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branded glaciers GE Jan 2018
love screamers
...
..
.


love screamers

1 2 3

said
love screamers
what could you prove
ain't got nothing
to
prove
leave
me alone

1 2 3
said
love screamers

my bullets been bit
pulling my teeth
from
an
drip

1 2 3
said
love screamers


hollow outboard
what does that mean
i ain't gotta explain
an
thing
to any
love
screamer

busting in on me
what could they dream
listen to the song
sewn into
each
lines
seams
turn an draw on me

said
1 2 3
love
screamers
?



...
..
.
screams to me
...
..
.
#aartvark #scrams #to #tongue #of #aartwolf
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brandon nagley Jul 2015
Hunter S thompson quotes(love him so much) r.i.p thompson
1-When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.........

#2-The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.

#3-The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.

#4-“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#5-We can't stop here, this is bat country!”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#6-We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of *******, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of ***, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.
Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#7-“You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#8-Hallucinations are bad enough. But after awhile you learn to cope with things like seeing your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth. Most acid fanciers can handle this sort of thing. But nobody can handle that other trip-the possibility that any freak with $1.98 can walk into the Circus-Circus and suddenly appear in the sky over downtown Las Vegas twelve times the size of God, howling anything that comes into his head. No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#9-“We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#10-“With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#11-The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Can anyone tell me why hunger s. Thompson isn't on HP poets or writers when you search for them lol I love his fear and loathing work especially with Johnny depp playing him mine fav actor amazing !!!!! Mine fav quotes from his #5 and 6 and 7 and 9 and 11 lol love it
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Don Bouchard May 2017
Screamers
Two screaming cats
Claw their way  
Up the high road,
Wild eyes flashing
WHITE AND RED
WHITE and RED
white and Red
white and red
whitenred
whitenred
red
red
red....

Glad I am home,
I sigh a prayer
In wondering
What roadkill
Waits to feed
Incessant screamers
Southward streaming terror.
#squads #ambulances #roadkill
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JJ Hutton Jul 2011
Rachel the Revolver
Rachel’s hair, black as ink,
splatters my blank skin.
It’s a rewrite for bad readers,
a stroll for quick-to screamers,
a phone call at 3 a.m., and
a sickening high that just won’t end.


Rachel’s teeth, sharp/jagged like littered glass shards,
dig into my aged, faintly seasoned flesh.
It’s a feast for lazy vultures,
an eyesore for devout heathens,
a dusty revolver on a Sunday, and
a lone drunk at a flybuzz wedding.

Rachel’s soul, battering ram/sputtering mad,
dilutes toxic mine, leaves only the rind.
It’s a constant reminder for dangerous nostalgia,
a blanket smoldering in fire within winter-without-end,
a handshake and a heart attack for closest kin,
an elevation, a joyous atomic cloud, and
a sky crying elative confetti tears of future me.
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Sam Oct 2015
City Life
How strange it must be,
to live in the countryside -
to fall asleep to the sound of crickets under your window,
and bullfrogs croaking in the creek.

So far from the sirens -
the Los Angeles Screamers -
tearing through the floodlit nights,
picking us off, one at a time,
huddled in our houses,

alone, together.
#noise #city #lights #countryside
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lupush May 2014
To the silent screamers
When the monster realized no one would respond
to its cries for help, it decided to go and help anyone
who needed it late at night;
self-destructing souls without bright enough lighthouses
to guide help to their half-rotten ports,
ghosts trying to breathe properly under
muffled pain.
The monster’s help was always taken as an attack to
someone’s childhood, so when parents finally convinced
their youngsters that monsters do not exist,
the possible relief of any unresponded pain
was immediately vanished too.
The monster of course never stopped trying,
because the monster knew
and the monster had seen those lighthouses
and their little broken lamps.
But every time it laid its little hurt hand to reassure
someone everything would be alright,
however fake that promise was,
the self-destructing soul would turn its back to the monster,
the ghost would stop trying to listen.
The monster then would start talking to aching limbs
and the limbs would explain why stars keep falling
and why planets can just as easily turn to black holes,
but the monster always preferred the rare occasions of happy story-telling,
where stars and planets always shined bright
and didn’t feel the need to bear wishes on their backs
just to have a small moment of awareness by the world.
Or maybe it was an act of hopelessness,
and that was their last resort.
You see, “Quick, make a wish!”,
and no one ever thinks of making a wish
to save the falling star.
Meteor showers are massive suicides,
the monster thinks to itself,
before returning under the bed.
Tomorrow night, it’s the wardrobe’s turn.
#short #pain #ghost #story #free #monster #verse
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Joseph Ashley Eaton Mar 2014
My Left Brain Twists, and Secanol Comes Flowing
My left brain twists, and secanol comes flowing,
My eyes are square moon bases, nonagonal PVC behind them
Accounting for a dialing rhythm of split modular beeps,
Air-packed and dew drop sized, but only held by felt feelings.

