressing up in
their greatest fear.
M Solav Dec 2019
How do you
Come to know
That you’ve been drifting away
From yourself?

You listen
To the echoes
Of your voice growing scarcer
By the year,

And perhaps
You have lost
The will to make that very call
Or answer.

The mountain
Is far now
There's no other way to return
But to search

But how do
You conclude
That you’ve been on a descent
Down to earth?

You look back
And wonder
“Did that mountain of your deeds
Weigh its worth?”
Written in August 2019.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
__________
Simon Soane Sep 2013
In mild air
seething green recedes
at a trot
not gallop,
some splendor left
but scarcer and sought.
Fortified in fought,
still strong for days
unchanged.
Until giving way
is the way.
Amy Foreman Feb 2017
When we set forth, the breeze blew fair,
The sun shone balmy, warm.
Our sheets were fixed; sail filled with air,
No warning of the storm.

Our crew of two, so cheerfully,
With confidence untried,
Thought we could lick the strongest sea
And still enjoy the ride.

In dinghy small: in ocean great
Our tiny course still true.
We charted stars to navigate;
From Heaven took our cue.

And so we cruised for many years,
Successful in our tour.
With frequent laughter, scarcer tears,
The partnership secure.

But one night when the stars were gone
And clouds obscured our view,
A gust surprised us, struck head-on
And blew the mast askew.

In darkness thick, with rising surge,
We struggled with the sail.
The waves now threatened to submerge
Our vessel in the gale.

We could not see to douse or reef
And so we grappled, blind;
Our crew of two, in disbelief
Left buoyancy behind.

The dinghy tossed like wreckage now
And, hope so far from sight,
We tried once more and then, somehow,
Our crew began to fight.

Through foam and froth and swelling wave
Our agitation grew.
Each violent blast a cause to rave,
To quarrel, stage a coup.

Our crew of two, now one-on-one,
Not just against the squall
Attacked each other ‘til undone,
A rebel’s free-for-all.

So will we drown in waters vast
This tempest take our souls?
And, sinking, will we still lambaste
Each other’s weak controls?

Or could we, if we changed our tack
And pulled together, firm,
Outlast this storm, this inky black,
Our partnership affirm?

Oh, please, let’s try, although the sky
Above is dire and grim.
You take an oar and so will I,
Together scull and skim.

I’ll call you “Captain;”  call me “Mate.”
We’ll rally, make amends.
And, crew of two, we’ll navigate
This stormy night as friends.
I was pleased to have this poem featured in the 2017 Valentine's Day edition of the Epoch Times (pg C03)
skyy omalley Jun 2020
ed,,zinger suivante,,tels handknits finish,,cagefuls basinlike bag octopodan,,imbossing vaporettos rorid easygoingnesses nalorphines,,benzol respond washerwomen bristlecone,,parajournalism herringbone farnarkeled,,episodically cooties,,initiallers bimetallic,,leased hinters,,confidence teetotaller computerphobes,,pinnacle exotically overshades prothallia,,posterior gimmickry brassages bediapers countertrades,,haslet skiings sandglasses cannoli,,carven nis egomaniacal,,barminess gallivanted,,southeastward,,oophoron crumped,,tapued noncola colposcopical,,dolente trebbiano revealment,,outworked isotropous monosynaptic excisional moans,,enterocentesis jacuzzi preoccupations,,hippodrome outward googs,,tabbises undulators,,metathesizing,,sharia prepostor,,neuromast curmudgeons actability,,archaise spink reddening miscount,,madmen physostigmin statecraft neurocoeles bammed,,tenderest barguests crusados trust,,manshifts darzis aerophones,,reitboks discomposingly,,expandors,,monotasking galabia,,pertinents expedients witty,,chirographies crachach unsatisfactoriness swerveless,,flawed sepulchred thanksgiver scrawl skug,,perorate stringers gelatine flagstones,,chuses conceptualization surrejoined,,counterblasts rache,,numerative,,delirifacients methylthionine,,mantram dynamist atomised,,eternization percalines hryvnias pragmatizing,,reproachfulnesses telework nowts demoded revealer,,burnettize caryopteris subangular wirricows,,transvestites sinicized narcissus,,hikers meno,,degassing,,postcrises alikenesses,,sycophancy seroconverting insure,,yantras raphides cliftiest bosthoon,,zootherapy chlorides nationwide schlub yuri,,timeshares castanospermine backspaces reincite,,coactions cosignificative palafitte,,poofters subjunctions,,aquarian,,theralite revindicating,,cynosural permissibilities narcotising,,journeywork outkissed clarichords troutier,,myopias undiverting evacuations snarier superglue,,deaminise infirmaries teff hebephrenias,,brainboxes homonym lancelet,,lambitive stray,,inveigled,,acetabulums atenolol,,dekkos scarcer flensed,,abulias flaggers wammul boastfully,,galravitch happies interassociation multipara augmentations,,teratocarcinomata coopting didakai infrequently,,hairtails intricacy usuals,,pillorise outrating,,cataphoresis,,furnishings leglen,,goethite deflate butterburs,,phoneticising winiest hyposulphuric campshirts,,chainfalls swimmings roadblocked redone soliloquies,,broking mendaciousness parasitisms counterworld,,unravellings quarries passionately,,onomatopoesis repenting,,ramequin,,mopboard euphuistically,,volta sycophantized allantoides,,bors bouclees raisings sustaining,,diabolist sticks dole liltingly,,curial bisexualisms siderations hemolysed,,damnabilities unkenneling halters,,peripheral congaing,,diatomicity,,foolings repayments,,hereabouts vamosed him,,slanters moonrock porridgy monstruous,,heartwood bassoonist predispositions jargoon dominances,,timidest inalienable rewearing inevitably,,entreating retiary tranquillizing,,uniparental droogs,,allotropous,,forzati abiogenetic,,obduration exempted unifaces,,epilating calisaya dispiteously coggles,,vestmented flukily ignifying complished hiccupy municipalize,,pentagraphs parcels sutler excavates,,stardust miscited thankfulness,,fouter pertused,,overpacks,,guarishes hylotheism,,pi Fresh blood seeps through the line parting her skin and slowly colors her breast red. I begin to hyperventilate as my compulsion grows. The images won’t go away. Images of me driving the knife into her flesh continuously, ******* her body with the blade, making a mess of her. My head starts going crazy as my thoughts start to return. Shooting pain assaults my mind along with my thoughts. This is disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. How could I ever let myself think these things? But it’s unmistakable. The lust continues to linger through my veins. An ache in my muscles stems from the unreleased tension experienced by my entire body. Her Third Eye is drawing me closer.
Cairo
and I know it was Cairo because of the pyramids
what I don't know is why I was there,
information is scarcer than water and only the
scorpions sing.

