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Trang Nguyen Sep 2013
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.

At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.

This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.

“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.

Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.

Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.

Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.

The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.

In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
This is not a poem but an analysis about the poem

Depressing eyes invites,
Seductive gaze stimulate
Her lust growing solid.

Bulky **** hurting stiff,
Open spacious for me,
Her flexible glossy lips get,

Bare soft tissue touches,
tender parts yielding  wet,
Thrusting deep within!
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
enin Jan 2016
drowning in caffeine
breathing the nicotine
my blood cant circulate - your love will stimulate.
the ****** of death in **** will simulate
your touch , my need
as we spiral in to sin

separation , depression , paranoia
anxiety - the absence of my sleep
aggression , desperation
toxicity - of a drama we are in
discoloration - i can't control the spin

screams - muted by bitter pills
our dreams - induced by the  acid
capsuled lives - longing self destruction
your embrace - disconnection
release me from what is real

obsession - for what we cannot fix
frustration - for what we can't control
memories - of what we used to be
delusions - of what we could have been
isolation - thoughts of being free
now voices dictate what i should feel
digging through my skin - opening the wounds
put your fingers in

remembering the days when we held
an illusion no drugs could replicate
i can't forget.
exchanging promises of never letting go
was it all in my head?
i can't escape the hole.
i walk the road alone.
Kewayne Wadley Jul 2018
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anastasiad Nov 2016
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1 every day companies commonly deemed security encrypted sheild hair electronic agreement.

There are no longer just about any accessible digital license goods exorbitant, the price tag on foreign automated acceptance.

The truth is, with the expanding improvement of your circle surroundings, a community initial for many of us domestic users is not an difficulty. And also mentioned prior, how the viewpoint of your basic safety connected with encrypted sheild head of hair electrical permission sided incorrect. Coming from a authentic perspective, the shield of encryption curly hair as a result of components burning better to fracture, but accomplished piracy marketplace company has become produced. Instead, electrical consent since the electronics should not be cloned, but additionally must multi-level service in addition to affirmation, in fact, currently have excellent safeguard outcome. Moreover, your residential in addition has showed up in many registered goods supply automated 2-3 organization ought to improve while using the advancement of China's software field and also be upwards.

Hence, this encryption software package marketplace developments electronics, marketing, and details engineering. Down below, most people look at, through the software file encryption system distinct for you to elaborate program encrypted sheild establishment and also progression trend of this marketplace.

Primary, the program shield of encryption technique

As mentioned earlier, it shield of encryption technologies are divided into encrypted sheild hardware-based plus software-based file encryption.

A hardware-based encryption

Hardware-based file encryption encryption locks, many material, including layer fundamentals for vulnerable data, acceptance paperwork, made to order methods, and so on. could be trapped in a dongle.

Your security fastener interface style is divided directly into 2 kinds of parallel dock plus Flash harbour. The particular concurrent harbour would be the early on technique variety, because propagation inconvenient plus struggle together with the laser printer, and already has got much less employ. Almost all coders use are generally Flash user interface dongle.

Encryption hair on the two kinds of Computer kind, a microcontroller to get Cpu and another using a clever unit card processor for the reason that Pc the microcontroller appliance per se very easily trouble area or perhaps duplicate, so a lot more high-end security a lock utilizing a wise card processor Pc, to forestall computer hardware fracture. But a growing number of intelligent greeting card dongle split, primary, because processor chip is a bit more and a lot more sophisticated investigative methods along with resources; sensible greeting card method being composed to your chip manufacturing area to make within this program application could problem; file encryption hair of the exact same brand name the particular Cpu method is the identical, merely diverse builders facts along with critical, in the event that these types of data files are passed out and about, you can easily replicate.

Dongle carries a certain a higher level safety toughness, nonetheless in addition there are many drawbacks:

One) apply at the standard one-time constant permit, are unable to aid your results on the tryout release along with on-demand buy

A pair of) the use of hardware creation, scheduling details, installment in addition to routine maintenance charges

Three or more) is not realized the issue regarding Internet-based electronic enhancements, pursuing in addition to administration

Some) As soon as chipped, is usually ripped large quantities, it is hard to treat

A couple software-based shield of encryption

Software-based shield of encryption, electric endorsement, and certain as well separated into two types of registration plate along with permission file:

Enrollment rule is additionally referred to as the sequential range or perhaps permission rule, received by way of modification in the the software customer computer systems plus software program information and facts, the available hardware and software information, like: Computer successive number, BIOS serialized quantity, cards amount, disk drive sequential variety, computer title, and many others. . Completely transform algorithm employed your custom algorithm criteria or even normal layer algorithm formula. Customer and also first utilisation of the software package installing course of action, you might want to type in the enrollment value to make sure. Immediately after certification, software program may be used usually. The actual technique contains the advantage of your in order to register signal defense isn't hard to implement, the downside is usually that stability will not be large, struggle to achieve complicated consent needs.

Licence report and the subscription value for you to bind a similar computer hardware as well as software information, a subscription value time-span limits by using each hardware and software facts, a permission data file will use various hardware and software details. Additionally, the actual certificate file can contain details, so you're able to get the difficult authorization requirements, and might also retailer a number of end user information and facts. The typical certificate submit method to utilize the non-public major on the asymmetric protocol to help signal the permission record, as you move the general public key's baked into software program code. Uneven layer as well as decryption course of action, in which you crucial agreement hosting server is out there, it is not easy to break into throughout the study associated with acceptance docs.

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Minute, it layer sector growth standing

A person. Security a lock

The main unusual dongle professional SafeNet, Inc. in the country as well as Australia Wibu.

Security tresses provider deep Supposrr que Luoke as well as Feitian. Both businesses due to the discount prices, the first one to create your intelligent minute card encryption tresses nearby well to be able to undertake a clear market place in the nation.

Only two. Digital acceptance

International business certified products and solutions to give electronic Flexera Application and also SafeNet which often, Flexera Applications are devoted to the realm of electronic digital agreement, this product's simplicity of use plus usefulness are accomplishing far better, though the expense of the item can also be very good.

A residential electric permission merchandise firm this China Biteansuo (BitAnswer), Shenzhen-use the actual (Euse) Safengine Corporation.

There are few companies will acquire his or her electrical consent plan, although the developers to cultivate their own programs normally are present the subsequent inquiries:

One) enhancing non-professionals, there are several loopholes inside stability

Two) is tough to obtain variable accreditation manage, management and mathematical functions very simple or virtually no

Several) could be introduced as a way to address the fast issue of short-term method, create far more than predicted in the future as a consequence of protection, stability along with scalability difficulties ongoing to pay

Four) are unable to fulfill market variations brought about by the revolutionary demands about software accreditation product

Application file encryption market developments

The program shield of encryption field developments is actually carefully involving the increase tendency with the software program business. Together with the interest in cloud computing and also Software, service of software package products and solutions will be alter in the way of the circle along with foundation. Used by the vast majority of software package builders, SaaS solutions will not solely save a great deal of hardware and software pay for and also servicing charges, you can also get requirement, although reducing the using chance, driving foundation providers to help continually develop solutions in addition to boost services for you to sustain shoppers.

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Might forecast not able to consumer electronics accredited merchandise should have the subsequent principal features:

Good authorized managing podium: made available from third-party protection skilled software package programmers, in accordance with the Web's one-stop software package security and also permission operations foundation, without the need to install and sustain, affordable, easy-to-use.