They pipe in.

The Opener Screamers
Open a pal, a pulsing pill of pep talks and peptides,
And scream my way into tomorrow, a sleepy cheetah with anxious acid reflux.

My right brain does a sit up.
My left brain twists, and secanol comes flowing.
Continue reading...
Sophie Elizabeth Bishop May 2015
Silent Screamers
You’re with him again,
And I’m still here,

No-one has said a word yet.

Across the room I move,
So I am closer but further away
If anything happens,
I don’t want to see.

Inside I want to smash glass across my hands and yours
Just so I can kiss it better for us both

He’s here again
And I want to leave

You know I’m scared as you sense it
He is a shark, as are you

Rain patters, I patter
Slowly
Don’t look at me

I’m doing this for you, you know
I’m doing this for you

Rough hands make there way to my throat
I don’t want to feel anything anymore

I whisper, please don’t touch me
I whisper, I’d rather die

You scream.
#love #heartbreak #silence
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Bows N' Arrows Jul 2015
Screamers
Luminous pulse caught
Inside my brain, and
My eyes close but I'm still awake-
Wondering...
Do you think of me like I always think of you...
And
Can you still hear my voice
Ringing when I'm gone;
Unseen, but felt still.
So I've become the ***** geisha and
I want someone else to love me too much;
I never seem to find love so
I pursue the hunted rush.
(A paradox of safety
Because the closer to
Death you are, is the
Most awake you feel)
Seems a dream, that's all
You'll  only ever be, a dream when you
Caress my legs and slither through
My blueberry vein.
I just want to feel complete again and feel
Comfort in the quiet of being alone.
Another day does not mean
Yesterday has faded and retreated
Away.
You are a phantom In full flight,
Coming on hazy, as the night
Smashing all the lights.
An aged poem
Continue reading...
Ginamarie Engels Jun 2012
disconnected
disconnected daydreamer,
party lights and streamers,
blockin' out the screamers,
grasping onto my femur.
i'm really real,
still alive & kickin'
not eatin' chicken
i'm strong as steel.
Continue reading...
Jenna Jul 2016
We Live In A World Of Talkers
We live in a world of talkers,
Of shouters, of debaters, of know it alls.
Listening is a long extinct creature,
Unheard of by a species that has devolved to simply wait their turn to talk.
Conversations no longer flow like rivers,
Instead they are puddles:
Started, then abandoned to become bone dry.

We live in a world of talkers,
All raising their volume to be heard,
Shouting that their opinions are fact.
No being is exempt from the epidemic,
The infectious itch to crank the volume dial right
And scream that the other talkers are wrong.

We live in a world of talkers,
Of screamers, of bigots, of smart alecs
In a universe not made for this noise.
The voices get louder, the status updates get longer, the protests get deadlier.
We live in a world of talkers
And soon we will live in a world of mutes.
Continue reading...
Refined in Flames Dec 2012
Crushing Weights
Dreams dance under the glare of the sun’s moodiness
Blood vanishes from the veins of once dead men
Medals of tarnish float along a river of bedridden nightmares
Soft drinks pierce the heart ache of an ancient lover

Coffee mugs litter the world’s tainted breath
Cake mix splatters the wall of any old soul’s happy day
Laundry baskets of forbidden desires clutter my mind
Australian needs rise up and revolt against the will

Steadfast now, the winds have changed and blow upon
new dreams from the shorelines of an imagination.
Hindrances break even with the mob, blowing jobs in the faces
of masked gods under none.