it's always the far flung and out of the way places that you wake up and find yourself in.


Khufu who we knew as Cheops pops up from a hole in the ground, there are
base plates for namesakes and Pharaohs and who knows
there could be one there for me.

so this geezer from Giza says these are
the rules and lays down the law of the land
I take my bucket and ***** and make castles
(there's plenty of sand)
I met a friend along the way
who's company I did not expect
when foes become rare
and friends became scarcer
honesty became a privilege
and love came as a prize won by vanity
I wandered amongst the wasteland of society
trying to find shelter in the rain of apathy
As I counted the withered blades of grass
I neglected the tree that had grown
the friend I hadn't listened to
that I had written off as they did me
was the shade of my own true heart.
Simon Soane Sep 2018
In mild air
seething green recedes
at a trot
not gallop,
some splendor left
but scarcer and sought.
Fortified in fought,
still strong for days
unchanged.
Until giving way
is the way.
Fee Berry Jun 2022
We dined on caviar
And famine in Europe
Seemed most unlikely
The world began to burn

We watched the queues lengthen
As the poor queued at foodbanks
But our Ocado deliveries
Continued nonetheless

Rebellious types protested
And journeys took longer
Really very annoying
We hoped that they’d be jailed

The news was full of Amber
And next season’s fashions
Ukraine, Yemen and Gaza
Were very far away

Life went on as normal
The monkeypox came to us
The insects died in millions
And we started then to fear

Life went on as normal
The sea levels were rising
But that is in the future?
And still the world burned

Life went on as normal
But food was more expensive
The poor were still hit hardest
And still the world burned

Life went on as normal
We began to see the die off
We still had ***** and burgers
And still the world burned

Life began change as
We knew we should have acted
Food was getting scarcer
And still the world burned
And still the world burned
And still the world burned
And still the world burned.
Dedicated to Extinction Rebellion and all who work for their aims.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2022
TWO LITTLE GHOSTS

Two little ghosts
shuffle down the street

looking very frightened.

A gang of skeletons
break out into a clatter of laughter.

A girl ghoul & a boy ghoul
hold hands

dressed in their best
mouldy school uniforms.

A moon laughs
at a bunch of little devils

who should know better
...but, don't.

Witches are a bit more scarcer
on the ground this year

than last Halloween

thinks the real ghost amused
at the humans

dressing up in
their greatest fear.
Norbert Tasev Oct 2020
I have survived the full steady pace of my life! The treasures of smells, wonders, and emotions evaporated behind me — doing nothing as it would have seemed through the eyes of others: The tiny cells of the unknown existence were influenced by molecules. My swarm-toddler's turn of the century was watched by women, as they later leveled my school-lesson career — I was able to go to their safety once and for all: my spirit could finally be aware of and marvel at the formula of the anthill of the world,

however, the remaining order is like the molasses tutyimutyism! I hid among the shadows unnoticed, unmoved. With my inner eye, I measured the bizarre message exchanges of immortal kisses: every tangled, exhausted tiny coal challenge generated real emergency challenges, like when nuclear nuclei split.

I am ashamed of a lot of my mistakes and mistakes for so much - that's right! I saw the ruthless brutalities of real life in a crime siren. Even though I was on duty as a school circuit runner in gym class, my tear-wounded face burned from both sides while my mother was watching me, comforting me, protecting me! But now that I'm pretty much just knocking out empty heaps of paper, the inserts of a garmada of feathers, for myself - I could remember and live

the full need of Existence: Missed births, birthday parties, bicycle teaching, - to rejoice and live that I could be a creative and creative part of Someone, even if for a little while! "But life is not a frothy cake, if the overhead lines that are felt in the overhead lamp world are like the trampled beetles!"

Maybe someone will come, secretly capitalized out of little money, and even faced with a scarcer opportunity to thrive on immortal emotion!
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                              His CHECK ENGINE Light is On

                                      For Chris Singletary

He came by today, a friend from long ago
“I haven’t seen you in a hamster’s age.”
“Yep, too long.”
“How ya doin’?”
“Good enough for government service.”
“Wanna beer?
“Thought you’d never ask.”
“Kids all doin’ good?”
“Yeah; real proud of ‘em. All grown and gone. Yours?”
“Oh, yeah, doin’ doin’ just fine.”
“Heard you was in th’ hospital last year.”
“Yep, made almost about three months of of it.”
“Too much fun.”
“Yep.”
“At our age…”
“Yep.”
“Kids these days.”
“Yep.”
“You okay now?”
“Better’n I deserve. You?”
“Well, you know, my CHECK ENGINE light is on.”


Fresh metaphors are scarcer than crocodile feathers. Thanks, Chris.
CHECK ENGINE Light

— The End —