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M-E Jul 2018
I’m the nameless, nobody
Born of a nameless, nonexistent mum
And a nameless, nonexistent dad
In a placeless city
New in town and I don’t mind
To re-shape my mind
By a town that is so ruthless,
So thoughtless and -
Maybe
I am feeble
But certainly in a new form
A new coming storm,
A cyclone,
A cyclops,
A mongrel
Annihilating,
Devastating,
Decapitating your approval and pity
I’m glass, seen through and sharp
An undecipheral writing
Meticulously weird and uncanny
I’m a boy, a girl
A maniac,
A brainiac,
A pyromaniac,
A junior granny
It’s funny
Wondering why I’m the way I am
You sculptor -
I’m leaving,
Somewhere where I will not find you
For the bullied and the forgotten generation.

Can’t we find a solution instead of demolition, intentionally or unintentionally?
Big Virge Sep 2014
So …..
who are the good guys ?
in these modern times ?

Osama … Obama ... ? ?
or those … Civil type ... Guardia ... ?

What makes them good ?

The guns they use
as if they should ….
to restrain … and ... defuse
violent …. neighbourhoods ….

But … really …
Is this …………
what they do … ??!??

I've heard stories
that … relay … "Truth" ...
about the ... abuse
some Guardia … choose … !!!

Like … stripping men …
in … Spanish streets
to prove to them ….
the kinda problems
they're bound to see ...
if they don't … " Respect " ...
The Gendarmerie … !!!!!

Good guys ….. !!!?!!!

Really … ?

or … Employed … Bullies  !?!

The type who ... feed ...
of … "Abuse-filled" … Deeds … !!!

The type that make ...
young people … bleed … !!!
when guns they … parade …
aren't used … "Properly" …

Kind of like …. "Newtown" ….
where it's … clear … Gun sounds
will now … Resound ...
in The ... Hearts and Mouths
of parents … now …

Resound with … " Loss " … !!!!!
cos' a loved one's … gone … !!!!!
without a …. song ….
or … "Farewell" …… "Prolonged"

So …. ???
What was the Mantra ?
of … Adam Lanza ?

To shoot … "Repeatedly"
in a killing spree …
that took … So Many … !!!!!

Was his mind so heavy ?
that his thoughts … clearly …
had become …  "Unsteady" … !!!

So …
Where were Connecticut's
Good Guys … then … ?

with the NRA ... !?!
at a shooting range … ???

Shooting guns for …  "FUN" … !!!
while the blood of a mum
and youngsters run …..
down …. school hallways
in the … middle … of the day ???

Now the NRA says …

" Bad Guys with guns
need to face … Good Ones !!!"

Okay Okay
but … let's get this straight … !!!

It's okay for a man ...
whose been paid & trained ...
to shoot to **** ...
pretty much at will ...
cos' it's been … "Okayed" …
by the …. NRA …. !?!

Who said you were good … !!!???!!!

I learnt my lesson
watching … Charlton Heston !!!

It would seem to me ...
that NRA peeps …
care more for money
than when … children bleed … !!!!!

It's all about ... "GREED" … !!! ...
"Good Guys" ... DON'T NEED ...
to have … " Armouries " ... !!!
to ensure the streets ...
are filled with … "Peace"

and I …. for one …..
don't believe that guns
have … any function …
in …. education …. !!!!!!

Educate our youth ….. !!!
about the ...

" HARM " ... They Cause ... !!!!!!!

They need to be schooled
in … AVOIDING ... Wars ... !!!
and in …  "Avoiding" …  
……. " Depression " ………
that leads to … Harsh Lessons !!!!!

It time to ... STRENGTHEN ... !!!
our fight against guns
and time to … " LESSEN " …  !!!
"NRA" …… Type Funds …… !!!!!

that … support …  

" The Lie "

….. of …..

" Preservation of life " …
  
… through the use of …
………. Guns …………

Seeing blood … run …
" Doesn't "... signify ... FUN … !!!!!