From what does the truth set you free?
And what sets you free from love?
Cerulean dreams dart like angels to the ball
Woe to the marching band stuck at the disco

Tripping on bumps in the sidewalks as if the flaws
were meant to convey the illusion of perfection.
Bumping into dreams while on day trips to a place legendary
among the star screamers of yesterday.

Played with market chiefs in the fishy dreams of villains
Heroes rise from the ashes of who they wish they could really be
Hunger penetrates the enigma in which livestock consume the diet
of better days and healthier people.

Strangers.
Blanket thieves.
Snuggling with the poverty of heart stricken saps who ****
the life out of the tear duct orifice between theses beautiful lashes of grace.

Come with me,
let’s escape to a world of ours.
My imagination has room for
Two.
Continue reading...
Michael W Noland Dec 2012
Wordly Disconcern
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.

Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to  Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.

So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.

I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.

I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.

Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.

A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now

Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.

Love is the stuff dreams are made of.

And through you..

Im through.

Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.

I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head

I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.

You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.

I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Continue reading...
James Bradley McCallum Feb 2013
South Tower 2/26/93
twenty years later
marking two decades
I pause to think about
life’s trajectories

I know exactly
where I was
who I was with
what I was doing

I can’t say the same
with any assurance
about the location of
my current disposition

twenty years ago today
I was manning my
FT Info post
on the 18th floor
of WTC too
bashing away
on a clunky laptop
authoring a proposal
for an urgent sales call
at Lehman Brothers

when the blast went off
the concussive ******
rose through the building
like a undulating express train

i felt it enter my feet
bubbled up my legs
tangoed my coccyx
off its seat
shook my heart
clamored my arms
jumbled my brains

"*** was that!"
the lights blinked
then came back on
Patty said
“this is serious”
I said “yeah,,,
I’m busy....
go check it out”

the sirens sounded
but we still had power
i beavered away on my
LB solution

Patty came back
and the PA system
announced a mandatory
evacuation of the building
i put the finishing
touches on my
smart LB pitch
hit print and
off I went

in the hall
smoke was
leaking from
the elevator doors
wisps tickled the
ceiling
the lights
dimmed again
only emergency
illumination
lit the shivering
building

the stair wells
were clogged
with 104 floors of
workers slogging
downward

i was running
late for my
appointment
with big deal
destiny

i cut and dashed
my way downward
into the spiraling
morass

slicing past
the slow moving
old folks, nudging
recklessly inhibited
handicappers

i was running late
i was conscious of
expending time
as i flashed
by screamers
and hysterical
ladies twisting
ankles on bent
high heels
flopping
down the narrow
dim lit stairwell

i was out in
a flash

i emerged on the promenade
of the intercontinental hotel
a mass of shattered
glass sparkled in the
court below

a curious man
rousted from
his hotel
workout
stood next to
me in perspiration
tainted tees
shorts and
sneaks
flakes of
snow
drizzled down
onto his hairpiece
he said something
about the Pentagon
and concluded with
“this was bad'
and slipped away into
a squall of flurries
i took him
for CIA

my investigation
concluded
i had to make time
to be on time
i jogged
through the
swelling mass
of gagging trundlers

their face, running
noses and drooling
mouths splashed
in black paint soot

i was late
but i was making
good time
as i pushed up
Greenwich Street
a parade
of fire trucks
honked and blared
a salute to my
diligent march

arriving at my
destination
building security
whisked me away
"buildings closed
didn't you hear
the WTC was
bombed”

my analog
phone binged
“jimmy, where
are you?
are you alright?
the WTC was bombed?
why didn’t you call?
I’m so worried.”

My wife was tearing.

“I got an important
sales call. I’m doing
deals.  

I’m on my way...

Should i bring home
some Chinese from
Top Dik?”

