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Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!
For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood
Upon our side, we who were strong in love!
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very heaven!—Oh! times,
In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways
Of custom, law, and statute, took at once
The attraction of a country in romance!
When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights,
When most intent on making of herself
A prime Enchantress—to assist the work
Which then was going forward in her name!
Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth,
The beauty wore of promise, that which sets
(As at some moment might not be unfelt
Among the bowers of paradise itself )
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
What temper at the prospect did not wake
To happiness unthought of? The inert
Were roused, and lively natures rapt away!
They who had fed their childhood upon dreams,
The playfellows of fancy, who had made
All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength
Their ministers,—who in lordly wise had stirred
Among the grandest objects of the sense,
And dealt with whatsoever they found there
As if they had within some lurking right
To wield it;—they, too, who, of gentle mood,
Had watched all gentle motions, and to these
Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more wild,
And in the region of their peaceful selves;—
Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty
Did both find, helpers to their heart’s desire,
And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish;
Wcre called upon to exercise their skill,
Not in Utopia, subterranean fields,
Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where!
But in the very world, which is the world
Of all of us,—the place where in the end
We find our happiness, or not at all!
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
All you folks in paper hats,
You think paper's where it's at.
Paper suits and paper ties,
Don't you know that paper lies?
Paper silver, paper gold,
Paper's bought and paper's sold.
Does paper have any worth?
It's just a tree cut from the earth.
Your god is Almighty Paper,
Presidents are your deal makers...

Paper lions, paper hearts,
In the end they're torn apart.
Paper tigers, paper souls,
Punch them and they're full of holes.
Paper masks and paper streamers,
All you are are paper dreamers.

Whatever happened to your returns?
Don't you know that paper burns?
Some CEO's are thieves and liars,
Out there startin' forest fires!
Where's the nest egg of older folk?
Their retirement's up in smoke!
Greed is what we're talkin' here,
And all it is is paper fear.

"Will I keep up? Is mine the best?"
They're just kids in paper vests.
"If you don't leave my paper alone,
I'll just take my paper home..."


Paper boats and paper toys,
For paper girls and paper boys,
Paper backs and paper chase,
'Fraid you'll lose the paper race?
Paper masks and paper schemers,
All you are are paper dreamers.

Deep inside, your spirit screams!
There's no substance to your dreams!
All you are is dust and spit?
H2O and dirt...That's it?
Don't you feel that hole inside?
Put away your paper pride!

What will happen when you die?
When you find it's all a lie?!
You know I'm telling you the truth.
You've wasted your life,
you've lost your youth.
If you've a question, why not ask it?
Just more paper for your basket?
Magazines, newspapers, what's in print?
More paper for the Treasury's mint?

C'mon people! Lets get real!
This is not Let's Make A Deal!!

Door #1, or 2, or 3?!!!

Is that how you deal with ETERNITY?

You'd better be sure you're on the dime,
Cuz eternity's a long, LONG time.

Paper wings? Or paper veils?
Paper heads, or paper tails?

Keep life in a paper cup?
Guess what?

Your time is UP.


SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) March 8, 2009
This is a "snap" song I had produced. It will be on youtube soon...
"Snap" is like rap but slower and with a slightly different rhythm.
I coined the term.
SøułSurvivør Mar 2014
~~

All you folks in paper hats
You think paper's where it's at.
Paper suits and paper ties...
... don't you know that paper LIES?

Paper silver, paper gold,
Paper's bought, and paper's sold.

Does paper have ANY worth?
It's just a tree cut from the earth!

Your god is almighty Paper...
... The Presidents are your deal makers.


Paper lions, paper hearts,
In the end they're TORN APART...
Paper tigers, paper souls,
Punch them and they're
FULL OF HOLES...
Paper masks, paper streamers,
All you are are

PAPER DREAMERS.

Whatever happened to your returns?
Don't you know that paper BURNS?

Some CEOs? Thieves and LIARS!
Out there starting FOREST FIRES!

Where's the nest egg of older folk?
Their investment's up in SMOKE!

Greed is what we're talking here,
And all it is is paper FEAR...

"Will I keep up? Is mine the best...?"
They're just KIDS in paper vests!

