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Paige Miller Apr 2013
It’s a free country, whose prices are skyrocketing,
skyrocketing with the number of secrets.
Pick up pamphlets proclaiming promises,
but look how the fine print demands your liberty.
Everything is written in the same language,
the exchange rate for a few dollars.

Pieces of paper riddled with numbers, dollars
burn through pockets, leaving scars with pain skyrocketing.
The poor and huddled masses all speak the language,
exchanging on the black market fragments of skeleton secrets.
Torch in one hand, book in the other, let’s ask Lady Liberty
why the cobblestone was pressed with broken promises.

Collect the torn shreds of scattered paper promises,
recycle, dye, reprint, now you have dollars.
Hear the cracks ring through the bell of liberty,
sending a sound shockwave skyrocketing,
blowing the dust off old, forgotten boxes stuffed with secrets,
lies that became incorporated. We all cry in the same language.

A father speaks to his daughter in the language
of soccer games and zoo trips. Shattered promises,
fill the gaps between their hearts, fueled by secrets.
Problems he tries to fix by handing her a few dollars.
His excuses keep coming and her frustration is skyrocketing.
She desires greener pastures, to run away with liberty.

In Korean it’s jayu. In Russian it’s svoboda. Liberty
translates to the same message in every language.
Liberté, the distance between oceans is skyrocketing
as worn hands struggle holding glass promises.
La libertad! Paper sons are born spending hard earned dollars,
confusing pesos with dollars, their lies with their secrets.

The walls are willing to whisper your secrets,
silence can be exchanged for handfuls of liberty.
A binding contract, you’ll get paid with dollars.
The ultimate truth: it’s the universal language.
Homes are built on a foundation of hollow promises,
with no door to escape, and the scaffolding is skyrocketing.

Freiheit! Voices skyrocket into one language,
tearing holes in liberty where promises lied,
it all costs something. Dollars buy secrets. Dollars hide secrets.
Benjamin Aptaker Feb 2012
Seven years I lived my life, fading from reality. Crossing into machinery. Robotics with which I am so unfamiliar. Machined, greased, lubricated parts. Built with a purpose. A meaningless purpose. Destined for failure.

A broken down machine I stand. Sit. Lay. Run. Work. Play. Slide. Cursed and wretched as the demons which haunt the dreams of the fallen. I rise above. Skyrocketing through reason. Through the seventh layer of Heaven and Hell. On a false sense of cloud nine I currently float…awaiting the plummet.

Its falling away from me. I sail through a shattered sea of broken glass. I closed my eyes and the tears could not flow. Blocked by my eyelids, restricting emotion. After all of this, I am amazed. The wall could be broken. Forgotten faded memories of which I have no say.

Of past. Of present. Of gifts. Of futures. Of lists. Lists of black. Hit lists in my head. I live in my head. I am not what I wish. I am what I’m not. I am what I dream. A scream. A cry. Laying here, blank as the page on which I cannot create a scene. A scene behind my eyes, yet I cannot attain it on paper. These words flow meaninglessly, but not slow.

Daedalus, Icarus, Thrice. Three times I roam. Randomized plains of thought, laid out on a digital page. Keys, not a pen. Ones and Zeros, not ink. Screens, not pages. Neat, not sloppy…yet my words do not understand one another… nor do I….

If we make the mainland, this song would not be made. Epic beauty, formed through misfortune and tragedy. Oh son…I beg you…keep a steady wing. For you are the only one who means anything to me. My wings are made of melting, shredding, fading elements. The sun, heating, lighting, someday dying. I understand that nothing is as it may seem. Nor is any seam as true as the seamstress believed. The Gods did not take the only thing which meant anything to you, father of legend. Your son is not dead…only afire. Acquired by the forces you believed to be merciful.
Tori Jurdanus Aug 2012
We are the disconnect community.
We think, therefore we are.
We blink, therefor we see the
ticking, flicking florescent FIVE HUNDRED.

A personal "connection-collection" of mine.
500 pieces of redefining human identity as bees in a hive.
Buzzing. Whirring. Chatting.

A world can be displayed on a single screen
of ticking, flicking florescent FIVE HUNDRED.
All tuned in.

All turning into hive minded creatures.
Degeneration at it's best.
For the most advanced generation,
We are zombies disguised as cyborgs;
carrying our hearts literally out on our sleeves.

For home, I'm told, is where the heart is.
And though books say it's in our chests,
One look and tell you "Homepage" is handheld.
And with the world in the palm of your hand,
the rest comes fast, calm and easy.

Like breathing,

But without feeling.

Invisible networks bond the inner workings
Like an ultra-cranium.

Or a hive, dangling precariously over the valley.
Lives, carelessly unaware that a bow can break
when it forgets it's roots.

Like jumping in puddles in rubber boots.
The difference between what's easy and what's simple.
The little ******* Youtube who can't flip a page of a magaizine because all she know's are HD touch screens.
Learning to type before learning to write.
Obesity, skyrocketing to a sun we barely lay eyes on.
One by one, we stop hooking up, and get hooked up to the trending crazes.
Hang up. Telenophobics praised.
E-mail and texts.
Social skills wrecked.
Eye contact replaced with descontent looks.
Pirating crooks
Torenting video games, DVDs &books.;
The 25th of December is more for toys than the son of God.
You can't remember the last time you went fishing with your dad, because you've been too busy playing C.O.D.

Unplugged is savagery.
but escapism with a drug by any name is just as inhumane.
Just as fatal.


For all the blinking,
and thinking,
chattering,
babbling
500 redefined "friends",
Can you easily feel alive when it's more simple to call us dead?

Do you know all your neighbors names without checking online?

Can you understand relationships, as they were meant to be?