Music Selection:
Clash: Rock The Casbah

jbm
2/26/13
Oakland
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Nathan Squiers Jun 2014
Just Like Streamers
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 ^_^
#hell #life #death #demons #****** #panic #horror #mayhem #justice #gore
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Thoughts Of An Outsider Nov 2016
To the
To the outcasts, the freaks
To the silent ones, the unheard
To the criers, the broken
To the heartless, the damaged
To the screamers, the closed off
To the drowners, the dying
To the breathers, the living
To the strong, the weak
To the flimsy, the fragile
To the suicidal, the struggling
To the raging, the bitter
To the sad, the lonely
To the misunderstood, the confused
To the 'why don't you talk,' the 'why don't you shut up?'
To the 'it's all in your head,' the 'It's not important enough'
To the 'stop acting,' the 'stop faking'
To the 'stop being so dramatic,' the 'there are people worse off than you'
To the 'shut up,' the 'you're making no sense'
To the 'I don't understand,' the 'nobody feels this way'
To the 'I can't help you,' the 'get over it'
To the 'you're weird,' the 'this isn't normal'
To the 'go away,' the 'nobody wants you here'
To the 'you break everything you touch,' the 'just die already'
To the 'broken ones,' the 'freaks'
To everyone, to always
To whatever you do, whatever you say
To everything, to everyday
You are not alone.
~ hk
#broken #cry #misunderstood #crying #alive #silent #heartless #unheard #freaks #outcasts
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John Edward Smallshaw Sep 2013
Mad Monday
You saw a closed door,
I saw a building that wore on its skin a way to go outwards,a way to blow in and let me begin to show you that a,
blue is but colouring, we mix it in dreams
greens,reds and yellows that float upon beds freshly made, where everything laid down is painted a dull brown,but here's a surprise,
pull out the dyes from the eyes that see closed doors and open your mind to the buildings that once wore,
once swore,
one more spell in bedlam,
well,the madman and comic books,given comic looks by quizzical people who can't understand, will stand by the opera house with a cap in his hand and beg programmes from top hats and mink wraps,
and morning slaps me in the face as if the lady had a place to test my theories when I'm weary.
Back in bedlam the corridors with more than doors that hold the screamers,dream of leafy suburb lanes,
suspecting that they're not the same as pisspot crazies,daisy chain the locking gates,automatically prostrate and the man with pentothal will come,we'll tell it all,of how the colours came to call,and we sat down to tea with ice cream cakes and made by me I'll have them know,they always do.
They will go and leave me in another hallway filled with evening primrose blue but smelling antiseptic red which ties me back into the bed.
Tomorrow ,
what the building wore will definitely be a door and nothing more,
I'm getting out of bedlam soon,no more laughing at the moon or seeing things that are not there,
In the end we all turn square and block out dreams,inferrring that, the world's not round
it's bleedin' flat.
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Jackson Freeman Sep 2013
Luck and the Muse
The stakes are higher than some of my
worst friends on herbal fire
because every time I toss a buck to
Luck,
that homeward bound ****
who sits outside my door
and whistles at golden ******,
I lose even more
of my soul
from which I shovel the monetary coal
that stokes my furnace
and keeps me humble,
earnest,
and whole.
I want to let the ***** man in
so I can hear him confess his sin
and let him attempt to begin
a transformation
into a muse
that I can use
to write my information.
I wish I could write
of ice cube light
but all that comes to wish me good night
are the kisses of blurred sight
pecked by the fright
born of hesitant insight.
A kiss.
A kiss.
More so a bite.  
Beggar,I beg of you
if you are true;
Whisper to my hands
the plans
you can have them to do.
Because I'm tired
of being a liar
who screams on soap mausoleums
and puts exhibits in false museums
of how his heart
goes into his art
but all he really adds is the ****
part of the flesh
stolen from the mouth of Descartes.
Were that Luck were behind
every inky tittle and line
I wouldn't have to waste all this time
trying to weave together this rhyme.
I want to be my muse.
For now, though,
she'll have to do.
V^V^V^V^V^V^V
She knows better than I.
She does, she does, she does.
She knows better than I.
And she,
my muse,
makes me want to die.
She does, she does, she does.
I give her my eye and
never
ever
does she return my sky-blue eye.
"You don't even want it!"
I cry.
I cry with my one eye.
Screaming and tears.
Screaming tears.
Tears scream, you know.
I like to put on little shows
with my lil' screamers
and charge love
and harlequin femurs.
Exchange for tickets.
Exchange for a show.
And I cry like a proper ringleader.
There's no business like show business.
There's no business I know.
A quality show
Would be my muse killing me slow.
Maybe with her poetry.
Maybe with her face.
Maybe with a knife
keeping sickly pace
with the beating
of the heart
of a headcase.
Or maybe with outer space
like rumors of second base
with black lace
cast off
with grace.
I want the world out of my headspace.
There's no room for her there.
She knows she can fit.
She does, she does, she does.
But I keep forgetting.
I do, I do, I do.
I hope she kills me slowly
before I do,
I do, I do.
I do.
Continue reading...
calpurnia mockingbird May 2014
The Cuckoo.
Take your concerns, sweet mother
weave them with your hatred,
your bitter contempt of youth
Take your forced confessions
like poison from my Judas tongue
while you sigh in eager disappointment
at the damage done long before.