Two Adaptable Licence: support the agreement of the purchaser software program as well as the cloud-computing model standard software package permission; approved press occasion, how many sensible web template modules; accepted so that you can hole the computer hardware and software data, encrypted sheild hair, and also using a user name and also private data verification way for consent.

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Five. Clouds licensing type: This is the cloud computing model of software program certification. Traditional software is natural purchaser rendering, permission can also be a purchaser. Whilst cloud computing could be the movement, though the transition difficult for common application will be a wonderful way for the certain amount of cloud-computing transformation. This definite realization regarding strategies, a common software program sanctioned shift in the buyer towards the cloud on the acceptance server, to make sure that small adjustments towards the software package, nevertheless, you can easily instantaneously have fun with the benefits associated with cloud-computing: higher security energy requirement to order foriegn safe-keeping .


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Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
by simply watching 'don't call me crazy'
with regards to mental health... a bbc3 documentary.

i find a few pointers, apart from the fact that i've learned
English to a standard that i could
be misjudged as a native, what with african psychiatrists
   and the history of England as  a postcolonial nation...
     the problems of premature depression
and other divergences from the "norm"
  (or is that a tu-dum tss... "the norm"?
i never know how to tell the joke a proper
way, so many jokes are mothered
by punctuation, i don't know
how many there are that aren't) -
so aside from that... the fact that i'm
faking being British... if you have any grievances
against me: you'd better me Ukranian
or Lithuanian... otherwise? *******.
yes, i know the Poles did terrible things,
Vlad wasn't the only person ready to
do sadistic **** on people by impaling them
on sharpened-wooden poles...
   and you thought the crucifix was bad...
but oh look... the artists inserted a peddle-stool
so he could stand while on the cross...
rather than actually: hang from it.
talk about a woman faking an ******.
then again: he was all kissy-kissy with
a centurion having cured the ravaging libido
of his "demon possessed" daughter who
had a hot bagel flirt under her skirt for him...
or as i say: **** a prostitutes
           **** for an extra ten quid: the sigma
of how many ***** that thing has seen
turns your tongue into a dagger...
that's where i have seen my salvation:
   not in the eucharist or degrading symbols
of a godly stature.
       no, the point is:
this misapprehension of where the origin of
thinking resides...
  the true materialists posit the origin of thought
in the brain... but, honey-bee, the brain
is preoccupied with its materialistic responsibilities...
to shoot adrenaline when bungee jumping...
why think it isn't already preoccupied with anything
but thought? the brain doesn't think
no more than the heart might... or your *******
wetted or your phallus becoming *****...
there's no point in ascribing thought to the brain,
even if you abstract the source of thinking
toward the brain as a *mind
,
     the suggestion parallels what the brain does,
and what the brain isn't...
   as with the notion of god...
          ridiculous for most people:
or also ridiculous when man is taught to stress
his "individuality"...
                               both seem on equal footing
to be considered phantoms, but the individual is
more of a phantom than god...
                             and as Diogenes of Sinope found out:
you'll find god and the Archimedean eureka
quicker than finding an honest man -
who takes a candle at noon into a market square?
     ah: that famous lunacy...
but in the beginning the word was with god,
       yes, because when we started we only said ooh ooh!
and made those frightening monkey faces to
war off evil spirits and the Arabic third eye, evil.
   Darwinism created historical fiction...
           a bit like science fiction, but instead of looking
forward, historical fiction is looking back,
toward a time when people struggled against
the elements, and had no sense of having to think
given their actual pentagram equilibrium was tuned
into what was around them...
                   the senses could never deviate from
the world of shouting down a cave and hearing echo,
it's only when thought emerged and conceived words
   that the dubiousness of simple musing:
chicken or egg first? created auxiliary sense perceptions...
   we have left the sensual world...
           for we have "enriched" our lives with
thinking, the byproduct of which is what scared me
about this bbc3 documentary... that all mental
illness stems from allow thought to automate itself...
      in other words having no moral compass...
in other words: not having read a single book
   and learned a process of equating thinking with
narrating... as a sensible option to what others tend
to do (the innovators), and allow narration to be a void...
into which they pour all their thinking to
fill that void... with, say, Thomas Edison and the lightbulb...
Isaac Newton and gravity...
it's just scary that people can allow automated thinking,
     made even more evident that counters
the punitive transgender pronoun scenario
   that only focuses on the pronouns: he, it, she.
these youngsters in the documentary are dealing with
submitting to a pronoun focus of: i, it, you.
                      in some vague sense of a religiosity,
that they cannot allow cogito ergo sum into their minds,
a possessiveness of body, that later translates
into an identification with the mind: which is -
well, if you're going to posit the origin of thinking
in your brain, which isn't even there - you mind
as well posit the mind, seeing how the soul
is argued against primarily through our mortal condition.
   is the eye the window to the soul?
  and the brain merely a paraphrasing of that statement?
perhaps...
              but i wouldn't be too worried
             as Walter Benjamin was about art in the age
of mechanical reproduction... i'd be worried
that art is bound to the morgue of psychiatric institutions...
that art is not a term that suggest the origins of
   such ailments:
due the original lack of it in such places:
  but that that it was never there... and that finding
art can be therapeutic is why art can be scolded
               and establishment art is nothing more
than the pinnacle of us, having abused words,
waging fewer and fewer words, can't produce
    a work of beauty... merely a work that occupies
a space.
                art = space...
          that's the statement these days...
being oversaturated with scientific assurances has created
this insurgence of over-competence or making
art not art in a sense timelessness, as in Dante's
comedy isn't equal to space,
            but that it's equal to timelessness...
    or a statue by Donatello...
                          these days art = space...
because it's not going to be timeless... it was once
the iconoclasm in metaphor of: the lion of Judea...
          Lucifer as the morning star...
                         it will not be timeless because it
has been reduced to the establishment's aesthetic
of tracey emins' unmade bed... or
       damien hirst's the physical impossibility
of death in the mind of someone living -
i never said these things aren't art... some people
said cubism would never be art compared to
surrealism... but shove a triangle into Pythagoras'
head and you get some sort of mathematics...
              it's based on that principle...
what wouldn't work in the case of hirst would be
to put a cancerous tumour into a plastic cage...
people would associate it as some sort of atomist
representation of a nanometre worth's of some
larger thing... i do appreciate the fact that big
art works... it needs so much face to embody
the fact that you are to think about it...
                         and not to have a **** over it:
it's art that's anti-arousal and more and more
and more about how to juxtapose it in your mind,
always to abstract the brain as the mind
   and to never appreciate the idea of having
to source thinking as solely endemic to the brain...
the brain is busy, the heart is busy...
            we have perpetuated an outer-body
experience throughout our time since the time when
we first acquired the phonos of thought...
                 and it is a peculiar "sound", thought...
a dance memorable to actually having a hope in
possessing a soul... even after all sturdy things
shrink into the obsolete, and even vegetable.
but the piece i'm referring to?
     kinda paradoxical... given that a shark would
probably eat you... but then again counter-paradoxical
given the fact that most shark-attacks
     make the shark refrain from eating you,
but merely nibbling on you and leaving you alive
albeit nibbled on... maned... with scars...
so i get the part where the shark is in fact:
an impossible death to conceive... only for the lucky few.
  apart from the fact that the shark is caged
like a prehistoric mosquito lodged in amber...
              woodland gold, amber...
  that's the literal interpretation...
                                 but it's still a moving piece,
modern art isn't crap at all... it's just something you
don't get an ******* over...
            take any still life and apply a cognitively
based chemical reaction: stimulate a narrative...
in that famous phrasing, connect the: dot dot dot(s).
    become, in that almost ridiculous sense:
     a Sherlock Holmes... but all that died was about
a minute's worth of your attention...
this is what's fuelling revising a need for television,
big static things... my personal favourite?
that Tate Modern installation by richard holt -
hand on heart: about 3 times...
              i felt like a mosquito drawn into that:
ah the bright shiny light... 180º and a glass ceiling...
that's all it was...
                   art in the age of mechanical reproduction
has to almost ridicule man, or at least ridicule
the idea that he can become an individual,
    as was the ridicule of man that he could become
a god...
               sooner or later any attempt at individualism
becomes trendy, vogue, and magnetises and
monetises a need to mimic, replicate... one punk today:
20,000 punks tomorrow...
       /
           but that sort of mincing is mostly associated
by the bewilderment of our own success...
                           it's almost like a we're engaging with
a sabotage process: deliberately trying to undermine
ourselves by staging a variety of "anti-social" endeavours
we promised ourselves upon a belief in the "individual"...
      modern pieces of art debunk that myth,
it's that modern art pieces require so much space that
gave them the most adaptation prowess over, say,
a puritan's concept of art, as in a Turner painting...
           classical art can be put into a Florentine market
square and be passed by quiet casually,
because it provides an assurance - it forbids engaging
in an iconoclastic vigil, it's an assurance of the past
and how golden it was... but a modern sculpture
in a busy place where many people congregate
without first allowing it the asylum of an art gallery
and people will treat it as a chance to hone on it,
vandalise it, or steal it and sell it from scrap metal...
       modern art requires an asylum to be accepted,
an art gallery is an asylum where people with
good intentions enter and leave appreciating something
that, to the pleb, would get a rotten egg thrown at it.
    and as with regards to how i phrased something
earlier? how philosophy talks of the logos
     that doesn't see the phonos: or the dichotomy
between actual sound, and sound ascribed a
optically-phonetic disparity encryption:
deepened by a self-styled aesthetic of the "ruling elites"...
          and in the beginning the word was with god...
we're merely licking the toes of such a possibility...
         and just you try to bypass the orthodoxy of
encoding sounds with queer spelling...
                     you, in a sense, learn two-languages
with every single one you learn...
   how to say it and how to write it...
                              and then there the how you hear it
and how sometimes you hear different lyrics to
the ones sang...
                         a bit like the Chinese,
who, upon reading the English translation were
bothersome to get rich quickly after seeing
too many matchsticks in ideogram translated as merely
Li Po; i'd too go bananas and become frustrated
and retaliated by getting to Einsteinian grips with
the mathematical alphabet that bore Li Po... i.e. 1, 0
through to 9.
      ah yes... philosophy that doesn't appreciate
grammatical words, or in that sense credible for a biologist
not necessitating a genus to ease any argument,
to actually further it... or to play ping-pong...
   grammatical words are equivalent to the subconscious
given we tend to write some a sense of fluidity...
the unconscious? schematics akin to triangles...
  "images" or rather shapes...
                             beginning with Δ: isosceles...
later varied to the Γ triangle of Pythagoras...
          and as far as we got, a respectability to
not conjure up a square as worthy of encoding a sound...
nearest being the H... and that turned out to
be much ha ha ha.
                   still... i can't come to grips with these teenagers
in the bbc3 documentary talking about
automated thinking! i'm not denying it, i'm not
doubting it... it's just a question:
          how could such a pronoun muddle come about
that you discourage ownership of all your mental
activity? and instead leave a rampant kindred of an
abandoned snail's shell body to wreck havoc?
   it's almost like a a want to refuse to use words...
or encode words... rarely are people told
that the eyes are used as encoding organs...
                   but that the tongue knows no filters...
what the eye ingests... the tongue sometimes can't
digest... and vice-versus... that what the eyes digest
the tongue can't ingest: hence the rebellion
against contrary political ambitions -
   the ears? well: the ears are allocated the heart as
a partner... the tongue and eyes are entwined...
but the ears are allocated the heart...
                     you tend to feel words more than
hear them... because by the time the tongue
represses combining itself with the eyes to
that elevation of thought... your body becomes
autocratically synchronised to a sort of music
of heightened of unanimous response...
             well, it's not exactly a fetish watching such
documentaries.. iconoclasm in metaphor...
  i swear i wrote this before... how philosophy avoids
grammatical genuses... and how all too
ambivalent poetically equivalent nouns and verbs
are to hide our imperfections that precipitate from
art... iconoclasm / anamorphosis in metaphors...
                         camaïeu in allegory...
                   divisionism in pun...
                                       chiaroscuro in imagery...
gestural abstraction in onomatopoeia...
                     just some examples, and none necessarily
     convincing - as ever... this is my excuse
for i am always bound to say language is Alcatraz
   and my escape from Alcatraz is bound to metaphors,
fo
Himani Vashishta Jan 2013
Yes, I am an Atheist.
A single word explains it.
I don’t have the popular, visor faith in God.
A little word retorts,
I don’t bend on my knees to pray.
Yes, I question God’s presence, doubt his omnipotence
I choose to think freely, so I am an Atheist!!
A single word may stimulate believers,
They say, I am condemned to hell and deserve damnation.
Egotistical, Arrogant and ‘Witch’ I am called in condemnation.
Still I assert, ‘I am proud to be an Atheist!!’