We are the disconnect community.
Cut out "unity".
Leave the rest for our virtual home page address.
Jasmine Flower Oct 2014
The amount of similies in love poems are ridiculous.
They always remind me of how his eyes are as green as a Christmas tree
or how his hair fell onto his face like a shadow
or that when he blinked his lashes resembled butterfly wings
or that his smile was similar to a crooked coat hanger.

They never mentioned
how his fingers were long and shaky like branches in the wind
or how his shoulders hunched over like a good game of jenga
or how the curve from his chest to his torso was as steep as a hill
or that when I found the bruises on his stomach,
they were like ink splotches all over a beautiful poem.

They left out that his dad hit him like a train
or that his mom lived in the house like it was a bar
or that it would hurt like 16 bee stings
when I saw a line of 16 scars on his left bicep
or that the gasps in between his cries would sound like drowning
or that his eyes can ombre to be as red as an egyptian sunset.

They never warned me that he would come crashing down like an avalanche
or how his constant expression depicted a shattered stain glass window-
every piece beautiful but still apart.

They could've said that reading the headline
"local boy commits suicide"
would numb me like paralysis
or that hearing his last words would echo in my head like screaming in a cave
or that his funeral I would say
"loosing him was like an overcast of rain"
except I lied,
because losing him was like a flood
and that his grave stood out like a redwood tree carved of stone
or how his dad looked at his own hands like looking at maggots.

Love poems never said that I would miss him like being homesick
or that the drive to the cemetery would feel like skyrocketing to the moon
or that I would refuse to play jenga with my little cousins
or how I would hate hanging my clothes without seeing his smile.

The amount of similies in love poems are ridiculous.
Curiosity got the better part of me as thine swiftly splaying fingers
typed Matthew Scott Harris (yours truly) into the google search bar,
lo and behold, and much to my chagrin and amusement,
others with mine namesake constituted roles in various walks of life carrying out their wonderfully wicked whiles and ways,
sans existence covered the gamut earthen realm
from administration of President Dwight David Eisenhower
the celebrity circuit, where his claim to fame and fortune
as movie Producer (born in Jacksonville, Illinois)
for silver screen cinematic debut enterprise finished regal Dimension far off beaten track pocketing a degree (from University of Illinois)
in Civil Engineering, After practicing as an engineer for several years,
a decision made to open a restaurant in Chicago
with nary a harbinger - After operating popular eatery for more than ten years,a whim directed destiny viz hit time to make movies
arced renown sent same nom de plume doppleganger
quest skyrocketing
analogous to aligning skill sets into stratospheric isobar
which exertion pitched head stone carvers to acquire vital context
where next of kin content with obituary hiz death
unexpectedly Tuesday morning, Feb. 24, 2015 of Loudonville),
tomb epitaph incorporated passion as avid outdoorsman,
who loved fishing, hunting, and canoeing. I aced as supervisor with telecommunication company, Telecom Towers Inc.
yet by some stroke of premature pronouncement,
whence during funeral the coffin lid rise a jar
scaring the s**t out the backsides per mourners,
where demise found sights drawn to undertake
a totally tubular career as graphic artist from Buffalo
(Educated at RPI), who constantly looks for work today, and to mar
row, out of necessity to pay bills, as prodigy with plugging numbers and spitting out calculations
attained plaudits as financial solvency ****, and par
for the course irresistibly tempted forging credentials -
with a self crafted faux pas star
re: expert as a fraudulent Loan OfficerNMLS # 240801 -
but Youngblood’s hired fretful dexterous dude for extra cash tip play *** tar, while police got tips from wagging tail, and unfortunately butter field bursar ruse landed rising star into clinker
sans Cook County Inmate at age 49
CB NUMBER 19043182, when arrest occurred Tuesday,
January 13, 2015 11:53 AM, and released the next day due to first
time misdemeanor plus absent recidivist incarceration possession
of 5000+ grams of Cannabis, which exposure to magical, miracle
and mystical herb set sites to become a professor
Clinician of pharmacology to help fight the so call "drug war".
rusty shacks Jun 2013
For my autopsy, there will be a crowd around my corpse, layed flat upon a dinner table so when they cut into me the dogs know they're in for a feast. I want them to use a pen to open my chest, they'll find my heart over stuffed with love-poems, to feed int oa machine that will determine my exact cause of death. They will find so many vessels clogged with grudges, half-truths, my sons generation will need a triple bypass.

I want them to drag that scalpel across my skin like "Is this how [x] made you feel?", open up my stomach and find enough swallowed pride to lead a thousand men to their doom in some ugly battlefield, not enough paycheck stubs to make my bank stop calling, a note I was going to leave 35 years later when I hung myself in some office cubicle, and some expired tags to a license plate, because I couldn't get the **** out of here.

I want them to speak into tape recorders and scribble on clipboards, open up my lungs that look like the crumpled up cellophane you toss away from a pack of smokes and find all the breath I've held for someone else so the atmosphere can take one big inhale, and choke.

I want them to document the burns and cuts on my hands, her skin was like a stove-top you forgot you left on, her hair full of briar and the finest papercut edges, someone said they were good looking hands but they've done some ugly things, the calluses look like shields, so even when I open up my palms, my guard isn't down.

For the final ceremony they can quarter me because the world has dissected and separated me, I hope my tendons are used to tie together some little girls swingset so I can finally feel all this stres and strain is for someones benefit.

They can take my arms and hands, put em to work to pay off my debt to a government grant like "Nobody smokes on the night shift?" Are you kidding me? Take my lungs too.

They can take my legs and feet and give them to a paraplegic, watch him become an olympic athlete, because my legs are toned and trained from all the dreams I've chased. Maybe someone else can pull these ******* past a finish lane.