Neither does the sight ...
of police at schools ...
with a gun by their side ….

It wasn't in view …
when … I was being schooled …

So … DON'T BE ... Fooled ... !!!
by ... "Lobbyist" ... Groups … !!!!!

when it comes to ...
"Who is Who" …

Who are they to decide … !???!
when it comes to peoples' lives ...

who the people should believe .....
  
to be …………………………

"The Good Guys !!!"
Str8 up ...

*** the NRA & all their Gun-Toting Pals !!!
Bless up people !

STOP THE VIOLENCE !!!
Oh and .... How it sounds out of my mouth ....

http://bigvirge.com/?p=3814
Lou Aug 2018
We Shepard children,
we raise them on farms.
When it's time to ask them for identity, they form into clouds.

How can we ask them to identify self in an overcast?
Can you see an adult when they experience rain?

I see children in coats holding hands, Staying in line.

I see the Shepard staff,
Still at large.

Automated to wind by reaction.
Punishable and feared.

Straight line children
Along the fence

Straight line children
Group project: independence.
Francie Lynch Jan 23
Fewer adults are laughing,
It's not funny any more;
We leaned on poles to direct our titter,
Quite harmless in its day.
And Engine 9's been derailed,
We're catching tigers,
But It's still okay.

We rolled our eyes at Jewish jibes,
And salesmen in the barn;
Or the Newfie warning,
Don't slip on the ice,
Don't ya know, bay, it's hard frozen
.

We've pulled our collective heads out,
We're sniffing old world air.
I liked the self-effacing glibs,
Affected with a brogue.
Now there's a hard line on a country bridge,
Across a brook, or penal school ditch.
It's just not funny any more.
Sara Kellie Jun 2018
The head fuckery of societies rules.
The indoctrination in our schools
has led to the homeless on our streets while politicians count their seats.
The privileged few, too rich to mention
fail to reveal their true intention.

The NHS setup to break by psychopaths all on the take.
Big business stripped of all its gold,
no pension funds left for the old.
Big pharma, they don't miss a trick,
they're making you & I feel sick.
They push the pills that ring the tills
even though they know it kills.

With the best advice and greatest will
our kids are on **** & fentanyl.
While drinking water turns a son
into a daughter,
it's Atrazine that makes
a King a Queen.

While we're divided black & white,
we'd never stand up to their might
So take your neighbour, hold their hand and together we'll reclaim our land.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Utopia is a planet with no borders & free movement of a free people.
Kat Aug 2018
What if there's a door that's always sitting there.
The surface is bare.
And it carries a mysterious air.
No matter what people do to the door that just sits there.
The next morning the door is always repaired.

Something so curious like the door.
Everyone finds it a bore.
After all it's just a boring old door.
After seeing the damage disappear you would think people would write lore.
But the door isn't interesting, the door is a bore.

The door's been places.
The door has guarded libraries full of bookcases.
The door has seen everything from schools to fireplaces.

Whenever the place, the door has been goes away,
the door is always there insistent to stay.
But eventually the door gets found and gets transported away.

The door doesn't change.
The door is always a door but no one thinks it's strange.
But the door moves from place to place.
No one knows where or which door frame the door will choose as a base.
I showed my English teacher and he liked it
Tony Tweedy Apr 1
One Turbot says to the other "do you believe in Cod?"
The other replies " I think we each know a Sole". "I believe one day when the chips are down and we are at our most battered we will each know a Plaice and we are destined to fillet".
They exchanged a glance and swam away.... just for the Halibut.

I hope my Whiting doesn't offend. Remember believers.... believe in Cod and one day you will be Prawn again.
edited 12th April 2019
Zeleyha Mata Oct 2018
Soft melodies of the deep sea echo
Moonlight dances on my pretty scales
And icy bubbles whirl under my vest
Through my slippery hair
And down into my lungs to clear the way for overflowing foam
Laughter splashes behind my lips as my anticipation rises
Waiting for a night of twisted fairy-tales and uncalled for surprises.