I was not made in your image
this was not my crime to answer
I was the cuckoo in the nest
a child of a wayward child, 
given in hope of more
in many ways gaining less

Affection in monetary value
a room full of treasures
to hide my empty heart
loveless and longing
for a connection with something other than your stinging palm

My rebellion, taken in personal tones
was against my existence, not yours
Unwanted, unloveable girl
my constant internal monologue
screaming above the screamers
that made my speakers bleed.

my need for you has not diminished
nor will my love for you fade
there is no understanding
for the misunderstood it seems
we remain locked in battle
bathed in tears, questioning love
your scars deep, my gratitude deeper.
I was fostered out as a baby, my relationship with my parents has always been a difficult one. I always knew I didn't fit there, they never understood why I felt that way. I was quite the nightmare teen! Although I love them both dearly, they have never filled the void I have, perhaps I just haven't let them....
#sadness #family #child #foster
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Katlyn Orthman Jul 2016
In The Silence
In silence I only hear my thoughts
The overcrowding of voices in my brain
The overwhelming rush of blood in my veins

I breathe deep

In silence I only hear your voice
Echoing in my head
The overcrowding feelings
Coat my heart in cement

And in the darkness I only see your memory
A faint light tethered to my heart
Beating in accordance to yours
Which used to beat alongside mine

And we were dreamers in the night
With wide ambitions and future sight
And now we're silent screamers
We're locked away

With so many opinions
and so much to say
yet my mouth is sewed shut
By the voices that play on repeat inside my head
they play and play and play and...

In the silence all I hear is you

In the silence which has become so loud
I feel lost inside this imaginary crowd
#broken #sad #life #sadness #dreams #silence #voices #broke #ambitions
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David Lewis Paget Dec 2017
The Ringmaster
There were tigers, bears and elephants,
The day that the circus came,
And dwarves and clowns in our tiny town
It never would be the same.
The people stared as it passed on by
It was like a grand parade,
If only we’d known what was going down,
It was time to be afraid.

The tent went up in the open field
Behind old Barney’s store,
And lines of booths for the local youths
At a penny or so a draw,
While lines of coloured bulbs lit up
Where the fairground rides were set,
And musical hurdy-gurdies sounded
Just like a passing jet.

Then girls in flimsy bikinis flew
Up and under the top,
A giant net underneath them, yet
In case that one might drop.
The Ringmaster with his hat and whip
And his giant, curled moustache,
Kept all of the ******* riders straight
In line, and under his lash.

The elephants were herded in
And stood on their great hind legs,
Trumpeting sighs, and rolling their eyes,
Just like a dog that begs.
The clowns raced in and disrupted all
Clambering over the seats,
And roused the crowd, that laughed out loud
At all their ridiculous feats.

At ten, the tent had begun to whirl
And the audience went still,
As hounds had bounded in and around,
The Hounds of the Baskervilles.
A massive bell had begun to chime
The Ringmaster’s coat turned black,
He grew in size right before their eyes
And some had a heart attack.

He grew two horns on top of his head
That made him look like a goat,
And then a shimmering tail of dread
Slid out, from under his coat.
‘You pays yer money and takes yer choice,’
His voice boomed out in a bit,
The prayers prayed and the screamers screamed
As the floor sank into a pit.