I hope they drain all of my blood and use it to fill a thousand pens, and I could save a few good people some strenuous heartbeats, put a little bit of the sandmans real good **** on some bloodshot eyes, hand out some cookies and juice to get the sugar flowing, because everybody bleeds when they write.

Give my heart to a girl so she can write down all her problems and stupid inside jokes on it, and toss it to a corner of her room where she lays down from exhaustion, forget it in her car, at her friends house, on the counter of a desolate library. When she finds a heart with a little more polish, a lot less IOU's and a LOT LESS tolerance to being used, she'll know how to keep it in mint condition, because no amount of life insurance on full coverage, the interest rates skyrocketing through the roof and ironically digging you a hole, can cover the bill, when a heart breaks.

For my autopsy, there will be a crowd around my corpse, anticipating the nap of a vulture with a full stomach, oh and right- about my brain? Good luck with that, their hands will look like someone caught them stealing, and **** the rainforest they're gonna need some toothpicks, I don't even care about the leftover pieces-- but no amount of shiny surgical tools or a practitioners 10 year medical degree funded by the slack jawed desire to make people pay for a check up none of need, will be able to dissect my soul.
Who do we run to when our leader's or do i say rulers no longer care about us
They promised us "CHANGE"
The word "CHANGE" is flying in the air
Our nation is in total ruin
Cost of living is skyrocketing daily
Food is no more affordable nor is it accessible
Our nation is feeling this devastation
Only politicians are well to do
They have forgotten about us
They have forgotten the promise made to us
They never came any close to fulfilling their mandate

When l look at our politicians extravagant lifestyles I asked
What about US
What about all the time they said they are the answers
      In my country ,
Those who care to give or share dont have to give or share
    In my country ,
Those who have to give or share, dont want to give or share

The masses are kept in the mood of despondency
It seems to many that all hopes are lost
Some after having their last meal, they wait for death to come
While some take their lives either by jumping off the bridges or taking a highly concentrated chemical down their throat .

Who will redeem our nation
Who will revive our  economy
Who do we run to when their is no food in the country
Who do we run to when price of fuel is skyrocketing without control
Who do we run to when rent is no more affordable to the masses
Who do we run to when every good thing in our country  can only be accessible to 5% of the country's population

Nigeria is our country
It is not for the politicians to take,
Not for the 5% well to do Nigerians to take
Nigeria is for all of us
We love our country
Thats why we are lamenting
We are tired of being victimised in our own country
It is totally unjust and its affecting everyone either financially,  physically,  menally psychologically or otherwise
... How do we get our dream Nigeria
I looked at the clock,
ticking, resolute,
like a man nailed to the wall
and glaring
but still only half annoyed
Three,
     Two,
           One,

Right on cue, the phone rings
I set down my magazine
dog-earing some page for a mushroom-soup-casserole

Harvey, my son,
it isn't like he's challenged or anything-
to be honest, I bet he could beat me at chess any day-
things just seem to

happen

With Richard
Harvey's father,
my ex husband
Harvey and he would be home alone all day
and **** would say that Harvey would whisper things to him
little things
about his mom
about things he had done as a kid and covered up, things he never, never talked about
silly things
Preposterous,
being afraid
of your own son
But still, it shook Richard up

One day, I come home and
and
and
God, I just have to say it all at once

Richardwassittinginthetubwithhiswristsslit
andHarveywasjust­watchingwatchingwatching
watching

No 2 year old, none
was supposed to see this
so innocent, so wonderful
I got the little angel out of there
and then called the ambulance

Richard paid his hospital bills.
He took nothing in the divorce.
I get the feeling he just wanted to get out.

Still, I personally have never had a problem around Harvey
With me, he's the perfect little angel
With most strangers too!
Something about him can just bring out the best in people
That's why I thought he would be okay in daycares.
He should have made so many friends.

Still.

It never fails,
within a week of his enrollment
instructors always want Harvey out
Fights just happen around him
they say
Temper tantrum rates are skyrocketing! He can't stay here
they claim
three of our volunteers have committed suicide in the last week
It is unsettling.
Imagine!
Being singled out for being a single mother!
Because that's what it is;
at first, I thought that it was a coincidence
but the pattern
repeated
and
repeated...
to think! in the 21st century,
that would still be happening!
I was outraged.

But I guess, there might,
might
be something
special.
So I took precautions.
This last program I signed him up for
it's for high maintenance children
And you know!
He lasted for two whole weeks!

But as I said before, the phone is ringing.

I answer it on the third ring.

And all I hear is screaming.

This isn't about Harvey, there's something very, very wrong.
Maybe a fire.
A break in.
Something.
This cannot,
cannot,
be about Harvey.
I practically throw myself into my Subaru
and almost put my foot to the road, I slam it down so hard
broke about 60 traffic laws
all the way to the day care center.

There were no firetrucks
no ambulances.
No signs that anything was wrong at all.
The children were squealing, almost like
recess.
But it wasn't right.
Those were not happy screams.
God forbid, if I'd had the radio on
I would have missed the difference between
Joy
and
Pain.
And there was something else
notes of adult voices strained in with the chorus of children
they sounded far away
I had to strain to hear them.

And the red peppering the windows.
That had to be finger paint.
It had to be.
Had to be.

The speed that had possessed me before
vanished.
My footfalls served as a metronome
to a chorus
from a Stravinsky and pizza fueled nightmare

This isn't Harvey
This isn't Harvey

I pushed open the door, and the smell is what hit me first.
Day cares never smell nice, but this was the smell of sewage and of
of pork chops.
of beef steaks.
of uncooked hamburger meat.
Clean, fresh,
meat.

Next I saw them.
Screaming.
Ripping off clothing.
Clothing that made sticky, slapping noises as they hit the ground and the floor
pulling apart the same way my old dog
would rip apart a rabbit or a groundhog,
But it was just children pulling of clothes.
And paper cuts.
Bad one,
but paper cuts.