Shimmering bodies swarm in spirals
Grinding in unison with the waves crashing at the surface
We're anxious for overflowing foam and hidden treasures
Purple light pierces the dark like shards of crystals
Casting a ghostly shade on bulbous faces
Pressure rises as each wave surges
Whirlpools of hot breath suffocate our gills
But the sidelines are shallow
And stragglers float motionless

Hair like seaweed at the nape of his neck
Unbuttoned linen soaked and dripping
Her hollow eyes glow green
Like the jelly orbs of a fish under florescent lights
She’s pressed against a boy who has hooks for fins
Searching for the parts that are edible
Tender, Scale-less, Slippery
Nothing wrong with being the catch of the day
Right?

Bubbles rise and pop as the last melodies drown
Schools of us are begging for shiny hooks and bad decisions
A handsome boy has been smiling all the while
He’s caught in a fisherman’s net
Craving salty lips and the spell to make him a man
But fisherman don't care for little mermaids
With hearts like sea glass and no hidden treasures to steal

Sweaty fins splash and cheer
The fishbowl shatters
Sea glass spills out onto sand
We squirm and flop onto land
Gasping without air to breathe
As our mouths and ***** thoughts dry in the sun
Leaving behind fresh meat without mouths to feed.

Rainbow confetti was stuck in the grooves of my scales
Wet clothes left on the floor of a steamy bathroom
Gasping and moaning into tile
With the face of a handsome stranger
Because this meat shouldn't go to waste
And I'm drunken with desperation
For overflowing foam, jewels, and shiny hooks
But I'm just another fish in the sea
Tumbling in the waves with my rainbow confetti scales.
A school dance
over the past weeks
a gentle autumn sun
has painted colored leaves
upon the ground
and thinned
the bright abundance
of the wooded ranges

most of the harvest
is securely stored by now
or sold at morning markets
by weathered men and women
in country garbs

vintners are busy with their lots
fermenting grapes
and entertaining those
who see their visit
as pleasant pastime and escape
from daily urban chores

hunters and lumbermen
are waking up
to shoot and mark

schools by this time
have settled into the new year
teachers are happy still to share
the knowledge of our world
with students still inclined
to listen

businessmen
remembering their vacations
on the Bahamas or in Saint Tropez
step sprightly into offices
womanned by secretaries dreaming secretly
of beautiful Mallorca summers
and of those never-ending nights
on the Algarve

I guess it is a human thing
to find a new beginning
and do best
when nature’s breath goes easy
to collect the strength
for yet another fruitful year

or were it better
that we also took a rest?

           * *
Ilunga Mutombo May 2018
If a busy gun takes lives
Then silent leaders do worse
They burn lives, hang knuses on the innocent
Voice your pain or get blessed with a curse
Blood shed Schools
We elected fools
Wrong leaders to lead us
Pushing useless agenda’s
While feeding us propaganda
Halls covered red
thousands of innocent people killed
At the expense of gun reform laws
Watching news with dropped jaws
We sit in silence
while the voiceless die for peace
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
those **** trolls fish for gloom
baiting your roses and bloom
behind their mask and costume
a guise filled with malice loom
there spans from the beasts womb
a monster preying your doom
they take your light to dark displume
like fishes facing the jaws of gloom
eliot watches schools get entomb
like a stepping stone to their fume
it takes no rocket scientist's broom
to sweep the trolls from the classroom
nears the hour of our death, trolls resume

Logan Robertson

8/21/2018
I wrote this poem very impromptu, almost with a giggle like motivation. I was smitten with the attention it's receiving however how I wished it was divided, and a poem like, A Workplace Rendezvous (which I like more than this poem), received a peak (wordplay!)_
Eryck Sep 2018
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******,
of a dangling participle.

Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.

Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.

Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.

Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Fun with words
Callie Richter Aug 2018
i've never been
to any other
highschool
in my life.
therefore,
i cannot speak
for all schools.
but, i can speak
for my school.
about every other
student here is
a druggie.
which means
you have your choice
of two crowds.
but once you choose,
at the beginning
of your freshman year,
you can't change your mind.
and the teachers here
rarely teach.
they throw slideshows up
and blame you for not
paying attention
if you actually get
the nerve
to go up
and ask for help.
our principal
promotes
mental health,
but doesn't give any
resources for
mental breakdowns,
anxiety, or
depression.
sitting in classrooms
for eight hours,
with people you
can't stand,
with nowhere to go
will completely
destroy someone
especially someone
already
suffering.
Styles 12 Aug 2018


secrets at dusk
tasted vigorous as
Coltrane blues

in a smokey nightclub
under mysterious saxophone seas

this style is not my own
but it helps me swim better

I decided to adopt it
curious why it tugs ruthless
on spit fire sleeves

deliciously drowning me free.




forest moons at night

help you drop it all
bags of unwanted programs
flung from broken chimneys

violet threads pass perfect
through kitchen chipped glass

moth wings burning summer up
like her eyelash fluttering innocently on some other guy's cheek

shattering divisions snag
on moonlight betrayal dance

enormous sea hooks chop in
helpless lips seduced
mad quicksilver rush

reserve this room for my only friend

we have private letters to write
on a future night when
god dreams come true.

This is for you.





My only friend.


What weighs heavy is certain light
how it pierces
through troubled waters.

A million traces of faces
lit up in every beam.

One night I felt it bleed through me
using rivers of sun-fire screams.

Volcanic poetry spoke without a sound.

Jim Morrison breaking through doors
under spells of hypnotic waves
wild vibrant shimmering
on multi-colored sheets.

This style is not my own
but it helped me lava streak
across bitter shores.




Now,

my voice strays away.

Gone hunting

a broken well voice
picked up by an old cracked bucket
leaking simple worded wishes

deciding to voluntarily borrow her
stolen forest eyes.

I heard them speak translucent leaf
on a summer day
when clairvoyant kids
heard God speak

on pathways of brilliant blue lake

when sunshine
whispered us
in scintillating ripples

right before our astounded,
washed feet.




I am dripping funeral summer sweat
under tombstone studded trees

smiling while choking in
liquid clouded dark.

Alone but not alone.

Mighty Ghosts of heaven
holding my head up

making sure the Nile
doesn't gush out while
I still cannot even write or speak

turn my notebooks into confetti
nothing describes this mysterious sea

a new species of saxophone waves
has belted its killer wonderland
sound out across an entire broken stage.


*

I can picture us
walking barefoot
on star contacted sand

gazing out
under champion chandelier wonders

walking on Texas Lightning storm colors
bellies full on Rumi soul food

our secret flames
burning up
plastic playgrounds

violating propriety
on some nuclear guarded beach

schools of fish cut
by saxophone hooked seas

blasted by vaults of unwrapped poems
someone else wrote perfect
in our dreams

we hope one day
the unpredictable silence
of simple worded wishes

will help us

extravagantly bloom
new spring leaves
rain stamped on tender delicious works

after winter is done
savagely wishing us dead
we are touched by other worlds.
https://youtu.be/6xcwt9mSbYE

For Drew
Bison Jun 2016
Splash through the puddle underneath that golden expanse
Our tea cup synchronicity belies our swimming decadence

Ride waves taught by the playful mantaray
Cruise through the ocean sky to the city of the Bay
Like a babe I crawl on the edge of the plane

We're all refugees on this backwater bathwater ocean
We look around and to our elders to make sense of the scaled schools motion
The gray herd moves as the vacuum looms over green Picasso notions

As travellers across great highways we can reach those distant cosmic creations
A speedboat horse race were confident we can win

Ski down pillowcases  of fresh powdered imagination
Great green looming through the dark starlight illumination
Barrel rolled into the canvas ink of knowledge on the mountain

We pay attention to the cashier of time
So we can swing life away as the world floats by
Paul Hansford Jul 2016
Over the years, I taught so many classes
in many different schools,
long-term or short.
Hundreds and hundreds of  students,
all ages, three to eighteen years old.