A Single word explains, I have torn all ties,
No more in mood of listening age-old rhetoric cries.
I have broken all barriers, which divide my own people,
To live my life by the Golden Rule of Humanity & affable.
I dream boundary’s falling, all mankind as one,
Humanity prevailing before any sham religion.
People of different caste and creed dancing-singing together in the bright light of sun.
Not idols rather humanity my religion, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A Single word Atheist for me doesn’t mean,
The faith believers preach I totally deny.
But so long as logic is there,
Anything else would be a lie.
I agree no religion asks its followers to become bigot and spread violence and hatred.
I am ready to follow any religion if believers assure no more blood would be shattered.
As far as I feel, they gave me no assurance, so still I am forced to be an Atheist!!

A Single word Brahmin for me explains my caste and religious status,
Even after born in a very religious family events converted me to atheist status.
I opened my eyes in India in year 1984,
The winter season was burning by religious riots, killing Sikhs daily more & more.
The mighty prime minister was assassinated of the county of crore,
Year 1985-86 also witnessed Ahmedabad roar.
Small incidents continued but year 1990 witnessed communal riots more and more.
Burning issue of Ram Janam Bhoomi temple touched this time every door.
Bliss of Childhood with me, I hide in my mother lap and just ignore.
My days filled with play, naps, snacks, beautiful dresses I wore.
Mommy and Daddy smiled at all the adorable things I did; my innocence something I was loved for.
My elder brother was my idol; my best friend remained with me like my shadow every hour.
In my childhood I was the most religious so respected for.
Communal frenzy converted that religious girl to the extent of proud Atheist!!

A little word lovable was apt for me
I started my schooling; mingle with kids of all caste.
My high born parents any how made me understand not to eat and meet with low caste.
That’s when I realized the equation of caste,
I was growing and learning about world very fast.
I found brotherhood my books preached and the scenario existed in society complete contrast.
Minor and some times major violence always outbreak on the name of creed and caste,
In the country which was such a vast.
I noticed my community condemning government policy of reserving for low caste.
This widespread hatred hurt my innocent heart turned me in a proud Atheist!!