And the teachers...
I can't lie about the teachers.
One was in the process of pulling out her own kidneys
obviously after throwing herself down the stairs
Her high heels laid
forgotten
at the top
and her legs
raw and ******
were twisted at awkward angles.
Well manicured fingernails cut through her face
and her ears dangled half way down her neck
from pulling

When she looked at me,
all I saw was fear.

THISISN'THARVEYTHISISNTHARVEYTHISISN'THARVEYTHISISNTHARVE­YTHISISNTHARVEY
I went into the art hall
Harvey's favorite spot
For a six year old,
he was artistic
and more skilled than most adults
paintings of angels
and one
one that I didn't hang on the refrigerator
one of a man in a bathtub

I found Harvey there.
Not a scratch.
He was humming, painting a picture of another angel.
Its wings were spread wide, and the stance was militant
yet his face was serene
like someone finishing a book.
In both hands, he held a spear
and with the left, he drove it into a goat
some poor wretch
howling in pain.

THIS IS NOT MY FAULT

Did you see them?
He asked.
I could not speak.

I'm making them pure.
Written from a terrible nightmare last year. When I found this again, it was hardly more than scribbles and my own drawings of angels. Took a while to adapt.
Cece Oct 2012
Out of the corner of my eye
I see you sitting seven
rows up in the theatre.

It feels like it's been
years, since we've
seen each other.

My breathing is shallow
and I try to stop my blood pressure
from skyrocketing
as you strut down the stairs
to come say hello.

I hate the way you
stare into my eyes
and pierce my heart;
you whisper in my ear
how much you have missed me.
I hate the way you
give my arm
one final squeeze
before you wink at me
with that cocky grin,
and walk back to your seat.

It feels like nothing has changed.
And I wish it hadn't.
Raj Arumugam Sep 2014
Predictor - services: all types of future events
I have a genius for things that don't happen

I predicted the 1979 economic boom
in the Antarctica - no doubt it didn't happen
I predicted the end of the world
in 1987, and again in 1996
and not to forget 2010
and on various other occasions:
I have a genius for things that don't happen
I foresaw and declared
the skyrocketing rise in US house prices
in 2006 (but the Banks had other plans)

and now, for the record,
I predict with confidence
without batting an eyelid
Obama will be elected again
in 2016 as US President;
and about the same time
they will declare me
the UK's King in waiting

if your life is in a mess
you might want to engage me
to fix it with a prediction or two;
conditions apply,
and fees are upfront
and non-refundable too

Just give me a shout;
*I hear you wherever I am
Travis Green Apr 2022
If I could have held onto his flourishing, firm body
I would have clung to him to embrace
The enchantingness of his masculineness
I wished for his long and astonishing kisses
His exquisite white teeth sliding against my pliable neck
And bouncy blooming beanbags

I needed to feel his warm, bewitching chest
Let his blazing breathtaking slang stream into my throat
I hankered to kiss and touch his body hair
Blow ****** air against the surface
Smell his tantalizing sweetness, my weakness
I longed to love him in all his wholeness

Rub his thick luminescent thighs and long, lithe legs
Cover his feet with my supremely skilled hands and mouth
Arched stellar shoulders, how I revere their peerlessness
I eagerly anticipated stroking his solid-wall arms
The fragrant flat frame of his sleek stomach
Drift away in his embracement to impassioned matchless paradise

His extraordinarily rare charm romanced me endlessly
I was utterly dumbstruck, lusting for his seductiveness
Unbelievably fascinated by his luscious landscape
Of macho muscle, craving to concede to his exhilarating thunder
Feel his skyrocketing sensual sparks
Like hot, unstoppable gunshots penetrating my heart
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
in utter radiance two bodies meld,
in decadent tenderness; emanating
from one another in mindless bliss,
like silken sheets fluttering in a
midsummer day breeze; flapping out
a heart's symphony as each mellifluous
tune is carried along effortlessly of fallen
petals in an upward warm wind...alluring

when lips touch their essence is as
delicate and soft as a newborn's first
breath and visions of meadows as
burbling brooks eke out nature's
wonderous animations of life; hidden
amongst conifers naked seedling in
cones of yews procreative life...caressed

eyes gaze upon one another in trancelike
looks of longing; in ponderance of love's
accepting embrace, to feel it's enraptured
warmth; skyrocketing moans in resonating
tremors of gossamery affection...cloud nine

emerging gasps are born to undulate in
waves; awakening love's cupidity to be
forever within one another's limelight,
delighting each other's ambiance of
life's many truisms; our spirits bountiful
and serene as we live and love in our own
paradise on earth...in spirituality

