Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aaron LaLux Jul 2016
Heart Burst Anthology

Writing while my hands hurt,
in intermediate inspirational bursts,
writing till my hands break or my heart bursts,
never been a second placer so I’ll take whichever comes first,

until then I’ll author our collective anthology,

and offer no disrespected apologies,
for verse after verse after verse,
until I go from driving in this Benz,
to riding in that hearse,

no apologies,
from me for anything of course,
because I am just a writer,
that writes with no remorse,

why should I apologize when I am not a part of the courts,
I’ve never taken anyones freedom or filed any reports,
I’m not God so it’s not my job,
to decide the direction of another man’s course,

still it hurts,
because they offer no apologies for their crooked policies,
locking young men up behind bars,
for simply being born,
as if life itself is a crime,

all the while,
these boys in blue commit constitutional treason,
they’ve got quotas to fill and time to ****,
so they’re quick to lock a kid up without any real reason!

And the ironic thing is,
it’s all done on the tax payers dollar,
the same citizens that pay the court’s bills,
get locked up and charged fees that are increasingly higher.

Dear Sire,
when did we become serfs on our own turf,
slaves on our own streets,
since when is it a crime to want to feed your family,
trying to make ends meet just to make ends meat?

Everybody’s gotta eat.

so we slave all day and work all night,
something's not right I’m downtown feeling uptight,

suspecting there's a plot and it's sinister,
uneasy feeling queasy thinking everyone’s suspicious of me,
reflecting and feeling like a prisoner,
or at least a suspect of strangers assumptions what’s the remedy,

slavery isn’t dead,
nothing’s been abolished,
the clothes have just changed,
and now the chains are just more polished,

and all this,
makes me write compulsively,
so hopefully when I’m gone,
future generations can read our collective anthology,

written without any filters or apologies,
no disrespective apologies honestly we're making up words,
and adding words to proses similar to concrete and roses,
I told you before that everything is real and that is for sure.

Let me be known,

let it be known,

we are here,
we are struggling and we are human,
we deserve the basic human rights that all peoples deserve,
see it’s difficult to rest my case when the long arm of the law keeps pursuing,

what are we doing,
what does it matter,
what will be will be,
I just hope that we’ll be a factor,

as we're,

adding words to emotions,
that we write with undying devotion,
no need for promotion when you're one with the ocean,
of interwoven showmen golden women and unbound emotions,

the Soul,
has been awoken,
and in return for your token gesture,
I offer you this token poem,

it’s a labor of love,
so I write even when my hands hurt,
and I’ll keep writing till my hands break or my heart bursts,
‘cause I’ve never been a second placer so I’ll take whichever comes first…

– ∆  Aaron LA Lux ∆ –


Volume 1
The H Trilogy
I just published a new book.
If you could take a moment to check it out,
and even write a review it'd be most appreciated.
All profits go to a charity that prevents child abuse and ****** assault.
So not only are you getting an epic book of poetry,
but you're also supporting a good cause.
THT1 is #2 worldwide right now.
Thank you SO much!

https://www.amazon.com/Trilogy-City-Angels-Aaron-Lux/dp/1535054328
SaWal Mar 2018
And 'it' must go on <------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                                                                     |
My ride is fast but my road is slow                                                      
I am going through dark, but i promise to glow                                  |
                                                                                                                    
I am the right arrow, using the wrong bow                                          |
Enough seeing through the wrong window, now time to
walk out of the right door                                                                        |

I explored me, you and us when I hit the very low                            
'Et tu brute' Man I never thought you too would join the ** ** **
                                                                                                                     |
Stuff me with all that you got and more                                              
I will take it all and I will still roar                                                         |
                                                                                                                    
When my feet's cold and life seems to take a toll                                |
I still feel blessed as I have my words -they are a WRITER'S Gold  
                                                                                                                     |
They say I am not what they see I can be, I say the same but I vow
That there will be a day when you will be reading columns
and I will be moving up the rows                                                            
                                                                                                                     |
I trust this struggle, that is my ladder to glory because I know        
If I give up today, I don't deserve no tomorrow                                  |
                                                                                                                    