A single word love got my all attention as I grow adult,
Yes, I was in love, the most beautiful feeling of this world.
Alas! My first love my true love never fulfilled,
In the midst of caste and creed.
Caste obligations made my life ruined,
God snatched my love and I stopped loving god so I am here a proud Atheist!!

A little word communalism shook the giant country in 2002 again,
The whole Gujarat drenched in blood rain.
All streets burning up to Sabarmati train,
Women *****, Innocent kids crying man dying, made my faith drain.
I wonder when humanity was slain where God remain,
Why faith can’t be questioned again.
Why can’t we see through communal-political equation?
Yes, I use reason and logic, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A single word Atheist changed my whole life,
Traditional man refused to make me wife.
My Family Life continuously on strife,
They say Bigots will put me dead by knife.
Believers speak ill for me in disguise,
Hoping quietly for my demise.
Still I dare to follow path of truth, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A single word fear I see in all eyes,
Take a deep look, communal worm hollow our society you realize.
Misinformation, falsification bloodshed that Bigots materialize,
God died in my heart since when religion start terrorize.
To save mankind quit all religious difference would be wise,
Otherwise all growth & development would paralyze.
Its High time, only human religion be initialize.
Till Human Religion finalize, I take proud in being an Atheist!!
So Here I am, A Proud Atheist!!

- Himani Vashishta
1261

A Word dropped careless on a Page
May stimulate an eye
When folded in perpetual seam
The Wrinkled Maker lie

Infection in the sentence breeds
We may inhale Despair
At distances of Centuries
From the Malaria—
Your serene lips could liquefy petals of a rose
With twigs on your spine
Consuming my dreams as you lure me
Stretching as the stars shine
Tangled in the ocean breeze
Beyond beautiful you steal my soul
Our hands unify in the shade of the unknown
Tonight we step beneath the flesh
As the path of dust disappears

I want to drink from your collar bone
Every crevice I  will endear
Following the maze of your fantasy
Impeccable skin inviting me in

The anticipation intoxicates my desires
As I travel your outline I stiffen for you
Eager to gratify the valley of your liquid pearls
You whimper as I dissolve your engorged delicacy
As you spasm and tremble you ignite the evening air
A Magnetic exuberance of fervor swept over me

Our swollen, lustful lips surrender again
As your majestic heart  nurtures our love
I famine to have your tongue renew me
Your quivering hands beginning to stimulate me
You brush against my hardness lightly
I stir inside my stomach
Restless and blazing I await  
Teasing the tip my luster rises
As your manhood swims inside my mouth
You swell my peaks, passionate yet tender
You linger feeling my need
Slipping into your enticing throat
My fingers clutching your hips
Connecting with my core as I absorb you
I quiver and cry out loud

With handfuls of starlight and luster
We create a haven just for us
You enter me so carefully
As we wither and blend
Our flesh is stamped together
A serene ambiance is swaying with us
As you whisper and writhe beneath me
Miss Grim Jan 2016
Longing for something more profound
Stumbling around the same old ground
And mindless robots are all I've found
Is it too much to want to converse?
About atoms and molecules
Or the whole universe!
Everywhere that I turn
Here's what I see
Their only concern
Is what's on TV
Consumed by football
Hunting and cars
Meanwhile I'm here
Entranced by the stars
Perhaps I'm being a little dramatic
But please, come on please
Let's ponder cymatics!
Or quantum physics
Let's trace the specifics
While we chase some exquisite
New discoveries
Oh please, come on please!!
Stimulate my brain
Before I go insane
See?
I've already lost their attention
I'm so done with this dimension.
Doesn't anyone have profound thoughts anymore?!? Where are you people?!? Please come find me.
Omnis Atrum Aug 2012
Many artists create for approval, to translate the beauty they find in the world so that others can feel what they feel (which is second hand at best), or to try to better understand the world that they are in and communicate their findings with the rest of the world. I would stand here today and say that is all meaningless to me. If one cannot find their own truths, then they do not deserve the truths that they find. Everyone can see 'the beauty of the world' that surrounds them, and far too many people try to turn their senses into tangible words on a page. What difference does it make, better yet, what difference should it make to a person if others view the world in the same light that they do? It is for this purpose that I do not view the world in any light. When I create I view the world without light. Feeling my way through the darkness trying to find something that I can hold on to. I am a horrible and pitiful creature when I search for ideas, but when I can wrap my hands around these ideas with no light shed from an outside source there is no greater sense of accomplishment. I write not about the beauty of the world, not about fantastic imageries that could be on an inspirational poster, nothing of the heavens and angels, because when I write my demons take over. Every doubt that sits in the back of my mind unanswered. Every amount of corruption that I have seen in the world. Every hope that has been shot down to crash as a fallen spaceship. Every desire that I will never see fulfilled. These are the things that give me the passion and inspiration to create. Perhaps it is for the balance of the world that I write with such things in mind. As I watch so many writers fail to create what it is that they pictured in their creative vision simply because their minds are cluttered with preconceived notions of love, of good, and of this great being that will provide them with their every desire (deliverable on death, as I have been told); I know that most will surely continue to fail. The world does not have a perfect clockwork structure that they would have everyone else see. I hope that in controlling my demons I will be able to create something that is more authentic. More pure.

Art is struggle.
Creations are covered with our sacrifices.
Without the grotesque, beauty cannot truly be seen.
Without darkness, we cannot understand light.
My cup runneth over.

Seven great inspirations
I remember being young and thinking that there was no greater goal to seek than the goal of love. I had told myself countless times that my greatest goal in life was to find someone and make them the happiest person in the world. I know now that the naivety of that statement is enough to make even the most romantic shake their heads. It was from this naivety and hope that a young man fell in love. As all things that are destined to horribly fail, it failed horribly. The joy in this young man's eyes dissipated and he was left horribly confused. How could my greatest inspiration and the goals that I had set for myself fall apart so swiftly? It was around this time that I slowly started seeing the world for what it truly was. There was great sorrow in this time, but it was a time of more beauty than I had ever known. Years that I thought were wasted were resurrected as emotions and perceptions that slowly found their way from my hand to paper. I learned from a very young age that it was proper to hide emotion, and so many of these creations were destroyed after I had pushed them from my mind. It was not until I let a few close friends read some of what I had written that I realized the value that words held. I used these words to bring happiness to others and evoke emotion where there was none before. All of the ideals and emotions that I held in high regard for so long slowly withered away. It was in this time that I slowly learned that because there was so much good that came from something so devastating, that those things I once thought were so evil may have something good to be found in them. There were great inspirations to be found in those things I had once discarded as sinful and without worth. I found beauty and inspiration in what most would call corruption and imperfect. These things, which were taught to me as sins, gave me more inspiration than any rules or restriction would ever be able to. For the first time in my life I actually felt free. It was with this newfound freedom that I was finally able to express what I truly felt without fear of guilt or punishment. My outward appearance stayed approximately the same (as I was taught that appearances were always important and some habits were hard to break), but I realized that I was a completely different person. It is these differentiations from what I considered to be the norm that allowed me to grow as a person instead of as a machine that was built by those around me. It is this facade of normality that I will forever wear as a defense mechanism to keep those as closed minded as I once was from prying. It is the sins that I once fought so hard against that would help me realize the person that I truly was. This is not merely a documentation of the things that inspire me, this is a tribute to the realizations that allowed me to grow as a person. A great deal of my writing tends to come out as metaphors, but in what will follow I will do my best to write clearly and without riddles. These are the thoughts that bring my creations to life. This is the fuel that drives a man down a road comfortably, no longer worried about speed limits or street signs. Now I will explain how these seven deadly sins breathed life into an otherwise lonely and discarded man.