becoming excited in our veracity to
understanding the complexities of
love and living in moments of bliss;
standing still vacuumed, absorbing
one another's vitality to be as one,
soulmates until heart and mind
collide in hungering want; holding
onto thoughts only we can see
within one another's eyes...heavenly love
j a s Jan 2016
“but it is your imperfections,” he said, his voice soothing rivers and his eyes like a candle lit in dark; but he would not leave ―― for his eyes were like an endless labyrinth and he would never die out. and one would get lost again and again in his eyes for they had this depth that one could not help but get curious about. and once one were to be too far in; there was no way out, not from left nor right but forced to continue stalking down the road of his chocolate eyes. they were like poison, she thought, a beautiful poison, that is. perhaps it was a poison of happiness, she had yet to be sure, but there was a flaw in it all ―― one she was really sure about.
too much happiness could intoxicate, and his eyes, they intoxicated her; left her heart skyrocketing and perhaps that was why she had tried to pull away but stopped altogether for he would not let her go. no ―― he would shower her with words of love and she kept coming back for more and more for she strangely liked it, loved it even.  
“ ―― that i cherish; you set this hurricane inside of me and you would not leave, but you know what?” he was smiling now, his lips curving upward, gracing her eyes and everything around him for there were suddenly blinding lights everywhere. and his eyes ―― they were not candles anymore, no, they wer crystals; gleaming and glowing and sparkling.
“ ―― i don’t mind, in fact i don’t mind at all ―― for i love it and i don’t mind having every tiny piece of you gracing my veins because my love, this ――” his delicate fingers were moving on their own accord and pointing between the two of them, “whatever this is, i’ll make sure that it never burns out, but in the meantime, my love, i’ll love your imperfections and i won’t mind reminding you everyday that you’re important, but most importantly ―― you’re beautiful.” and he wished, wished so badly that he could stuff the empty girl with all the word’s light and make her see, just like he did, how utterly and breathtakingly beautiful she was. no matter her imperfections ―― they just added to her blinding beauty.
this is for the girl that fails to see how beautiful she really is
Travis Green Oct 2022
I hanker to jam with your all-out sound profoundness
Check out the way you flex your luscious, smooth limbs
Incredible, hairy, and jacked hotness
Enticing and flaming shiningness
I am bound to bangingly inviting
And appetizing delightfulness

Lost in how your mean herculean chest bounce
Attention-getting and glistening biceps
Strikingly mind-blowing abs
Sick thick thighs, bright, lithe legs
Your sexually lecherous thugness
Overpowers and hypnotizes my homosexualness

Bring me under your control
Take my breath away
Overmaster my inner space
Make me splash and crash into a deliciously dreamy rapture
Shake up my divine and solid foundation
Appropriate and exhilarates my engagingness

Ram your passionately engrossing
And profound game down my throat
Let me choke on your keenly exciting
And spellbinding spiciness
My newest fashion smash
Got me aching for your throbbing hotness

I am so mad about your four-star carnal passion
I indulge in your dashing and jazzy attraction
My blazing hot holiday magic
I so deeply feel your majesticness within my vessel
I gotta have your world-class-worthy wonderfulness
Gotta be with you forever and a day

Exalt in your hotly saucy fireworks
Of sexually skyrocketing sparklingness
Kiss every sugary sweet surface
Of your cherry-picked and soul-stirring world
Submerge myself in your delectable
And unapologetic freshness
Steven Forrester May 2016
The desert heat can be oppressive
Pressing down
From sky to ground
Can you hear that sound?
There's a sizzling in the sand
Slithering like a sidewinder
Wandering wistfully westward
A silent snake
The day breaks
And becomes hotter still
Skyrocketing
Along with your bills ;)
To all my desert dwellers
This one's for you
I hope you beat the heat
As I hope I'm going to
Flying high above the clouds
Just to set out your shroud
Trapped inside with nowhere to go
But suddenly, the plane has gone slow

Skyrocketing to the earth
You wonder if it’s worth
It to die and to never be found

Watching you fly in the air
Plummeting to the ground and you want to help
But you have to stay strapped to your chair
You can hear a dog yelp
From off in the distance
You know there is no more resistance

You know that it is over so you give up the fight
You don’t want to die like a knight
So I decided to write
This poem about your flight
the flight that changed your life
and mine
but not for the better.
I still hate rhyming poetry but I had to do this for class, and it came out pretty good so I put it here and if you were wondering:
This poem is about my friend that I met when I was younger, and I only knew her for a year but we became really close but she died in a plane crash.
So, yeah, this is my ode to her.
Seniors are suffering!
Hospitals are closing!
Infants are starving!

Good News: Another Broadway show is opening!

Olive trees are dying!
Unemployment is climbing!
Small businesses are folding!

Good News: Another spaceship is launching!

Medical costs are skyrocketing!
50% of marriages are divorcing!
Global warming is escalating!

Good News:  Seasons are drastically changing!

Stronger volcanoes will be erupting!
Storms and tornado are increasing!
Oceans and rivers are polluting!

Good News: Stocks are up! The Market Bell is ringing!

Church attendance is dwindling!
People have stopped praying!
Choirs are no longer singing!

Good News: 4.7 trillion has been  appropriated for federal spending!

Icebergs are vanishing!
Forests are decimating!
Marine life is declining!

Good News:  Teen deaths from drug overdoses are ascending!


Farmers are hardly surviving!
Homelessness is soaring!
The crime rate is rising!


How do we stop bad things from happening?
Are we better off just ignoring?
Perhaps life as we know it is ending?

        Good News:  Let's just ignore everything!