"If you don't leave my paper alone...
... I'll just take my paper HOME!!!"

Paper boats and paper toys
For paper girls and paper boys...
Paper rats and paper chase,
'Fraid you'll lose the paper race?
Paper masks and paper schemers,
All you are are

PAPER DREAMERS.

Deep inside your spirit SCREAMS!
There's no substance to your dreams!

All you are is dust and spit?
H2O and dirt... that's it?

Don't you feel that hole inside?
Put away your paper pride!

What will happen when you die,
When you find it's all a LIE...

You KNOW I'm telling you the TRUTH.
You've wasted your life,
You've lost your youth!

If you've a question, why not ask it?
Just some more paper for your basket?

Magazines, newspapers, what's in print?
More paper for the treasury's mint?

C'mon people! Let's get real!
This is NOT "Let's Make a Deal"!!!

Door #1 or 2 or 3...
Is that how you deal with

ETERNITY???!!!

Better be sure you're on the dime,
'Cuz eternity's a long... L O N G.... TIME.

Paper wings or paper veils?
Paper heads or paper tails...

... keep life in a paper cup?

Guess what?

Your

time

is
UP.
Fay Slimm Oct 2016
Nine is still hugging-new-kitten time
filled with loud giggles, school-loving fun days,
a pig-tailing best time for friend-making.

Nine likes browsing through pages
of favourite tales curled up warm as toast, shawl
clad or napping on Dad's welcome lap.

An eye-on-best-chance-time is nine
for young girlish schemers, secretive play-time,
torchlight snacks with sleep-over pals.

Grown from doll-cuddling but baby
crazy lipstick-red nine acts the high-heeled lady
then raids Mum's bed for cosy snuggles

Life swiftly draining under-ten days
brings teenager-cool ways but not for a while,
beauty at nine has an innocent charm.

When that nine-candled cake makes
its sugary entrance I wish, as she bends closer
to blow months more maiden delight.

But just a reminder dear daughter
being nine still means early nights, clean teeth,
earned treats and a tidier room please.

(Written for a friend a few years ago)
Swanswart Aug 2016
I

Home
inside the house of the lording
a frenzied pumping play.

Within
the colander
pouring the mold—
an altar of fetid sacrifice
and perfumed devotion.
My personal Pentecost (conversion
out of form)
My feats are handed to me far
ahead of my own devices.
Filling it up
Faster! Filling Faster!
Draining filling faster filling!
faster faster!

Violet lids are locked open in a rose
colored stare of thorns.
Puddles form opaque
and uneasy across the floor.
Ripples flex and bend-
a taste of lavender sweat and kisses
washes across my tongue
the flavors coagulate obscenely
stirring thirsty petitions
for more

II

The sunlight slits its way through the shutter
to rest upon the floor.
It strolls languidly across the breadth of the room
defying perception with a cadence
that patiently consumes the afternoon
Within
the anxious minutes struggle to keep pace





III
Speaking with the tongues
of omens and devils
Love is nothing
and I am less
Charity is the anchor
and compassion the straight-jacket
Lies! Lies!
Memory is privy to the cure.
I am up to my ankles in defeat
Wading through my room in shackles
a supine sense of clemency
bends my knees in prayer
Mercy! Mercy!
Mercy-
for the barbarians and schemers
and those who long for sleep
for the bleeders and the healers
and the **** crowd that pays to watch
for the hidden and the hiding
the blind,  the short-sighted, and the bell gatherer on a leash
for those who have never seen their own spectacle
and for those who have yet couldn’t laugh
Mercy! Mercy!
Mercy to all
Without

IV

Within
the pool rises
In genuflection I supplicate my position
Surrounded by the baptismal abyss
I contemplate immersion
into the excrement
I have poured about myself
A frivolous query of destruction complete
It’s a sprite idea
a fairy thought
flirting with my insensibilities
teasing my degrees with magic and trance
with spells that bind the curious
to moonless night visits
and the breaching
of hoary sepulchers alone
Filling! Faster! Faster!
Draining! Faster! Faster!
Filling Draining Filling
Faster! Faster! Faster!
The colander is engulfed
within

V

Afloat in the mire
of ponderous subversion
excess has risen heavy upon my heart
swelling about my neck
with rigorous aplomb
licking my lips with tar and suffrage
To my feet
I must stand!
I must keep my head above
and chin up

Gut-check drench and saturate
seeping into my passions
seething out of my skin
and into my dreams
sealing me inside myself
It is an epiphany of osmosis
Sangfroid boiled to satiety.