Pride
Are we all not more important than everyone else in our own universe? Is there some secret kept within the recesses of our mind that perverts this self preservation into something that is frowned upon? Are we not supposed to be proud of our accomplishments? Where are the lines between what is appropriate and a horrid vanity drawn? Would we not become Lucifer if the feeble minds trapped in these mortal shells were placed in a shell more beautiful and eternal than anything we have ever seen? Are we so quick to judge those guilty of our same crimes? Tell me that if you were given the chance you would not change places with a god, and I will never believe another word that pushes its way past your lips. We are wired to attempt to gain higher standing wherever we are. When I have created something that I believe holds truth I am proud, and I am proud that I am proud. If it were not for pride where would that sense of accomplishment come from? Should I allow my pride to turn to shame, and **** a driving force to create something even better next time? I think not. In the universe of our art, we are the gods. We manipulate every word, every pixel, every stroke of the brush. We have ultimate control of the characters, the situations, the emotions, the outcomes, and do not have to provide an explanation to anyone unless we decide to. When we are done with our creations we stand back and say that they are good. A faulty attempt to turn the artist into a god, but the intentions are thinly veiled. To create and to have others look upon your creation with wonder and awe, is that not the intentions of almost all artists? What purpose does this serve other than the creation of pride? I would say that there are none. My writing is the universe where I am god, and there are none other as powerful or that have as much say as I do.

Sloth
Call me cynical for not seeing the absolute beauty of the world around me. Sloth, the great sin of sadness and despair. I look at the world and am dissatisfied with what I see. I have always been fond of Poe, because he wrote about this more than anything else. Why should I be any different than this? The only love I have ever known was ripped from my hands, and I was left with nothing but a feeling of wanting. I watch people walk by with their masks of happiness and content, and when the day is done I see these same people left shaking and world weary. How much rain should fall from my eyes before they become as black as the clouds they do their best impressions of? With every attempt to better the world thwarted on each turn, it seems as if things are not going to change. The problem with writing on the subject of sorrow is that many view it as unhealthy or look down upon it. It is only after putting words to the things that bother me that I have control over them, and can manipulate them as I wish. Sorrow and pain are less of a threat when they can be controlled. Where is it that this sorrow and despair comes from? Perhaps I read too many fairy tales as a child. Perhaps I have yet to get to the end of the story of life where the moral will be revealed to me. Perhaps it is this surreal world that I could never persuade myself to live in. A world where I am to put on a mask of happiness and pretend that everything is going just the way that it should. A world full of everything that I could ever desire. It is because I cannot alter my senses that give my perception of the world that this demon resides within me. My writing is the realization that the world is not what I was led to believe it to be. My creations are the sorrow and despair of living in an imperfect world, and wishing that it was perfect.

Gluttony
Do not overindulge in anything, not even those things which bring pleasure and have no consequence. I think this is a flawed statement at best. In my writing I discuss extraordinary circumstances or situations that I have been involved in. Many of these situations happened only in my own mind, but a number of them occurred when I overindulged in certain things and saw the world in a completely different perspective. If we all lived in perfect moderation, would the world not be boring and uninspiring? I choose to do those things that bring pleasure, and if I do them too often then the result is simply more pleasure. Gluttony is the cause of many interesting nights that allowed me to step outside of my protective shell and experience things that I would have never experienced otherwise. How could I not pay homage to such a thing? How could I desire to cease doing something that only opened my eyes? Gluttons will be looked down upon and called drunkards and addicts, but I have never met a being that has not committed gluttony at one point or another. I was once told to overindulge in moderation. Where does the line between an altered state of mind that we can learn from and a sin stand? In my creations there is no line, because there is no sin. My writings are guilt-free and full of overindulgence of thought. My words are my minds altered vision grasping for truth.

Wrath
These **** words will not flow from my mind, through my hand, and onto this god forsaken medium. What is it that I need to do to express my emotions so that others can understand them? If my words are too abstract it is only because of the thoughts and emotions that they follow. If people cannot follow my metaphors and hidden meanings then it is of no concern to me. The fact that they will not try to stimulate their intellectual ***** in order to understand something more complex than they are used to drives me insane. My pulse quickens with each thought of the issue. It is impossible that I left my metaphors too veiled or did not give enough surrounding exposition. These creations make perfect sense. Then I step back and look at the gibberish that I have created and hurl it across the room as harshly as possible. The thoughts and ideas are all here, it all makes sense in my mind, so WHY WILL THE WORDS NOT COME OUT RIGHT? The inability to explain senses or perceptions in a concrete manner that the audience will understand creates more anger in me than I will ever understand. An anger that refuses to subside. With a clenched fist the pens and pencils are broken, the keyboard is shattered, and the words are broken down into the letters that sit in a pile on my floor. My creations inspire nothing more than they inspire my hatred for ignorance. My creations are an angry conglomeration of letters wishing that they could show the emotions that inspired them. My words are children beaten for insubordination.

Greed
Greed is the greatest inspiration that most will ever know. To bathe in golden bullion and never have another care in the world. Greed not for the sake of greed, but for the sake of freedom. I am inspired by greed of a different sort. The desire to gather every idea that I can find and horde it as my own. The greed of knowledge and experience. When I was younger it was interesting to be the most mature person my age, and now that I am older it is not knowledge that is sought, but wisdom. I horde this knowledge and wisdom in my own personal compressor and squeeze them until they are in the purest possible form. It is this ink that I dip my quill into hoping that my faulty hands can transfer such a perfect concoction onto the parchment without ruining it. Without poking a hole through the parchment. Without deciding after I am finished that the words do not hold the meaning that they carry, and having to destroy everything and start over. I would gladly give all the wealth that I have to be able to sate my greed for the expression of perceptions and knowledge. These are the pains that I have endured, and they are mine and mine alone to claim. There is no greater value on this Earth in my eyes. People can have their tubs of golden bullion, and I will help them with generous contributions when able, but if they ever decide they want my words there will be war. A war of greed. A war of necessity. My creations are my glorious mansion that holds the treasures of experience and knowledge. My words are the golden bullion that so many men have fought and died for, and I will horde them until some greater force can pry them from the hands that created them.

Lust
Love is an illusion that was created for your confusion. Those that speak of love are disillusioned into believing in some extrasensory emotion that they allow to consume them. Love is the most abstract emotion or idea that anyone could ever base a creation on. I tire of reading of love at first sight, love found upon a spring morning, or love that has been discarded. These things are boring, and as long as people persist in writing on these things I will always have kindling for my fires. Tell me about something that I know. Lust is the most pure form of the idea of love that is kept in circulation for no apparent purpose, besides creating sorrow for those that cannot find something so perfect as it has been described. Lust does not mislead and has no ulterior motives. The warmth of another being pressed tightly against you in a shared ecstasy. That is all. There are no complications, there is no confusion, there are no forced rituals that you have to fake your way through to get to another goal. Has the world become so confused that it forgets its instincts. They tell me that lust is a sin, but I know very well that it has created more pleasure than any restriction I will ever be given. I have heard many times to wait for love and it will come in time, but never have I heard anyone told to wait for lust. There is something unexplainable about finding oneself in a passionate situation that they had never even thought about before the moment that it happened. It is the same way with my writing. My writing is the beautiful girl whose name I do not know, as she is leading me across the house to a more secluded place.