By Milton L. Delgado
March 10, 2019
You may say this work is negative; however, there's an important message which I hope you'll get from its reading.
Vernal breezes gently rocked
the garden jhoola
the blue sky vine looping
across the butterfly bench
created a festoon of stunning amethyst flowers
Ram Namavali was approaching
contemplating Him, Lion of the Raghu dynasty
embodiment of dharma and source of bliss
my heart and lips blossomed open
a garland of melodious Ram
bhajans perfumed the noonday air
after the sweet singing session
I did a few Yoga stretches and
decided to pick some luscious black mulberries
I approached the mulberry tree skyrocketing in the
western corner of the backyard
lifting large heart shaped
green leaves I found one or two ripe berries
“Hmm” I thought to myself I wonder what happened to all
the mulberries?
Parting another section of the tree, two orange speckled eyes
met mine exploding in innocent wonder
there seated nonchalantly on a happy branch was a
pretty lil’ brown dove
“So it’s you who’s been goggling all the mulberries!” I exclaimed
caught “red-winged” the bewildered bird took off scampering
across the sky
I gathered my meager but delicious bounty added a few frozen
blue berries squirted a heap of whipped cream
then myself and Rama (the kitty) eagerly licked the platter clean
Travis Green Jun 2019
I used to love rocking
with him in the gaudy
nightclubs, sea-green eyes
drifting into dance jams,
drunk rhythms, spinning
inside burning Mars, his
feet moonwalking through
the crowd, waiting for the
blazed beat to sound off,
as he bopped his head
to the hypnotic music,
flashy shoulders moving
in the breeze, embracing
the iridescent chemistry.
And as I hopped onto the
dance floor by his side,
electrified rhymes rumbling
through my muscles, so raw
and pounding, a bursting bomb
of atomic funk, I grooved inside his
galaxy, hips twisting and turning
into intensifying dynasties,
funky legs breaking down
to the ground, whipping it
around and around, going
downtown, spine-igniting highs,
cool consonants skyrocketing
towards Mount Olympus.  
Our bodies spun, the nightlife
shining within our souls,
faces floating in extreme fever,
knees rising in paradise,
crowned, intoxicating,
hands wild-waving,
lost in this amazing
enchantment.
Anna Maria Jun 2021
I am trapped in my body, watching the figure that patrols it around doing what she wants and saying what she will.
My mind feels muddled as the words 'I do not care' pierces them.
Is this who i am?
I pull at the the bars that trap my mind around others,
my anxiety skyrocketing.
But the person in the cockpit simply replies to my worries and woes, "oh well, I'll worry about that sometime soon"
forced to take a back seat in my own mind
Travis Green Aug 2021
I needed extraordinary love
The kind that could make me
Gallivant in wonderland
Feel a skyrocketing rhapsody
Powerfully seep within me
My body ablaze and aching amorously
Feel a profusion of muscle touching my skin
Going deep within the interior of me
Superbly surfing my world like a surfer at seas
Take me every night with your massive might
Infuse my dream scenes with snowlit magic
Imprison me within the wholeness
Of a lover’s day and night, feeling
All the things my lovebird brings to me
Tori G Oct 2014
Clothes drenched in cold sweats,
Breath heavy with smog,
Heart pounding in ear drums,
Footsteps growing louder,
Cars whirring by,
Stomach tied into queasy knots...
This is it
The time is now-
While the wounds are still fresh.
Lean against the guard rail
As all bad memories play on repeat;
There is nothing to be saved.
The whispers urge the inevitable....

Clothes dripping from cold sweats,
Lungs blackened from smog,
Heart rate skyrocketing,
Two steps up onto the guard rail,
Passing cars turn a blind eye,
Stomach a flutter...
Goodbye
Release the fingers that hold
Onto the fine line of reality.
The cold wind fools the mind
As adrenaline pumps through the veins;
A perfect instant in time.
It was the best possible way....

Clothes dried by the wind,
Breathe in a new life,
Heart skips a few beats,
No more walking in circles,
Cars slam on brakes,
Stomach finally at peace....
*Hello
EJ Aghassi Sep 2019
this feeling that thrives
neither dead nor alive
is not something
to be taken lightly,

a cardinal sin
with no near end
begins, and there is
mostly
ruin left

for you and yours.
this feeling is different,
mostly if you let it,
like scraping down
the side of an
aluminum can

that's skyrocketing
towards some other
dimensional

depth, neither
approachable
nor
within the realm
of touch.
where has sense gone? where does it thrive? is it breathing? is it alive?
Aman Dheer May 2016
A seed broke through the sky
springs up in my altar
and inside the coffin
personifying my numb skin
with the fluid still rolling deep
skyrocketing the clock hands
and winding the old spring toy
into unwanted motion
orbiting around the arms
of a poor grandmother,
needling the old hammer struck nails
into the thick ledge gliding down
like paper planes that I made
racing like pigeons on the tree tracks
taking note of the honking of the cars
and vehicles whose breath is taken in
by our already blood-filled, puffed lungs,
the clogged drains are unblocked
to let my friendship sail on the waves
of the boat with my hands on seek,
the tired soles of the shoes are worn out
sending a letter everyday now and then
whilst sitting in the mirror of colours.
VISIT - www.amandheer.wordpress.com
jigyasa Jun 2018
clutching chaos in a tight embrace
fingers clasped, a strong grasp  

ask the trees, root deep
snuggled in the soft soils of mama Earth
yet skyrocketing, infinite potential

ask the water
skipping and stumbling in silly streams
soon to transform into mighty rivers
oceanic magnitudes conquering the expanse of this planet

ask the flames
making candles flicker weakly
but in the same essence
fuelling the volcano  
a rudimentary relationship so simple
yet vital to development

its not a myth
rather an equilibrium of elements
in unequal proportions
but complete unanimity
rjaytedoco Mar 2016
My love,

Please, don't **** me..
With your smile showing your bare teeth, revealing your cute dimples.
With your confidence skyrocketing up,up in the sky.
With your love, freeing and full of compassion,
giving life to the souls, souls who had lost all means of hope.

Please, don't..
Because I am going to **** you first.
With my feet kicking your smile until every tooth of yours falls in sticking to your throat, until your dimples are nothing but bruises.
With my bare hand smashing your confidence, choking your neck, bringing you down from heaven to hell in a span of seconds.

But don't worry, my love, for I am going to love you.
I'll make you feel like you're the most amazing person I've ever met.
I'll make you feel, that love, love is the only thing that matters in this shallow world of ours.
And then, I'll leave.

Sincerely,
Life
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
There's a place where Martians go
when there's trouble
brewing at home,
it's hidden in the belt,
circles between the planets.

They tune in there,
use sophisticated equipment
to communicate with
their loved ones back home,
sometimes the notes drift away
further into space.

Lately, we've been picking up
increased transmissions,
the amount of traffic is incredible,
encryted-chatter speaking of a
universal movement
sweeping the solar system.