An emancipation?
Is this contentment I feel?
Could this be...
I AM FUFILLED
if but for this fleeting
whim of a moment
I’ll take the burden as luxury
my soul rings with ******
my body shudders with dissolve
I am without—
Time
Needs
A Home




VI
I catch the last shards
of sunlight lingering
upon the far wall
Glowing
So alive in those last few moments
bright as language
etching vivid accomplishment
fading
memory
gone

VII

Ecstasy is swallowed in desperation
a flotsam and jetsam exchange
Grasp-breath beg and flurry
for space
wallowing head-full pleading
swimming in vibrant exhaustion
I writhe back into my skin
like a womb worm foraging
for original flesh

The casket ceiling offers me
Othello’s kiss
I see the cacography on the wall
and it’s my eulogy
blind as a battering ram I am
the walls before me
the colander cloys
the cullion claws
the cauldron is full


Boiling drown the barricade
the gallowed decision
is no simmering reaction
to the pangs of entropy
The filling has ended
my effluence has trickled to a halt
A maelstrom opens
draining Draining DRAINING
Within





VII

Without
The vortex rages
a frenzied drowning dirge
my eyes scour the darkness
scrubbing the void for light
The nothingness gawks back
shadows swirl in the pit
of my stare
I close my eyes in defiance
turning my gaze to the visions
Within
My thoughts are black
my dreams are black
my mind is an obsidian landscape
of residue and remnants
purged in the strain
of the colander
within.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2017
what I want for father's day**

some years ago, in a dark hospital room we spoke,
you recall, me asking to a lender be, take twenty years, I said,
give them to her whose body invaded and was sleeping

not from love or purposeful nobility, thinking simple that
others, could use them better, and you listening, took but ten

way I figure it that leaves at least ten and maybe much more,
cause the best kept secret is the time and place you've arranged for us to meet, old friends greeting for the first time

got what I need, done my deeds, writ poems enough so here is what I plead and desire come the mark on the calendar tomorrow,
as if fatherhood didn't come with accountability and needed a notification special

did my sums, have me square and close to breaking even,
a perfect place to pause so take ten, take it all and put it, those years in a special reserve for those kids of kids, the ones who carry my genes, names and the burden of my words and the ones I just love for who they are

someday the arising unknowns of a mighty judgement coming might require a special adjudication and you such a
good record keeper, will recall this requested bequested,
and draw down the special reserve we schemers have put aside in their names, in your name, in my name, and tap that keg of extra life in sickness and health, when they come asking

that's not to much to ask...and oh yeah,
Happy Father's Day to you too
for my compadres, who to a man would agree wholeheartedly
Nathan Squiers Jun 2014
They flap in the breeze just like streamers:
The strips of flesh and ribbons of guts.
All the residual chunks of the screamers;
All the bits of the ******* and *****.

They flap in the breeze just like streamers:
The memories of all that they said.
They crushed all the hopes of the dreamers,
So who cares that they ended up dead?

They flap in the breeze just like streamers:
The lingering shreds of remorse.
A legacy built atop skulls, ribs, and femurs;
A mission of evil I've come to enforce.