Envy
I was taught never to keep up with the Joneses, and I will never attempt to. I had planned to accomplish such great deeds that the Joneses would be found as a wreck of green helplessness. In my great plan I had no intention of ever envying another person. It was not until I fell in love with words that my great plan fell apart. It was these words that would be my downfall. Writers, publishers, artists, and editors all held titles that I wanted for my own. Those that were far more lucky whose works were published. We use the same letters and words, but I could never convince people to see the appeal in truth. It was when I realized this fact that I became envious. I was not envious of the titles, or of the money
Jorge Guerrero Nov 2012
Of all the things upon this earth, there is only one that can stimulate all five senses of a man at once. A man may find individual substitutes for these pleasures, but none compare to that of what a woman can do. Her fragrance can stir your senses from a distance, and she enters your mind, simply her scent, can be as sweet as any other this earth can conjure. When you first met her image; your heart may skip a beat. With your eyes you caress every curve of her body as you crave her touch. And as the tips of her fingers stroke the surface of your skin, your urges increase. Your outer surface bumps as her grip increases; and the heat rises as you reach with your lips to take the first taste of her body. Then when you reach it, it comes with a flavor so sweet that no other fruit may compare. When your tongues meet within the twisted tangle of lust the feeling and flavor are to be savored. The moans as you each attempt to occupy the same space, will raise your pulse, and drive you to be closer. For her words and her sounds of enjoyment would fall upon your ears more gracefully than and melody composed by man. And as you lay there with the passion still fresh in your mind you may realize that of all things upon this earth… Only a woman can stimulate all five senses at once, and she may continue to while you simply lay there with her in your arms.
Tim Eichhorn Aug 2014
My seed, my seed, why do I despise thee?
Never, have I been respected for my
Generous gifts given in between thighs.
One mischievous night that I could not flee
And now I’m bound to you through my money.
I did not want you; now you’re always nigh
You somehow stimulate every sigh
Laud’num doesn’t dull your presence, my seed.

Sometimes, I think – but no – my mind’s tangled.
Red *** riddles reveal… nothing. I find
These psychotropic fantasies have slid
Beyond me and you, I could not wrangle.
Years will pass ‘til we meet, but the check’s signed
Because *******, my seed, you’re my kid.
Sam Temple Oct 2014
multimedia macramé
sloshing propaganda sewage
on the unsuspecting public
***** lice infest ****** hill folk
west Virginia outbreak threatening the world
as we know it
flesh altering nonsense explicitly graphed
charting movement of microbes
on air, land, and/ or sea
global currents the new deliverer of death –
infected immigrants sit smiling
internment camps providing nutrition
never before experienced
as non-natives negotiate freedom
by submitting to vaccinations baths
and the standard delousing powder –
paranoid hand-sanitizer users
glued to the **** tube
spray their shoes with disinfectant
praying to an absent GOD for health
while shoveling GMO corn chips into ever widening
mouth holes
pharmaceutical companies lick lifeless lips
as Congress recognizes their humanity
while rejecting the concerns of the poor
…..no money in it –
outlandish claims of outbreaking Ebola
flood the mainstream outlets
fear: version – infinity
one more plague plan to stimulate new legislation
more law
no touching
even looking at the infirm can be cause for isolation
radiation treatments
courtesy of Fukushima, reactors 1-4 –
new found focus on fracturing the shale
releasing new oil reserves
and old bacteria
dinosaur killers
free-radicals
radically changing the genetic code
humanity altered
once again –
Sensations revolve around me
All are causing me to react
Some are foreign, some friendly
One is too familiar for any tact

As this world of many feelings
Revolves steadily about my head
One is perpetually bombarding
It's those simple words you once said

You remember those fateful words
That generate nothing but sorrow
I can hear them echoing now
As if you uttered them not so long ago

But it wasn't that long for me
For I never will move on from this
I'm trapped in that broken moment
My mind forever set amiss

So I will sit in a mournful world
Reliving those words that undo
That forever ring in my mind's ear
"I just don't think I can trust you..."
Brent Kincaid Jul 2018
Looking up, seeing you again
It makes me feel so tired.
Here you are to ruin another day
How can I ever be inspired?
Now every time I see you makes me wish I was blind.
Because you stimulate no peace of mind.

You make me feel
You make me feel
You make me feel
Like a ****** old woman!

Years ago, you and I ran aground
Wiping out on love's breakers
I tried to fix things, tried to wake you up
But all pleas fell on deaf ears.
Sometimes a couple can turn into a joke
Impossible to fix something so badly broke.

You make me feel
You make me feel
You make me feel
Like a ****** old woman!
(With apologies to Carole King, Gerry Gofflin and Aretha Franklin)
Jessica Pompei Aug 2015
stuck pig
injecting
in a tiny house
on a green island
raining
a jungle of
cable
internet a
septic
tank
I run a
maze
grow bananas
wait for delivery
departure
line up
for my plastic
sippy cup
eat
pancakes
stack
Bromantane
for breakfast
nootropics
family
replacement
new tropical
smoothie
maker
prime member
of the Amazon
got to stimulate
my work in the garden
see that
water feature
it’s a duck pond
no it’s
an empty kiddy pool
but on a tree
I’m over it
an antler bromeliad
hunting trophy
a certification
of my triumph
the plot
next to it
my head
in the mail
a miniature guillotine
to repatriate
my body
and tail
still moving
Arisa Aug 2019
free spirit bound tightly.

the equivalent
of keeping a wild tiger
as a house kitty.

you may gag my mouth
you may bind my wrists
you may stimulate
you may penetrate

you may humiliate

but though i am your slave
I am still my own master.
Damion Hamilton Jan 2016
So many cool things to do

so many fun, and interesting things to do

so many intoxicating things to stimulate the senses

which, are always on march and parade

DOPAMINE

I stay chasing the next exciting thing

the spectacle, the stimulation, music, promise

but mostly I work my life away

and then I drink, after

Then the internet stimulates me:  Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, Instagram

Goodreads, Reddit

the next fix,

always the next fix

not where I want to be

you can only be in one place

I think my mind wants to be, in all places at once

then, you get bored

******* bored

that's there again

Then minutes, moments, seconds move fast

out of your life

Alan Watts said, "thoughts are addictive," I know what he means

he's not speaking in riddles

A lot of times, it's just best not to think

Somewhere in complete isolation

with no one talking to you, or speaking to you

eventually the voices and thoughts go away

and you can cleanse yourself

Hopefully
CharlesC Mar 2013
Over the centuries
a transforming logo
promoting and shaping
our dance with coffee..
a seafaring birth
fifteenth century siren
exposed and sensuous
twin-tailed mermaid..
her seductive history
reached to Seattle
with nautical theme..
one lasting effect
many centuries told
with modified modesty
her crown remains..
this enduring connection
upper and lower
crown and creation
transcends the coffee..
the logo reminds us:
senses through time
stimulate and attract
crowned light above...
Ilunga Mutombo Aug 2018
Anxiety Pills popped
skin temp dropped
Depression sky rocks  
Mind feels numb
Mellow from popping pills I shouldn’t swallow
One pill, two pills, three pills, this is how love kills, chasing cheap thrills, to end up on reels
Pride suffercated, ego tested
Limits ignored
Emotions battle back
as I stimulate myself with techniques my counselor taught me, they don’t seem to help
as my heart still feels empty, this pain truly has taken the best of me, and introduced me to my inner enemy “me”
Breath in and breath out
Deep inside the demons want a chance to shout
Wrist full of memories
Blood loss reminding me of near tradgeties
Anxiety kisses my neck while depression traces its ***** hands all over me
This is a ******* I hoped to not be in
In the end I *** pure emotions
Give it your own means. Three stories combined in one poetry piece.
Jonny Angel Jan 2014
I want to
swallow your organism,
taste your bacteria,
swim in your virus,
catch your disease
& become viral.