Our radio telescopes are
receiving similar messages
from the moons spinning
around Saturn & Jupiter,
some Neptuneons & Plutoneans
are even getting in on the act.
Activity on Venus & Mercury
is skyrocketing as well.

In fact, the highest levels of
electronically-posted poetry
is at the highest level since
the first interplanetary war
back in '73.

But it's really nothing
to get alarmed about,
'cause you see,
poets are always
restless & passionate,
screaming their raw emotions,
spilling blood on keyboards,
searching for a little
piece of comfort.

And no matter where
we come from,
we will continue
to war with our words,
trying to come to grips
with the joys & heartbreaks
of living through
this solitary life.
Ryan Hoysan Jul 2017
It was only just about four months ago
That a girl from Canada I'd never met
Would steal my heart, a love so whole
My emotions skyrocketing, love so sure
Was followed soon thereafter
With silence and the void
Hearing nothing, not even a whisper
She has seemingly disappeared
Back to the nothingness she came from.
It was about four months ago that I met the person writing as the profile blackrainboots here on HP. We became very close very quickly. She was from a small town in Canada. Any activity and communications from her ceased about maybe a month into the two of us talking and it seemed to be extraordinarily unpronounced. It just seemed weird. If anyone knows her personally or knows what's happened, if anything has indeed happened, please let me know.
james nordlund Mar 2020
Whilst there is no 'Devil', which the Roman Catholic Empire needs to, and projects, exists,
while that's just them dictating their notsee/totalitarian control over the world, there is
the closest thing that has ever existed to it, the united **** of assassin's gov't's '****',
as it's called on the street, specifically the republikan conspiracy's psychic-terrorism.
This 'devil', which is dictating their 'final solution' for humanity is the only game in town,
like ******'s was (though they did a slower blitzkrieg by dividing and conquering the country
into a baskin 'n robbins of 23 flavors of supremacy), as well as a plethora of conspiracies,
which 'gotherdone', all feeding on the genocide of heterosexual, Caucasian, non-republican
newborns to men, this notsee dictatorship's 'Jews', which includes some of them too, ends all.

Climate crisis and our king-kong sized terrible-two, ****'s playing his keystone President
act for two months has determined his, the republikan conspiracy's, global oligarchy's
agenda, which they couldn't get done politically for the last 2 decades, the stealing of
social security from the elderly, infirm.  Instead of privatizing S.S. they're exterminating
recipients through the purposeful spread of corona virus, which kills the elderly, infirm,
predominantly.  Also, daily domestic notsee attacks by the republikan party has numbed the
populace to them, so their doing terrorist attacks before the election won't have the same
effects of determining a polity vote more right-wing, ergo, plausibly deniable extermination
by pandemic, incompetence, is happening instead.  Will dreamers awaken before their ******?  

This is nothing new, the republikan conspiracy led Gov't, it's **** and millions of minions,
Neuter newborns, anatomically destroy toddlers, kids, teens, adults constantly, also doing
all crime, spreading all disease, pestilence against and to them, shoving it down their
throats to further their ****** of those non-republikans.  How could you not know their the
devil.  Every republikan uses their jobs they supposedly do to exterminate non-republikans
instead.  That's the same as ******'s minions did, for it wasn't generals, admirals, etc.,
who realized his and his ***** rise, it was the file-clerks, receptionists, cab drivers all
destroying, committing treason every moment, instead of doing their jobs, like the serial
murderers who masquerade as cops, exterminators ..., as doctors, judges ..., as justices.  

**** and his admin. were informed by 17 intelligence agencies about corona in january, he
lied about it extremely, pathologically and still is, as recently as March he was saying
"we have 5 cases and by the end of the week we'll have one, then it'll disappear", in order
to determine as many people were infected as possible before the states jumped in to try to
stop it, the highest of treason.  Simply because the quickest spread will be in the largest
metropolitan areas, specifically Cali and NY, where most voters are democrat or too sane to
vote ****.  Also, the predominance of infections and mortality will be in the lower-middle-
class to poor, 60 % of the nation, who can't defend themselves as well, and will die from
it more, price of living skyrocketing, people have less $ than ever, class war by pandemic.  

His latest, "the cure's worse than the pandemic", everyone should die by criminally insanely
putting them all back to work 'til death, to get Utin's **** more $ sooner from his corps.
I told you during the campaign that if he won we'd be lucky if he doesn't pull a Caligula,
that's only three steps from his current hitlerian positions.  The "Stimulus bills", the
Dems are pushing back but the Repubs are getting the edge as ever, 1/2 a trill to bail out
big businesses and they kept his criminal cuts to food stamps, still stealing food from the
mouths of babes and handing it to billionaires.  Pharma, medical supplies corps making hand
over fist from bidding war between States, federal agencies, Bush, **** klans kafknchinging.  
The 'big fix' is in, if it ain't fixed don't break it, stop criminal insanity, vote Bernie.
It's a twig of poetree in progress.  CLIA = central lack of intelligence agency.  The 'big fix is in', stop criminal insanity, vote Bernie; please.  Thanx for all you All do; have a good day   :)   reality
Mike Hauser Apr 2015
I believe crazy has finally stepped up to the plate
Here for its meet and greet
As we hang on the ledge by the thread of our pants
Sitting forward on the edge of our seats

With skyrocketing prices
Everywhere that you go
You've gotta be a gazillionaire
Just to walk through the door

without your morning dose of ordeal
you'd almost forget how normal it feels


And heaven forbid someone knocks on your door
Which sends you scurrying off into hiding
When clearly you've posted above the bell
A "NO SOLICITOR" sign

Not to mention the fighting of traffic
As the traffic fights back with you
Try not to frown or even smile
When the person in the next lane comes into view