I try, I loose, I learn, I try harder, you wish but won't see me go      |
Because this is my war, my ground, my dreams,
my screams,my shoes, my stage, MY SHOW<-----------------------------
Helen Raymond Apr 2014
Shutter of Polaroid glamour
Smile for the world, curse the camera
Hide the bruises with sequined satin
The limelight flatters skin of cold, hard stone, you the latter
Liz you marble statuette
Maril you glitt'ring diamond
Regal laugh & darling, another glass of 'champagne'
Douse your bones in Chanel
Put on your lipstick
Pull the curtain
...Start the show
We're their golden circus- "watch the beasts, tame the women, hear the showmen."
Whips, rings of fire!
Top hats & show lights...
Which's your favorite ring: the songstress, the cad, the dream?
Pour yourself a drink, repaint the mask, shining glitz & gleam.
Children of the Golden Age, driver start the Cadi
Hollywood front-page, plaster royalty.
-free verse-
Me and my friend Candace were talking about our favorite Golden age actresses this morning and this was born.
(My favorite is Debbie Reynolds and hers is Audry Hepburn)
Leila Valencia Jun 2016
Insane some, wild some
Show some

Right then, they them
Palatable Showmen

High hold, glimmering gold
Unfaithful men of bold

Hypnotic beads of satin,
Women of exotic

Crippling scars at birth
Becomes this fellows  worth

Odd...
Melodies of Nightmares

A mirror, a hole - of Human's participating role
Amused, by Truly our fears our utter disgust,
But under the tent one feeling robust

Hidden in intoxicating luster
Mildly prompting the feelings of pride, and a condescending guise

Under the Fabricated tent, there's a disgrace
We feel beauty, oh how I, the better man!

Only because it's not our face
The sweet sweet pain
Is a luxury still
In this world so vain
Will you stand still?

To feel the cut
Deep in the flesh
Taste the  blood so hot
So metallic and zest

Will you let it slip?
The blade in your hand?
Will you have death’s grip,
Cut your life like flowing sand?

Will you still be happy?
If you have all but burnt up
Will you ever sing to me?
The Art of Giving Up

So that one day
When I will stand still
And my world in disarray
For the pain I want to ****

So that we may join together
In a place of bliss and comfort
In a place full of sweet laughter
In a place...
Just in a place...
Where we won’t let ourselves falter
Where we stood forth
And never our lives not matter

For I am but a human
Born of the world of lies
Of pretentious showmen
Where law of nature he denies

For we are all but humans
Born of greed and lust
Everyone a monetizing businessman
Indeed we lost our faith and trust

In humanity we all but despaired
The kindness we lost in the waves
Can it not be repaired?
The hearts we blackened, we foolish slaves

Yet we still sing
And our heart still pain bring
For we are but kings
In a kingdom of broken things
When it feels like all is lost
Al Drood Jan 2018
Pass the mead, friend, see the fires blazing on the hilltop proud;
Watch the horn-men dancing madly, hear the chanting of the crowd!
Smell the wood-smoke, taste the toadstools, greet the spirits of the night,
hail the chieftain, praise his cattle, give your woman full delight!

On the common by the village, peasantry and yeomen race;
who will win the ten gold pieces given by his Lordship’s grace?
On the spit an oxen roasting, minstrels sing without a care;
jousting knights and bowmen aiming, children tease the dancing bear!

See the mighty traction engine gaily painted red and gold;
carousels and big wheel turning, hot punch keeps away the cold.
Showmen with their curled moustaches; bearded ladies, giants, dwarves!
Hear the ***** music playing; freaks and side-shows, cheap gee-gaws!

Slot machines that steal your money, silicon chip siren call,
onions and greasy burgers, throbbing speakers, rip-off stalls!
Young girls hang around the Dodgems, trying to look seventeen,
ogling a tattooed feastie in his oily skin-tight jeans.
Lorenzo Neltje Jun 2018
Bright red badge says "panic"
Pin it to your chest,
A glowing little crest
Of all their comments,
All their lies
Hide beneath a hood,
Convince yourself it looks
More neutral like this
Coz it's too early in the morning
I'm too tired to imitate
A deeper voice

Raise your demi-demi-god into the sky,
Follow him, follow her, follow them

I never realised we belonged
To the inside
Of the other side
Help your friends hide
In the centre.
"Boy", "Girl",
Taunting yourself in the mirror

Raise your demi-demi-god into the sky,
Follow him, follow her, follow them
Keep walking, honey,
You thought we were just
Following blind
We've stumbled into that ditch before
It's a long way down
Well, we're here for good now, right?