I, like mankind, have lost all control.
I now side with the sinners and schemers.
You ask of the tattered remains of my soul?
Why, they flap in the breeze just like streamers.
A little diddy 'bout a dark & demented anti-hero. Found myself contemplating a new comic book series as I jotted this. Let's see what comes of it ^_^
TERRY REEVES Feb 2016
THEY SAY THAT WE'RE DREAMERS, MAYBE SCHEMERS,
COULD BE A HIDDEN AGENDA BUT I'LL LOVE YOU TENDER,
I'M DIVIDED INTO ONE OF A GROUP DRINKING WINE,
WHILE WE DISCUSS WHICH IS THE BEST STAR SIGN;
GEMINI IS TWO-FACED, TAURUS JUST A RAGING BULL,
SCORPIO HAS A STING IN THE TAIL AND FALLIBLE,
PISCES TURNED HIS BACK ON ME MYSTERIOUSLY,
WHILE ARIES GRINNED ALONG SO WONDERFULLY,
CAPRICORN COULDN'T MAKE HIS MIND UP SO WENT AWAY,
CANCER WAS TERMINAL AND ONLY SPOKE ABOUT THE WEATHER,
LEO HAD RED HAIR AND LOOKED AS THO' SHE DIDN'T CARE
ABOUT AQUARIUS TICKLING HER BEHIND, JUST DIDN'T MIND
WHEN LIBRA STARTED TO TREAD ON HER TOES AND
KNEW THAT WHEN IT CAME TO VIRGO - ANYTHING GOES
Arab Traders excavated
Europe poured the foundation
The New World perfectly framed it
Rest of the races, the finishing touches

This …
Inordinate economic concupiscence
Animated by a violent passion
An extraordinary alteration

And…
Nature convulses
Human dignity reduced to
Color: Black, white, brown, yellow

So ...
The gales storm in
Tearing through, uprooting
Sham of a foundation

Then …
The scale corrects itself
The clock resets
The scheme falls apart

Because …
There is only one humanity
It’s you.
It’s me.
This poem is in response to George Floyd's death and Injustice suffered by people of African descent
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2014
Our Verse into Psalm

"who massages our words
into a masterpiece,
our verse into psalm..."

sourced from a dialogue one year ago: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/548741/the-contriving-is-all-that-remains/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
humbling words,
just now discovered,
a reflection invitation,
commenced and ended,
an essay of simple facts

two topics theme,
revealing a man's evolution

a confession oft repeated,
he writes too much, (used to)
a readily apparent truth

but when the self-soul-peering
hits bottom,
forced to reflect
back and up, and around,
acknowledging self is a four letter word,
a poking from reviewing
a year ago gone prior scribbled response,
leads to a conclusion
to answer his puzzlement

easy acknowledges
he has prior peaked,
certified and certifiable,
his best words gone by,
bye and bye,
so how now antiquated,
this tiresome task
of endless interior internal examination,
once more
he asks of himself
the Psalmist's question (121:1)


"I lift my eyes up to the mountains:
From whence shall my help come?


from you,
y'all

my poems are now and will be
just stories told,
stories of you

of a lost wedding ring,
of a young woman's striving
to answer her most essential question,
reflections on being four years old,
on Eastern Seaboard geography
Thanksgiving Day air turbulence,
a young woman's sobriety celebrated,
her poetry, richer and health effused,
of lovers who cannot ever be,
of jobs lost and freedom gained,
physical pain that knows only
the optics of poetic relief to salve,
aching and unrequited awed and flawed love
that has no remedy defusing,
older schemers, puppy love rediscoverers,
of special young men
who see by their nature,
far better into
nature's window that answers the human soul,
children foreign born, here & passed,
whom I have never met, but,
who are poems
dearest in my breast,
as if, no,
as they are mine own...

and on and on

could travel and travail,
but the clickety clock says
bread to be earned,
wistfulness hour over,
all that's need is a conclusive,
one octave,
a summarizing single note,
a lady last rinsing of the soul

your stories are my psalms,
your heartache and triumphs
my masterpieces,
thy foibles are my filament,
your stories, my revelations

turned my eyes to the mountains,
seeing only my own mountains,
that engulf and surround,
hearing a single,
simple voice answering,
it is their mountains
that deserve written attention,
and therein and thereby
can you write humbly
and walk upright
^
^Psalm 37:37
Shelbyy Jul 2011
Believer of schemers
You hopeless day dreamer
It takes heartbreak to make
Your senses much keener
Burn down this bridge
Build up that wall
Lock it up tight
Don’t let it fall
In love again, (the heart that is)
The brain knows
What is good for it
Separation of the heart and mind
Makes for a less painful existence
A more simple life
Free of resistance
Yet time and time
And time again
I forget this fact
And let someone in
A vicious cycle it seizes my heart
My very soul
And rips them apart
I don’t believe that I will ever learn
To discern...
Between what will heal
And what will burn
Mark Lecuona Jan 2012
“…and no religion too…”
Was it easy to do?
Did it make you angry
Or did you agree?
Is God already dead?
Do you believe what Nietzsche said?
But then who killed him?
Was it us or them?
With their rejection
Or your revelation?
We live with man’s insistence
Of defining God’s existence
Creating us in his image
With a holy marriage
Of our disobedient soul
To an ancient scroll
Or does science
Define our conscience
As pure logic
With all else pathologic?
How can we believe
The zealots who cleave
To intellectual scorn
Or under whose God they were born?