I am consumed
by your fever.

Stimulate me
with ****-symptoms,
split me
in you petri dish,
mutilate me,
break my cells
into smaller molecules,
help me to succumb.

Take me over the top,
bring me to
ferocious-******,
one without a cure,
leave me
forever wishing
for no antidote.
TheRisingStar Oct 2014
I notice the tiny pulse of frustration in the back of his neck
I notice the way that he sighs and slumps over
I notice how his elbows splay out so his face bobs lightly over his desk
A buoy dancing over a wave
I notice the way he glances at his friends before he answers
I notice the way he shapes his mouth into a grin before he speaks
I notice how his eyes squint a little when he laughs
I notice how they dull when he doesn’t want to listen
I notice how his shoulders hunch when refuses to hear
I notice the boredom in the lines of his back as he considers
I notice the way his leg jiggles as he bounces his foot lightly
The ever-present dichotomy of professionalism fighting immaturity
Of a thirst to learn, fighting against ignorance, justice calling
I notice this inner battle of boyish nonchalance and masculine defensiveness
I notice how his eyes dart lightly over his chosen comrades before he writes again
I notice the way he presses his forehead into his hand
As though he could pull ideas out
And read his thoughts printed back on his palm
I notice the consistent rubbing against his face with his fingers
Phalanges to stimulate the thought process
I notice the hesitation before his pen scratches the page
Piercing the paper with words he must call his own
I notice the claim of responsibility and the toll it takes on his physique
I notice the fatigue of struggling to create
To feel, to create, to feel, to feel
I notice, throughout all the time I’ve been noticing him
He has not noticed me once
Response: On Cremation of Chogyam Trungpa, Vidyadhara. Allen Ginsberg.
13 Apr 2014
There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst *******!
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ****’s too tight
****… reason!
INVEST!

Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******* with teeth make ******* meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed jail-bait that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in *******
cuckolds worth….
IMPROVE!

Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
ITERATE!
Posted on October 19, 2013
Irate Watcher Nov 2014
Ari,
Hold my hand like stars hold the sky,
Ari,
you make black space bright.
Ari,
Don't let go
Please.
Cause your valleys fill my ridges,
and as our fingerprints sync
we lie together alone.
So please,
don't let me go,
don't let the unknown go,
because five minutes ago,
we were strangers,
and now...
we are holding hands.
I can't believe we are just holding hands,
again,
eyes closed,
strokes stimulate electrodes,
heads who just want
hands to be hands,
rush with finger's innuendo
to images of stripping off clothes.
But it's not the right time.
Shoulders shrug goodbye.

And it's a bright day outside.
A stranger held my hand this morning for 7 minutes.
883

The Poets light but Lamps—
Themselves—go out—
The Wicks they stimulate—
If vital Light

Inhere as do the Suns—
Each Age a Lens
Disseminating their
Circumference—
Vespa Woman Mar 2020
Stimulate me.
The serotonin pops like bubbles in my head.
Instagram, Snapchat, Tumblr.
I 'M in need of more happy chemicals
To bring me higher than my follow count.
I can't live happy with just one
L O N E L Y like
So please stimulate me. I need more attention in my life.
Okie lil update, so life officially *****. I'm extremely isolated due to quarantine. And don't have the motivation to get out of bed or eat so I think I'm just really depressed? Coronaviris is high key killing my throat rn and I'm really really tired of having no friends, geuss being a terrible person who distances herself from all of her friends every time they get too close to her kinda has its downsides, huh.
JR Potts Dec 2014
I hate the way you hold cigarettes
and how you never drunk text me
at 3am. I want to be the person you
think of when a sloppy drunkard
is kissing you at a bar. His breath
rank with stale stogies, light beer,
and cheap whiskey. He uses way too
much tongue and swears his ****
won’t fit in a ******. He couldn’t
spell ******* and even if he uses
his fingers, it’s not enough to make you
***. I hate bad lovers and that’s all
I imagine you with. Dudes who say
“wanna play just the tip?” and other
lame *** **** because nobody ever
told them “ladies first” and you have
to stimulate the ****.
Gavin Paul Boehm Jul 2013
Snap, crackle and pop go the synapses in my brain
Snap, crackle, pop
Snap, crackle, pop
Snap... fizzle, fizzle
****... that information's stuck in my frontal lobe again
With no dopamine to stimulate the bridge to my hippocampus.
And so, long term memory eludes me once again
Always burning on my fingertips
But never within my grasp
Floating away like dandelion seeds in the wind
Leaving me with an ugly, empty stem of information without meaning.
Determination means nothing
No will power will help me
Thoughts of mind over matter won't matter
When my mind fights off its own process of learning
By never allowing a still moment
My foot tapping, fingers drumming
Eyes snapping to their peripherals
Searching for movement that isn't there
Ears hearing sounds without decibels
Constantly keeping my attention divide
United in a cacophony of sights and sounds
So vibrant that I can't help but leave my task at hand
To follow the Pied Piper in my mind.
It's childhood exuberance
Turned into adolescent antics
And adulthood issues.
My loose lips will sink ships
When my mouth trips over every word and thought
A sturdy hull cannot be bought
When holes rot whether I like it or not
Efforts go for naught
When I can't tie a knot
Around my thoughts to keep my mind anchored.
When the flutter of a butterfly
Steals my eye for the umpteenth time
I could cry tears of joy and sadness
For the beauty and the madness of distractions
Reactions to each refraction of light
Fracture my productivity
Producing a hollow shell of what could be
If only this dopamine would not evade me.
I feel like I'm crazy
Lazy because my memories are hazy
My words escape me
Fading from my tongue like camera flashes
My thought process dashes from crash to crash
Trying to bridge the gaps between my synapses.
My shoulders are nearly collapsing under the weight
From the dead space hidden behind my oft red face
Embarrassed that I can't sit in place
Long enough to have the outlines of my memories traced
My poems can't keep pace
With the rate at which my pages are erased
So I must gauge my progress with a broken meter and cracked mirrors.
Crooked fears look at me while lurking in the sides of my eyesight
Spying on me and reminding me
Why I'm afraid to let these letters see the light of day in the first place.
I could do better
If this pressure would just stop thumping
With each and every word I say.
The cadence is clumsy
And the syntax, sloppy
But even adderall can't stop these thoughts from adding up and coming to solutions
Crudely hummed out of tune
And to the off beat of a thousand drunken drums.
The blunts can keep it quiet
But they have little tact
And can't keep the foundations of my thoughts in tact
Attacks are made at my hippocampus
Each time a new rhyme finds its way into articulation
My hands thirst for the corruption
Of a clean white page
But there's a knock at the door
And my concentration erupts
Forgetting the verbal seduction that was rushing through my head
Instead, letting the lines that could change her mind
Tango off into oblivion
Entwined with potential that I'm too blind to harness.
Maybe I'm just wasting time
Waiting to be part of the harvest
But, honestly... I would never part with this mind
Even with all those parts missing.
Still, I find myself wishing that it didn't have to be this way
I shouldn't have to struggle to remember my Mimi's voice each day.
I don't really know what else to say
Except that I hope beyond hope...
That... uh... ****.
Snap, crackle, fizzle.
There is something in the way you taste.
Your milk-white temptation surrounds you
Like midnight darkness within the fields of peace.
I only have a craving to devour you.
The need for you to become potent inside of me
Gives me hope for another day.
A second chance-
A privilege you will never have the authority to stimulate.
It is just something in the way you taste…
© Christopher Rossi, 2007
Frank Ruland Dec 2014
.     Hello, friend. I come before you to speak about a very serious matter. The matter concerning the near extinction of Trolls. Trolls, also known by their scientific name, Onlineous Egotistical Scumabageous, are a close relative of the Bully (Doucheyus  Pieceashitish Moronus). Both misunderstood creatures, truly to be pitied, the Troll however is becoming a dying breed in recent years.
     Yes, as sad as it may sound, Trolls are dying. Slowly, people online have been giving them less and less attention. Trolls, unlike other parasites, do not require food or water to survive. Instead, they require people to exchange banter back and forth with them, and must be able to put people down in order to sustain their ego, which in turn enables them to thrive. This defacement of other people is what sustains them. However, people are growing less and less susceptible to Trolls unwarranted attacks, and as a result, they are slowly vanishing from even the farthest depths of the Internet.
     On top of depending upon these attacks to nourish them, Trolls also require this constant attention to breed. It is with this diarrhea of their mouth, spite, and contempt towards others that allows the Troll to reproduce. Being incapable of sexually reproducing, it is this cycle of antagonism that allows the Troll to spread their hateful ways, infect, and pass on their disease, which slowly corrupts the DNA of the host, and turns them into a Troll.
     But, just how can you spot a Troll? That is an excellent question, friend. Please, defer to the guidelines below to see if you have a Troll in your midst.