Pray to every diety
That stupid story
Won't play out again,
Can't let it play out again
Well at least she'd know, they'd know,
At least they don't take thieves
For showmen
T R S Feb 2021
In digging a pitch garden made with stitches of ruined charcoal
I sowed into ten bowls made of silver
Ten showmen, made of clay and soul.

I knew enough to know I didn't have a second to have for myself first.

Still, it's worse to know I thirsted for a patchwork portion of stable
little points, painted on a thrift store surface.

I didn't care how clean or worn it was,
because it always does the same thing
and it stings my eyes
and dyes my curtains

It brings my lies
and paybacks certain.

Not knowing is enough.
Showing feels too tough.

I baked my show sinew, and stuck it in a stock ***.

It's a lot.
By god it is.
Caught in needlepoint necks makes my life something I could give.
John McCove Nov 2019
Haven’t you dead yet?
Where have you been led to?
Finally crafted disguise
Intricate patterns
Bruises and gouged eyes
They throw away leaflets
Giving way to their teenage angst and anger
Twisting their arms and wrists
Containing their scream and laughter
Captured by odious ideas
They make their way through
Until sudden gush of the wind
Carries them back
Places them each to the proper cell
Passionate lovers
Drama kings
Ice queens
Showmen and women
Once they shrivel up and die
Nobody remembers them
Memory’s full
Don’t forget to clean it regularly
From the vivid impressions
It’s perfectly legal
Don’t be afraid!
You’re just in time!
I am imagining the active particle
The noun inevitably becomes a weapon
And the verb seeks it's naked rations
Of relative invigoration
We are actually traveling
Among our own relatives
While sisters deepen dents in their own bellies
We make the things that happen to salty sirens
As hundreds of huddled fishes
Whisper poems to the lips of elderly singers
Still we are just showmen singing for our dinners
What truly matters is can we listen
Or do we snicker at the working stiffs
Who bring liberal deposits of consciousness
To the empty coffers of our impermanent imaginations
Graff1980 Feb 2021
My identity
is a trick of the light,
shifting inside,
deflating my pride
as I try decide
who I get to be.

It’s a flickering screen
timing out before
it is fully seen,
fade to black
end this scene.

It’s shifting, permitting
me to be
an ever-transforming being.

Non-specific
till you take and pin it
and then my friend,
I up and spin
forwards and back again
discovering
new shocks from which
I need recovering.

Self-smothering
in a blanket of
familiar things that I love.
Until, I’ve had enough
and need a new perspective.

Super selective,
unless I let it
flow out
like a poem.

If anyone tries to define me
I will show those showmen.
Take all the loops and throw’em.
Until even I can’t tell
where I am going.

Who am I?

Brother, Poet, Friend,
Good Samaritan,
Introverted Comedian,
Selfish Altruist
cause kindness suits
my purpose.

I am not certain yet,
but as soon as I figure it out,
I’ll crawl back to my space of doubt,
cause I am bound to change again.
Jay earnest Oct 2019
I was watching you there standing with the witches in your head
You were not smiling
In fact you were dead

And there was a blank canvas
With god on the side
It said "who here among us, has any more
Pride?"

So I stole it and went feral
And I tore it with my tongue
Like a wounded mother
Cradling her young

There were whispers in the footsteps,
A shadow on at night,
You didn't know that, you were just another light

So the showmen all grew angry, and the clown was ignored, all the people stared at him while he sat there bored

A channel was not open, and there were 50 singing bells
One For each orphan and
Another for your health

Now no one was asking why the dancers wouldnt cry,
So they all left to chase another lie
Don’t feel like ranting
Not up to romancing
For wallowing
Follows
The dread
Notwithstanding
When pictures of perfect health
Suddenly torn
And no ounce of this worthless wealth
Mourned or reborn
Just reformed by conformists
And status quo showmen
Adorned in a flag,
In a badge,
Or an omen
But I am the no-man’s land
Landless
Entrenched
And the working class man’s
Underserved
Ubermensch
Rent these tenements
Spent my inheritance
Running
Their social experiment’s
Most unbecoming
Extreme destitution
Supreme ideology
Keep heads enrolling
In highways of robbery
Move the mass media’s
Passive aggression
To cover up holes
In the history lesson
And therein I seek
But a nugget of truth
Among glorified
Stories
Alternative route
To the root of the problem
The root of all evil
Unequal
Behold it
Uprooting the people

— The End —