The first three rows fell into the pit,
The rest of us stood and cowered,
While he just floated and cracked his whip
Over his pit of power.
And flames shot up from the pit below
To the chime of the Black Mass Bell,
We knew we stood at that terrible hour
By the Seventh Circle of Hell.

Our lips were sealed, and I risk my soul
And any future of grace,
By telling you all just what went down
In this, now devilish place.
You’ll see the field behind Barney’s store
Lies burnt, still black with their blood,
Where once the Devil’s own circus came
And set up in our neighbourhood.

David Lewis Paget
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Uzo Okoli Jan 2021
Dancer
The giver of joy to his audience
The healer of man's sorrow
As he judges, the flowers smile
The Dancer is a killer of nightmares.

The hilarious one of every moment.
The people's man every second
He gives light like the sun
The Dancer is man's happiness

The party-goers yearn for Fridays
The Disc jockey fulfils the dancer's dream
Mesmerising the happy screamers
The bottles keep on getting dry.

The dream of the Dancer is joy
The sight of him radiates peace.
His shoes are gold mines.
Who can pay the fee of the Dancer?
#dance #war #happiness
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Ganesha Michael Shapiro Jul 2017
As i lay dying
just as i am about to die
your voice
frees me from the shame
of love
of ******* to the dream
the dreamer awaits ironic twists of fate
upon the upper decks of the plane
respect this open drain
and twirl into her arms
drown in her charms
ride the ferry to the starry grave
paddle harder
insert the coins into eye sockets
your majesty
your beauty is beyond
so please forgive her
you can do it now
her messes are her own affair
your love is ever after
every moment
growing
becoming wise means hiding nothing
the secret songs suggesting
miles of lavender grown into the sky
from weedy eyebrows
upper lips
lower lips
chins, chests and *******
covered with sarsaparilla and sage
her mage, her magi
her magic was surreal
feather and down upon her gown grown in thymeʼs rage
thymeʼs orphans
ophelia
lemon verbena
underwear made from creamsicles and cotton
cashmere beauty blossoms
hop on this jumbled vehicle
busloads of people
teachers and dreamers
fresh eyed screamers
unbelievable pairs of pretty people
invincible
envision vision fleeting and fair
her throne, her bones, and her hair
formed into triangles forever
your sweater, your dresses, and your couches made of leather
into this page i wrote and wrote and gave my blood for nothing
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Joey Jo Jo Jnr Shabadoo Feb 2014
triage
they say if it hurts
you know youre alive
but the pain in my life
is why i want to die
the screamers have time
its the silent that are nearest demise
so im being quiet
in the hope that theyre right
there is always hope
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Henrie Diosa Dec 2020
21 september 2018
they stormed out the corners, the screamers, the signs,
all black. but no longer occult.
i tried to walk past all the mourners in lines,
but my heart was my pillar of salt.
can heaven forgive me that i could not come?
please carry my soul to your flame!
i’ll tend to my garden and pray you reach home —
but i know that it isn’t the same.
though clouds round you gather, each knight noble stands;
the rain is the least of the cost.
o sable crusaders, my hand in your hands,
i will march with the ghosts of the lost.
Note: This was written on the anniversary of the declaration of Martial Law in the Philippines in 1972. There was a demonstration at my university, so that we may never forget: Marcos is not a hero.
#september #marcos #martial #law #history
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Miraj Jan 2019
Discovery of the Self
Deep within myself
Lies a different “me”
Who is untouched
By my nuances
My happiness, my sorrow.
He watches as I make mistakes
And the same mistakes
And the same mistakes again
Mistakes that lead to my happiness
Then sorrow.
But he remains silent
Sometimes he gives
Me subtle hints
A glimpse of a path
Untrodden
But filled with promise
I try to
Walk that path
But it’s difficult
Due to changing needs
That divulges me
From my path
I am trying to walk
That path even now
But God those screamers
Whose voice is so
Tempting to hear
They offer a clear path
Without hindrance
But Alas! After a short
While I found myself
Standing on the edge of a cliff
Compelled to make a decision
Not so with his path
Though I tread slow
Atop rugged terrain
Covered with fog
Always there is certainty
of a blessing nearby
gentle consoling voices
that inspire me
to go ahead
breaking the fog
but the screamers
never go away
And in the end
I am torn
Between paths
Only that
When I am forced
To jump from that cliff
I always find
The ocean
Whose tides
Return me to shore
To start over again
And the glimpse
Of his path
Beckon me once more
I do not know
What lies on the other
Side but still those blessings
and those soft whispers
of solace
Reinforce my hope
To move on.
#spiritual #philosophy
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Kairee F Jul 2013
Free Fall
In this free fall
floating around me
is nothing but what has been
and what could be.
A thousand words I never said
are enticing whispers in my ear.
Too many screamers crying,
“You are worthless!”
But my soul bears a strong shield.
They can’t get to my heart anymore;
I know my worth.
The lies swirl in the mist around me,
a cloudy gaze of nevermore.
And I’m just comfortable in this free fall
to a place I don’t know.
So wherever this takes me,
can it please be adventurous?
I need some of that in my life,
a spontaneous mix of alive and thrilling.
So, when I land,
let’s just run.
Never stop and don’t look back
unless I run head on to past.
What am I supposed to face right now?
Where are you taking me?
I ache for the moment I land on two feet
and dash to the day of knowledge.
Continue reading...
Daisy Chain Feb 2013
Erupt
She glows red inside.
Until the mountain's roar begins.
The trees tremble beneath her sighs,
knowing the tide will soon rise
within her belly.