But how could I remember all of them?
I was the teacher; they were there to learn.
Those were our roles; that was the contract.
They would move up and I move on, for all of us
always a new beginning.
                                           But now and then
one will return to haunt me, like the girl
whose secret tiny friend, Little Mister Hansford,
drove a red plastic car.
I keep it now, in my drawer,
and remember.

The boy, his skin
flaking and cracked with eczema, trying to resist
the urge to scratch, but always failing.
How could he bear to wake each day to face that life?
Yet I was proud he claimed me for his brother;

On a school exchange visit,
another girl, seventeen,  
crossing the Alps in a coach,
moved beyond tears
by her first sight of real mountains.

Do they remember?
Maybe they do. A young man I met by chance
one day on a Spanish street
surprised me by recalling
how I read Winnie-the-Pooh when he was small,
and did the animals in different voices.

So many children, so many years have gone,
but memories, like love, can linger on.
"He do the police in different voices" was the original title of T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land".
Kim McCarthy Mar 2013
They live in huge houses, drive fancy cars
Most know poverty only secondhand
So how can they fix a problem... They don't really understand

Given the role of a leader
However, I'm convinced they are confused
We live in worlds too far apart...
How can they lead with similar views

Their children go to private schools
Only the finest and elite
Their children will never need public education
So they allow funding to deplete
Their children will succeed
I believe it's part of their plan
To ensure that high society
Will forever lead the average man

The evidence is no secret
They don't seem to care if we agree
They know they hold this power
So it doesn't matter if we see

Our taxes keep going up
Unemployment is at an all time high
Life keeps getting harder for those just scrapping by
The people making these decisions
Of course they find it easy enough to do
They're not deciding for themselves
They decide for me and you

The truth of the matter is...
This country is ruled by hypocrisy
They disguise this, however, very cleverly
Today it's what we know as Democracy

"A political government run by 'The People' through 'Selected' officials"... Democracy defined
Compare it to the way it was truly designed

Sure we get to 'select the official'
But the one thing they seem to neglect
They pick the people
Many, that corruptive politics help select
Kai Dec 2018
We're so used to violence in our schools and on the streets
that when we go home and see it it's in the back seat.

Witnessing a crime against family,
it's like we have lost our own humanity.

The plague in our minds.
Minds, mindset with no direction.

No distractions

So we take to the bottle
with nothing but empty sorrow.

We drowned in them,
overfilled with liquid hate
and pushed down by the sorrow we saw
and felt in every corner of our lives.

We drank till we thought no more...
Thoughts, Experiences, and Witnesses. I saw violence again today, in school and outside. Why can't we do more? It is me and you who have to put a stop to it. A new generation rises up, don't burden them with today's problems.
Lacey Clark Oct 2018
Raised faux-religiously in a catholic school by convenience of neighborhood (though, I loved the plaid and I wanted to do Eucharist but my mom explained I wasn't catholic, so I dabbled with the hymns and cursive) by my two *** moms and some 'extra kids' (fostering, etc) in Spokane. Homeschooled later (and seriously religiously, Vacation Bible School, NO HARRY POTTER and no saying 'stupid', a lot of neighborhood scootering) by uncle auntie and my two home-made and hilarious cousins (siblings) in Nevada. another private school in the Wild West with my grandpa and grandma (maybe religiously? they took me out to Mexican dinner religiously). And scattered across the West, Mid-West and South for all the rest. Public schools interwoven and equally traumatizing in between states.
One school in florida was known for fist fights and head lice. I kissed my first boy there. and girl. I left for what I thought was summer vacation and never came back. Another accidental move.
I had been squeezed in-between the palms of each coast for high school (plopped in the midwest).
In Wisconsin, I popped like a pimple and broke some major skin. Tried to end my life a few times. Psych ward after psych ward. Pills. Pills. Pills! A nurse took me aside and said "i have hope for you" and it was the first time i felt seen. met hard drugs to replace the cutting- they felt like long lost friends. Easy to pick up.
And recovery was like feeling your face after a satisfying shaving... and not a scratch since.
Now gliding along the West Coast in Academia's matrix. Politics and community engagement and the center. Clean. In the Heart of the City. Biking with helmets. Shoebox studio apartments. Nose in book, nose in food. Day job with a class of kids who I love and who love me. Space to grow, assess, reshape. Optimism. Peace. Stability.
Shreya Dristi Nov 2015
Folds of water
Layers of dirt
Bubbling foam
This vast body which
Wraps itself around the Earth