“… and there is no country…”
From the pages of history
War and conquest
From time earliest
Past the age of reason
Marching each season
With imperialistic fury
And dominating hegemony
The meek unable to rule
Believing like any fool
The words of the deceased
Strewn from Eden to the East
Giving hope to the hopeless
Who have no access
To the dreams of the chosen
But instead remain frozen
In time to be glorified
By mere words that personified
Our need to care
In impotent prayer

Can you separate your senses
From those whose defenses
Are erected so high
That you cannot tell truth from a lie?
Can you dream of a world
Where a bohemian’s word
Stripped of accompaniment
And all earthly judgment
Has stood the test of time
Even when accused of the crime
Of a treasonous plea
For peace and all to see
The cruelty and horror
That power and desire
Have brought to our garden
Where the meek receive no pardon
Because they dared to beg
For a mere pittance to mask
Their pain and suffering
As they lived with the knowing
That a song about dreamers
Can never overcome the schemers
Who laughed at his naivety
And forced upon you their deity



All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2011. Mark Lecuona.
Michael Marchese Dec 2017
You have to let the thinkers think
The dreamers dream
The speakers speak
The schemers scheme
The wolves among us feast on sheep
The shepherds teach them how to reap
The harvest of community
The plenty space for unity
If being free is what we want
Equality must be the need
Prioritized beyond our profit
Mass-producing greed machine
Still colonizing everything
Then selling you the diamond ring
The social contract theory bomb
The buffer states that look like Guam
And from the satellites they beam
That perfect family fifties feeling
Reaching for your credit card
With isolation’s *** appealing
Movie star aestheticism
Gaping black hole fetishism
Whispering it’s holiest
Pale ghosts of fascist soviets
Still letting all the thinkers think
The dreamers dream
The speakers speak
The schemers scheme

As money sorts the in-between
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
I'm tired of all these fake backbiters
Their petty tongues can't ******* desire
It lies beyond these dives and old tires
Beyond the earth and the funeral pyre
Cause every pair of friendly eyes
Contains a knave, a *****, a spy
They salivate on the juice of your mistakes
Pry open your wounds, so they can smile
This wicked little town is full of dreamers
Local hopefuls, kind souls and believers
Also known as calumny beamers
Bankrupt spirits, synthetic schemers
So pardon me if my presence I detract
Rather face the Tree than a talebearer's fact
You curse my organs, my ornamental torment
So from the Shadow, I'll never look back
Humiliation is the purest ruse
It's all fun and games until someone gets truth
But these stigmatas will turn to bruises
And from this place, I'll be destitute
A real friend
Always gathers up ammo
Incase the end comes
Guess I never got the memo
Olivia Kent Mar 2015
Contradiction lies
Career dies
Lifes blasted hyperspace.
Voided rejection
Too tough arsed to mention
Lies of inventions, investigations.
***** flowers die.
They always do.
Fandangles and banners.
Crazy announcements.
Star chasing
Emaciated.
Emancipated.
Free dreaming with schemers.
Salmon wrapped with lemon juice.
Sprinkles loss lime peel feel.
Ambivalent flipping fish with slices.
Switching twisting blowing steam from elevators.
Temporary internet files.
Smiles through shut lips spitting orange pips.
Broken promises made from chamomile,
Silent Sunday mornings, should be for having fun.
Happy fell where sorry left, sorry is never enough.
(c) Livvi
Zach Gomes Feb 2010
And are you also frightened
Of the monsters with nighttime white faces
Of places lined ****** with traces
Of tiger-striped neighbors complacent
Are you all so frightened?