The core of all ideas of sin
subsisting only by whats within;
yet the cralwers and the stompers
the choppers and the bleeeders
the wanters the criers
the screamers and the needers
have the plastic vision
they make the skilless incision
into our lives
with old blunt knives.

Shes going to blow eventually
theres no stopping whats beneath
it will all melt suddenly.

It rumbles and it stores
waiting no more
no more
let it outpour
downpour
now
bow
down
to
her.

Anger.
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Hurt LockerFeed Birds Feb 2015
Woah weird
new icon, new little ones, like little presents, yeah etyeah yeah I ;like to exp,ore, like to implore your, thoughts, give me some questions!!!! I want more of them, I consume them like little drops of rain, on the tounge with the most excellent posture, writer singer porter er er er er er er er er lover hater STEALER faker STALE ADDN ILLL EAT YOUR BALLLS I WILLL EAT THJEM hahahahahha freaky Fine getting out of touch, where's it going, oh fake ouit, why why why out out out out out out 0out out itu loveer little learned to play this ******* thing like a goddamj keyboard out and in anan d in and out loveer s haters can't do without preserve it klhadridjfaj come on come yes yes lovers and screamers dreamers ******* lovers haters saviors finally coming out on top of the magnet, the magnet gravitating towards the same thing we've been hearing all goddammn doy aalll bundled up onto noises!!!!!!


NOFDSAJFDAJDFSADKS  
JFFOOOOOOOO
YEAHHHHHHHHH
aFJADJFAJFDJFJAJDFJFAJJDa
YAAAAAAAAAAJAa­
AFJDAFJADJFAAAAAAa
ASLAMSLSAMSLKASMASLMSLAMSLMSMALS
WORODORDORDODRODORDORDOR
TRITHITURHTURHTUIRHTURHTURHTUOLIEIEIELI­EIELKEILEIEILEILEIEI EYES YES EY ESYT EYS YSE YSE SY EY ESY EY SEY SY ES EY EY SEYE EY  Y
JAHAHAHAHAH
a

ends on a nice little key

seriously, don't worry about me
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Jack May Sep 2020
This Is Football
It was in my mother’s father’s final days when Beckham curled it in against Greece
It should have been wrapped up months or at least minutes prior
But for the English
Football is a beautiful form of torture
Some relief in the dark and painful last of his days
It may sound dramatic from the outside
But from the inside
When you’re in on the secret
Football has always been the beautiful game for a reason
And fate was sealed that day

The infamous Zidane headbutt
It came at a time when I was realising people aren’t perfect and heroes are human
For me, not a disgrace, but a lesson
The world’s greatest are also flawed