Schools of life
Clumps of Color
This is where it thrives
The souls of creatures
A huge potpourri of lives

The might of the ocean
The strength of the Sea
No one can match
No one could hardly believe
it's ability
To devour kingdoms
Engulf islands and make them its own
Drag them down
Yank them by their legs, shatter their bones
Drag them down
Til they ultimately can descend no more
&
are left without a morsel of hope

I can almost hear the primordial sea deity bellow
With a voice so deep
It shocks and explores
A voice which shakes your soul
A voice which could cause disaster and tremors
An immense
Deep bass tone.
It would strike more than just a powerful chord
“Come back to me”
“Return to your mother’s womb, down here, down low”
“You belong to me, my right, my property!”
“Return to the world below.”
“Come back home.”

Under the Sea
What's deep beneath?
The iridescent water
The clouds of foam
Conquered by monsters?
Down there,
Do sirens roam?
We aren't aware
We do not know

Enigmatic waves
Rows of fossils
Caked in dirt
A haven for aquatic raves
A museum holding remnants
telling the story of the Mother Earth

This is the Sea
Take a swim sometime and feel its rhythm
Listen to its story
Feel the history

Flow with the sea’s entrancing beat
I have faith and I believe
That the sea is a world of its own
Accentuated sometimes by its powerful voice or melodious hum
No less mighty than the world above.
A wet world which is beautiful
- Untouched -
A world which should remain pure, serene
- Untouched -




©SHREYA DRISTI
My take on the ocean. I have an uncanny connection with the Sea.
I feel it is the epitome of strength. I just love it. I don't know how something so huge and vast can be so personal to me. Ironic.
The shortest distance between two points of travel.

The fastest method for achieving a result.

Quickest answer for a resolution.

Marrying equals.

  All terminology meaning essentially the same thing; synthesis. That is what the two-party system is meant to be doing. It is the point of checks and balances. A check is a stopgap. A balance is a measure.

  No one wants to ban personal firearms. No one wants mentally-ill people to own them. No one advocates violence by school teachers to assuage future potential violence. No reasonable person wants children to grow up in a police state school system. No American believes that State and Federal government can agree on what should be done in all states.

  We will not be arming teachers. Nor will we be banning guns. There will never be armed guards at public schools. States and the Federal government disagree on so many levels there will never be consensus on change when it comes to this issue. So, change the issue in a way that offers a stopgap as a measure.

  The President of The United States issues a proclamation that all land directly adjacent to the front of all public schools will be bought by the federal government at today's market price. That price will be fixed provided the states do two things. Use state eminent domain laws(every state already has them) to file a claim on said properties and assess the value thereof for the federal government.

  Secondly, establish police precincts on said property.


    Ask yourself;

"How many children would die if the local police were directly across the street from the school at the time of the shooting?"


And,

"Would Conservatives or Liberals be against this proposal?"

  
Also,

We should all remember that these shooters plan their attacks and would have to plan around the police being there immediately after they begin one.


  Problem solved...
                             ...and no one touched a gun(right) to do it.
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