Yes crazy is here to shake all our hands
Put us all into a spin
I'd like to tell you more about it
But it's hard to know where to begin...
Seth Jul 2016
My knuckles are dripping blood
It is my own
Hitting myself to feel something
I see crimson, but I don't feel stinging

I just need you to crawl inside me again
Pulse through my veins
Send me skyrocketing to the moon
Constant sugar, constant high

I come up from the sewer where I reside
Climbing into your bed to hear your breath
Tracing your insides with my finger tips
Kissing your translucent skin

I'm so sorry
I'm so excited
I'm running into the walls like a blind dog
Conformist meets ****** with a spark

I picked these flowers from the neighbors yard for you
I know you don't care for roses but aren't they pretty?
You're so pretty
I hope you'll hold my trembling hands
Tori Schall May 2019
The stars fall to the ground
Under the dimming, black
Void
When nothing escapes and
X-rays of pure nothing exist,
Yet collect and ponder the deaths
Zooming; skyrocketing into an infinite loop of fear.
And then silence,
Broken on by the
Clap of thunder and rain
Drumming down into
Every corner of a fragmented skull,
Gaining power and
Holding brains hostage
In their own heads
Just as you realize
Killing doesn’t mean dead and
Love doesn’t mean happy.
Mothers and fathers antagonize while
Nameless nobodies lie awake,
Only closing their eyes when their
Parents cease their incessant
Questioning accusations.
Relying on a whim and
Stealing the stars from the sky.
My comfort zone has evolved
My dynamic has altered
My air has renewed
My pace is skyrocketing
My goals are reached
Can't you see?
It's my shift
My skin looks better
They say my hair is thicker
That my skin is softer
That the girl gave place
To the woman
It's my shift
When my world gets wider
And my dreams draw closer
The whole Universe is speaking
"Clarencine shift!"
The 9 in the 2019
Is now giving birth to the greatness in
ME!!!
My Daughter's name shall be "Bloom"
And the meaning of my name
Shall stay "clarity"
And God says
You are the light of this world
&
The Salt of this Earth
Fearfully and Wonderfully made
Fully stepping into
MY SHIFT!
#shift
A Lopez Jul 2015
Skyrocketing from the time of seeing my city go into coal
Me and Mina stayed away from the cartel
They like to use and make the adolescent girls do their dirt
Just to end up in dirt
Drug war to not return to where it came from.
A loathsome reminder of where I came from .
james nordlund Apr 2020
The great Ellis Marsalis, Jr., died of corona virus in NOLA,
one of a thousand that passed away this Avril Fool's, from it,
all of whom will be missed dearly, "...we(e),..."'ll ever bay.

In his day, near his death, (W.A.) Mozart said to his wife,
"I fear I am writing a requiem for myself", as he composed
'Requiem Mass in D minor- Lacrimosa', of unparalleled beauty.

With rheumatic fever hitting Europe at that time, and soon
after, yellow fever in Philly, here, epidemics and pandemics
became common, the worst, 1918 Spanish Flu, 1/2 a bill dead.

listening to comedy ring hollow, a necessary alternative to
the news that isn't new, my ear longs for his veracious music.
How can USA have the worst response to it among technocracies?

Our king-kong sized terrible-two, ****, playing his keystone
President act for 3 months has determined the repub conspiracy's,
global oligarchy's agenda's yoke tighten around the people's neck.

The stealing of social security from the elderly, infirm, through
Covid-19 exterminating them more than others, this couldn't get
done politcally by the repubs for 2 decades.  As well, the poor

to lower-middle-class, especially people of color, can't afford
to defend themselves usually, now it's worse. "Stimulus bills"?,  
over 1/2 a trill to bail out small, big businesses, pay big Pharma,

medical supplies corps, who're already making hand over fist from
the bidding war between States, federal agencies, dictating Bush,
**** klans who're heavily invested, ever increasing kafknching.

Coastal regions, big cities, mostly dems, are murdered more by
virtue of #, close proximity, needs, ****'s re-election plan.
This while he kept his criminal cuts to SNAP, still stealing food

from mouths of babes and handing it to billionaires.  Same as
it ever was, class war, repubs using jobs they don't do, to mass-
exterminate non-repubs instead.  like the serial murderers who

masquerade as cops, killers ..., as doctors, judges as justices.
The 'big fix' is in, if it ain't fixed don't break it, stop all
criminal insanity, if not you then who, here, where, now, when?

This leaf of poetree, although it just a twig be, may be my last.
If so, I'm honored to pass with such great artists, yet, hopefully
not from skyrocketing price of living.  Social distance, wear mask.
"The sleepers must awaken" (before they're extincted by climate change), movie Dune.  Thanx for all you All do.  Have a great eve'   ;)   reality
The ole flu bug took to the skies
To see what he could do
Making winter miserable
Cold and wet and BLUE.
‘No pity here’ he clearly shows,
Skyrocketing around—
Effectuating his mission
To knock you to the ground.
So be wary everyone.
Be careful in all things,
Because the seasonal flu bug
Is waiting in the wings.
_____________________________
Note: According to the CDC, so far, at least 20 children have died from the flu during the 2017-2018 flu season. Seven of those deaths were reported in the first week of January 2018. The last update was 1/12/18 by the CDC. According to Fox News: since October, “California is hard hit with at least 27 deaths of people under 65 in the state.” Fox added that the virus in question is called Influenza A (H3N2). This information is taken from ‘InfoNews for Your’ – flu deaths. Well wishes to all.
© 2018 Walterrean Salley
Liana Nov 12
The noise
Overwhelming
The mind
Racing
The anxiety
Coursing
The calm
Sinking
The food
Inedible
The people
Loud
The loneliness
Skyrocketing

Cafeteria
Wrote this today at lunch

— The End —