And are you also frightened
Of the German death-expert, that phantom
Of your mother turned raucously pantomime
Of a world-wide prisoners’ anthem
Are you all so frightened?

And are you also frightened
Of the nuclear holocaust schemers
Of the cannibals’ preying on dreamers
Of the new World
Are you all so frightened?

And are you also frightened
Of poetry written in free verse
Of burning alive you foolish young convert
Of the chorus of underground screams in the desert
Are you all so frightened?
Randal Webb Dec 2013
I only like normal people.
I only like average people.
I like good ****.
I like smoking **** before
Smoking ****.
I like normal people.
I like predictable people.
I like sitting around doing nothing all day
And going to work and watering plants
Because it’s easy.
I like normal people.
I like easy people.
I don’t like the schemers
Or the dreamers
Or anyone in between.
brandon nagley May 2015
Gay time parade's wherewith the colors fly high,
Masks of all columbine where artist's passeth by!!!

Temptious women wherewith two world's become one,
As shadow's read the mountains of guru's and lost son's!!!

Timeweeping keepers of pocket\switch blade's,
Wherein haircut's are riddles, as lips turn to fade!!!

Scientific genious of law's gone thwarted,
Olympian of krip-tonight,
Oh calamitous runt!!!

Enter not ,
Sais the hourglass auspices ventriloquist!!!!

All Hater's pique despite peanut buttered pies!!!

Societal havoc of sweated Baguette's,
Wherewith sweater's touch winter letter's,
Of lost cigarettes!!!

White lies are highly mounted to protect ourn outter shells,
Where hellion can possess thy inner best of masculinities feminine selves!!!!

White-out conditions,
Schemers to invention,
Taketh what thou hath.......
                                                And leave the scroll set scene!!!!
Hour
David Nelson May 2010
Bring Out Your Dead

bring out your dead, that's what the collector said,
in a barrel or a box, with or without a pair of socks,
no one shall cry, not interested in where or why

the teacher should never stop learning,
young hearts should never stop yearning

Roll up the streets, can't take those rhythmic beats,
Shut the city down, the senator is a part time clown,
fight the winless fight, keeping low below the light

reaching out to the weary and fallen,
hoping you hear them all callin'

I can't remember when I knew just what was going on
seems I have lost my connection
praying that soon the guilty well be gone
it's time to change, my direction

pull your bootstraps up, on the corner with a paper cup,
dig deeper down, hold your chin up, refuse to frown,
show them all your grit, refusing to ever quit

the schemers will never stop scheming
the dreamers should never stop dreaming

Gomer LePoet
political song
John F McCullagh Aug 2015
Those lovely folks at N.S.A.  love reading your e-mails.
They parse each line in search of crime; the devil’s in the details.
Those Patriots at A T & T are equal to the task
of providing them with access; they’ll do anything they’re asked.
They spy upon the great and small, the poets and the dreamers,
to catch a whiff of nasty plots now being hatched by schemers.
They’ve spied upon Sarkozy and they’ve eavesdropped in on Merkel.
They tapped lines in the U.N. and other diplomatic circles.
Their corporation cronies provide them with full access for no fee;
This makes our spies the envy of the Russian KGB
So when you reach out and touch someone, don’t assume you are alone.
I’m pretty sure big brother is there listening on the phone.
the unholy union of the NSA and At & T
Damion Hamilton Feb 2016
You are by yourself

People are arriving and departing

This thing rolls on

People say they are your friends

People say they are lovers

But it's all *******

People pretend to know things

Yet they do not

It doesn't matter if you do

Or if you Don't

People take this life thing too serious

In this ring, your friends watch while you get your head knocked off

You are fighting for yourself against the liars, manipulators and schemers and hustlers.

All of them cowards

Death before dishonor

They don't believe in
that ****

In this ring
Brent Kincaid Jan 2018
With more dreams than dreamers;
Too many hopes that could not be,
Too many ways the evil schemers
Could erase the future we might see.
There were millions stealing hope
From all the people everywhere.
There were even more of the people
Who sat silently and did not care.


That is the way the holocaust came
Not from starving people without hope.
The people were the richest ever
Not a multitude on a slippery *****.
We all had our toys and pleasures;
Some less and the chosen had more.
Technologically we were moving
Into a future we could explore.