Lampard 2010 World Cup
It was over the line
I know it
You know it
But the greatest journeys all have their ups and downs
Their misfortunes and their injustices
Our time is nigh
It’s coming home

The psychopathic work ethic of Ronaldo
The glue on the boots of Messi
The precision of the Pirlo pass
The ‘Why always me?’
The ‘You’ll never walk alone’
The wins, the losses
The joy, the heartbreak
The frustration of supporting a yo-yo that never goes all the way up
An ode to my forever unmentioned Plymouth Argyle
The screamers, the blunders
From Thierry to Titus Bramble
Alonso to Okocha
The once-club-record-signing whose name now evades you
The heroes, the villains
The naive dream that maybe one day you’ll make it
And the hope that maybe this will be our year
The diving, the referees, the relegations, the failure
The 4-0 thrashings by the rivals, the penalties and quarter finals

I don’t know why I do it to myself
But I know that I wouldn’t have it any other way
This is the beautiful game
This is football
#football #love #dream
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John Bartholomew Apr 2019
An Office Full Of Weirdos
We are all different
But some are more different others.
The Asian lady who cant't stop drinking her tea
The perverted Iranian who has not one wife, not two but three
The strange fella who makes noise as he walks
Probably harmless but must have a woman that he stalks
The bodybuilder who talks to no-one unless in trouble
Trying to grow a goatee but looks like daft stubble
Always the computer buff who knows how to hide his secret sites
If we knew how to access his stuff he'd soon enough take flight
The chubby man who's wife we believe is Thai
Most British girls just turned him away, well at least he tried
Then there's the cheeky sod who says he's wheelchair bound
Comes out with some screamers but no one utters a sound
And how could I forget the older lady who's divorced three times
You didn't know that? Oh you'll find out down the line
And then there is me who I think to be plain and normal
But God only knows what they say about me, nice and informal?
Not from this lot

An Office Full of Weirdos

JJB
I am weird, you are weird. Everyone in this world is weird. One day two people come together in mutual weirdness and fall in love. ~ Dr. Seuss
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RW Dennen Oct 2014
Seeking
Lactose on the lips
of newly born a fundamental need
we seeked the ***

Comfort in your solitude,
thoughts emerge
in movie thoughts being
much clearer than before
Thoughts of a dear friend
pushed back into your abyss
and ready in need

We seek approval and
sometimes disapproval
We seek gestures from others

To glance in
to your other's
smiling face
feeling the body warmth
on a cold winter night

In ambition, seeking upwards
no matter what
Seeking the upward-spirit that is
still influenced
by your long
gone parents

Searching forever searching
for current realities always in flux

Trying to find that metaphorical
***

And most of all, the screamers for justice
they search for answers
They become the seekers of truth...
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Kaddy Mar 2018
Untitled
silent screamers  
once dreamers
pulling the weight
of a fat man's gait  
through party
streamers
#politics #debate #surreal #real #sorry
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Scott Hamsun Jan 2017
ACTivism
You say you want change,
You even go to protests, you say,
But as I look at your body of work ,
All you have to say is,
"I wasn't the one who broke those windows",
You don't do anything, you just yell among other yells,
Get over yourself, you aren't anybody,
Do something, don't say something,
Mr. nobody from nowhere,
The martyrs blood is worth so much more that the screamers spit,
Or even the writers ink,
You don't know art,
You don't act,
You just assume your overheard opinion is worth enough for us to listen.
#stupid #people #young #activism #protests #usless #lackintillect
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Christos Andreas Kourtis Aug 2015
In The Realms Of Wisdoms List
Here they come to be healed

some can hardly fly

get the screamers out

protect their airspace

  

I have to tell them

all will be alright

knowing some of them

some of them are dying tonight

  

Our banners fly proud

in these red and black skies

I fly with the next squadron

wing leader again as another fallen

  

Oh in the realms of wisdom

this should not be happening

all our lost comrades

as we commit to this fast war

  

Making more machines for this holy war

working till we have exceeded

giving our life's

to the fight that never will end

  

  

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
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— The End —