There was no reason for us to fail,
To turn on each other screaming hate.
We almost had a perfect nation.
We cry and hope it is not too late.
We had begun to fix the problems
And corporations became afraid.
They would lose control of us all
And all the progress we had made.

So, they bought a gang of thugs,
Paid them well to win their seats.
They knew they could change the laws.
The rest of us would know defeat,
Because they counted on the lazy
And the uninformed to buy their lies.
That’s the way the ending happens.
The greedy ****** off the wise.

The evil leaders speak in circles
And say the bad things are good.
The good things are disparaged
They would jail us if they could.
The cloak it all in Bible guises
Claiming they are fixing things.
Some of us can see the truth here;
They try to make a throne for a king.
dj mcc Nov 2017
Imagine a world in which
you lived in a little house
in the middle of the woods --
an itty bitty cabin with creature
comforts and small necessities,
and paper and ink and tables and chairs --
in it
you slept and wept and dreamt,
and would walk and walk
never finding anywhere else...
always returning to your teeny front door.

The cabin sits in silence,
in semi-darkness most of the day --
the path of the sun moves
l a n g u i d l y
through the sky
and the neighboring trees
cast puddles of shade.

You wish for
companionship,
though you
aren't sure
what that means.

Sometimes,
along your garden fence
you find little bits of paper
or tissues
or wind-swept bottles
butting up against the slats.

The papers have names
and bits of stories:
of shootings and stabbings and
conniving schemers,
of donations and creations
and family boat-races;
and you wonder who these people are,
or if the pages are ripped
from some book you don't own --
and if the wind blows in
toward your tiny little home...
mustn't there be a way
to get out?
Tyler J Perrin Jul 2010
people do this
they lie and steal
they bleed and feel
they destroy and create
they love and hate

people do this
they cheat and deceive
they loose and grieve
they are martyrs and dreamers
they are believers and schemers

people do this
they look at the stars and wonder
who made the sky?
and who made the ocean?
who made me?
and who made you?

people do this
and even though these people hurt you
you're still alive
and you're going to meet people as alive as you are
people who are alive as children when they cry
and people who are still asking themselves
why are we here?
where do we go when we die?
will humans ever fly?
like birds migrating to warm locations and sunny skies

people do this
they look for god in a book
and some see what others overlook
their hearts all pump and push
and sweat drips form their lips when they are hot

and when someone throws a rock in your ocean
don't be discouraged
even if the waves seem like hurricanes
and you feel there is no hope
and the feeling of them stopping seems like a lifetime

all waves settle
and you will feel as calm as an infant cradled in your mother's arm's
wrapped in your blanket of solitude
shielded from this world
peacefully dreaming your endless thoughts of happiness, new lovers, and warm foods

people do this
they can be ignorant and selfish
and never see anyone past there own existence
but we are all people
we are all the same
and even though we all have our differences
we still have one body, one mind, one heart, and one soul
and we all deserve a second chance
Fay Slimm Feb 2017
Hello shiny loop of post-shower Rainbow,
you of mosaic-powered striated halo,
and so sages tell, a sign of faith.

You chaste secreter of much potted gold,
crescented magic of arc-perfection
your brilliant mixtures of shaded hues
break raindrops into states
of optic illusion which act as temptation.

Oh consummate sweep of bow-creation,
who can know when and what
day you appear, colourfully naked.

Favour no seekers, oh Rainbow whom
by digging for myth will
selfishly follow roads right to your end.
Make therefore no friends
of illicit searchers for treasure, those
who see you as meant lure
for retrousséd wealth-embellishment.

Rainbow you cover your real blessings
in pseudo-gilt with which
ingratiates have become obsessed.

Sedate then all lucre-lust with a curved
root at each end of your
rain-augmented foot to waylay theft.
Divert and deflect looters with luminous
know-how and curl into
spacial deception before desecration.

Bedazzle all lechers by preventing entry
to any pretentious view
of your sensitive and tremulous end.

You as writhe of kaleidoscope can keep
away crooked schemers
by retaining your varisome irridescence.
Alive with mysterious rays
behave like a ghost loathing the sun, be
as invisible, turn pale, fade,
and disappear to invalidate trespass.

Rainbow hide what is always your own
from blind passers by with
greedy *****-eyes, stay unmolested.

Stretch out your tracery uncontrolled,
a beauteous vision who keeps
her vaulted prism a glorious whole.
Michael Marchese Nov 2016
We're often called the dreamers

For seeing coexistence
Where you perceive division
Where you would split the difference
We conceive a common vision

For this one cohesive-conscious home
Each vow of silent thinking tree
Each lichen-minded stone
Every deep blue secret mystery
All creatures free to roam
Brewed into a cup of mushroom tea
Perhaps a drop of honeycomb
Will sweeten your reality
Drink in this splendid biodome
And taste the earth in harmony

So brand us as the seemers

For seeking first to understand
That there is more than good and evil
Warring within fellow man
Not so black and white upheaval

We the people must unite
A liberated human nation
Under godless in this fight
Release the cure's incarceration
From the cells of civil blight
Xenophobic hate contagion
And regressive, taxing plight
Impoverishing our education
Systems righting wrong from write
De-race-ing ignorant's foundation

Radical extremers now

For turning up the volume loud
Since we ain't down with social class
We pledge allegiance to the shroud
By burning one to puff, puff pass

Tsunami vibes and tidal raves
To flood the streets in flow-test signs
Insurance for the waging slaves
When drone strikes keep on blowin' mines
And diggin' them their shallow caves
But really we're all droppin' dimes
To keep our heads above the waves
So thin blue lines can take their fines
Straight to glock-bottom feeding graves
As we keep livin' off these crimes

Still we're labeled schemers

For nurturing our future's seed
To grow into a garden's peace
Which blossoms as our children breed
An atmospheric love increase

To passion fruitful harvest skies
Of astronomic musing
As their iridescent voices rise
Embracing every body's choosing
In a selfless enterprise
Across the universe infusing
Time and space to minimize
Desire's nebulous illusion
Quasar egos vaporized
In star-trips of their light speed cruising

They'd become redeemers

For this misanthropocene
Rerunning for the walking dead  
Newsfeeding on an empty screen
That eats the brains out of their head

And makes this orb of abstract arts
A stupid rock that you've condemned
To more prosaic, Dark Age starts
No world of imagery could end
The bags of bones in shopping carts
When no idealist sense transcend
Robotic corporate profit smarts
All dollar signs of life expend
On oil, coal and carbon parts
Per million broken souls we'd mend

With teachings of our *liberal hearts
Wanderer Oct 2014
We enclose, impose and expose ourselves
As poets we do not see in black and white
Instead we use words to paint the countless colors
In between
Our stars align
Misalign
Great works of emotion
Spilled out from sore and joyous hearts
To reach the hidden cavities of those who read them
We are the dreamers, the night time schemers
Filling up afternoons with sunshine
Midnight walks with moonlight
Hold our heart, feel the weight of the world
Hold our gaze and *see it
Dave Hardin Oct 2016
Family Tree

They come from far and wide
once a year to mingle and snack
on catered shrimp and small talk

in the long line that snakes around
the room to the open bar besieged
five deep, the beating heart

of the party until the string band
starts up and everyone hits
the dance floor, limbs loose,

knees high, hair down, skirts hiked
generations of farmers and drifters,
rail men and conscripts, schemers

and failures, a cacophony of native
brogue and broken English, long
lazy vowels stretched to breaking.  

The men have my nose, the women
your eyes, but neither you nor I claim
the crazy cackle coming from

a skinny gal with electric
hair or the flat, vacant gaze of
a fellow in coveralls,

hands like hay rakes, yellow
fingers balled into fists.  The bar
closes at twelve, they start to drift  

away, arms draped, propping each other
up, telling the same old tearful tales,
falls down wells, battle axes

to the head, starvation in alarming
numbers and many iterations of
pox and croup, ague and catarrh,

bilious fever, dropsy and the flux,
melancholia, milk leg and screws,
a miserable game of one-upmanship

savored by all as they disappear
into the night, fore-bearers eyeing
us at the door, polite yet taciturn,

playing things close to the vest
mum on the matter of the higher
branches of our family tree.

— The End —