1) If whenever you post something, and someone you've never even heard of on HP posts a rude, spiteful, demeaning, hateful, harmful, or otherwise ******* response, you may have a Troll. These remarks are actually the mating call of the Troll, and they depend on them to attract the attention of other Trolls. Together, Trolls have a better chance of infecting others and creating more Trolls.

2) If you notice that someone who posts hateful comments has another account that also does the same thing, they are more than likely a Troll. Trolls depend on multiple personas online, because in real life they may feel inadequate with who they really are. With this, they hope to create a persona where they feel powerful, and where they may leave their nasty remarks without the fear of being reprimanded. In real life, they are not able to do so, as they would more than likely have their ego ***** slapped out of them.

3) As well, Trolls have a tendency to not be able to recognize their actions as  "wrong," "inappropriate," or "*******." From their convoluted nature has spawned an ego so immense, that its size is only rivaled by the size of Siberia. Their ego, of course, being the less stable environment capable of being made habitable, save for the lifeforms that have no need to eat or drink... such as the Troll or Bully.

     Now that you are capable of picking Trolls out of the crowd, it is time we move on to the methods of how to nurture and sustain the fragile Troll.

1) It is important that you humor the Troll through debate, if you should be so unlucky as to be attacked by one. If they call your work "weak," or "petty," it is recommended that you engage them in debate. Without debate, they must soon retreat off to a more vulnerable target. Without this attention, the Trolls shall begin to shrivel away before long and must retreat back to the safety of Justin Bieber's ****, where they may once more wallow in excrement that resembles their actual life.

2) For less than the time that it takes to submit a poem of your own, it is recommended that you find a Troll and instead use the time to repost, add their work to a collection, and comment. Commenting is the most crucial. Compare them to Shakespeare, Poe, or Frost, no matter how atrocious their work is. This hype is critical to keeping their ego stable. Without it, the Troll grows uneasy and must resort to attacking others for attention.

3) If you are absolutely incapable of complimenting a Troll, please consider at least liking their works. Like pennies a day for abused dogs, just a few likes may be enough from keeping the Troll's ego from dying. When they see likes, their ego uses the visual image to stimulate various glands in their body, which produces endorphin. Similar to a high, these endorphins give the Troll disillusions of grandeur, superiority, and false confidence.

     Please, friend. The Troll is a dying breed, Take pity on them. Without you to humor them, they will soon go extinct.
Another Public Service Announcement! I hope you guys enjoyed it, This was inspired by so many of the awesome Trolls on HP, that have for one reason or another, grown increasingly active once more. Thanks fr your guys support of the PSA series!
Infamous one Feb 2013
Hard to sleep too much on my mind
The rage makes me go blind
Stare at the wall left alone
This place not my own
Hate what I know secrets meant to be know
Not into the tone Leave me alone
Music speaks to the heart
Tv entertains my mind
Reading brightens my days
My soul sings the blues
Passionate humor
Leave the world escape the rumours
Jess Sandler Jan 2013
Click…
Click…
CLICK…
Earsplitting silence surrounds me
As I waste time envisioning a new setting,
Where my paper, pen, mug, and coffee are still there,
But the paper is bursting with passion,
And the magic of espresso beans enable the pen to float along my rapid thoughts.
Right now it is used to stimulate the monotony.
Unfortunately,
Money cannot be bled from words on paper and,
Beers are not bought with dedications in hard cover.
Click…
Click…
CLICK…
Yogurt wrappers opening, spoons being slurped.
***** expanding atop their encompassing chairs.
These are the thoughts that fill my head,
As co-workers plan the next birthday party,
The next lunch, client dinner, and snack.
It seems that bars do not enclose me at my desk,
There is no guard at the door and,
Above me the exit sign gives warmth.
Click….
Click…
CLICK…
Not today, today is not a good day.
There are presentations, Power Points, data to analyze.
Analyze feels like a ***** word in my world,
It covers my neurons and destroys imagination,
Synopsis seize to fire.
It seeps into my blood until I become a replica,
But it is the word that takes my balance off negative,
And applies charming labels to my purse,
I wonder if this is how it starts out for everyone,
Humans are adjustable, no batteries allowed.
Click…
Click…
CLICK.
Westbow Sep 2012
More more
Tactless, mind of brute
I wish I could call myself
Separate from this

Still, I run and run
Faster than my wisdom
Stimulate
Stimulate

Is there some elegant closing
To this wild expression?
Not quite
More salt instead

I fall asleep
With a numbness
I wish I hadn't
Welcomed in
jeffrey robin Apr 2015
(  )                                                                                          


(                                
                      )      
(                  
)
\/
/\
/    \


++

the whole earth ( or more )

From the tiniest creatures in the sea

The sea itself !

The air !

and ALL MANKIND

are being ruthlessly destroyed

Before our very eyes !

//

We foolishly ( and vainly ) blame

Things like

GREED

LACK OF EDUCATION

OVER - POPULATION

etc

But we intuitively know that this is not so

We intuitively sense that this

UTTER DESTRUCTION

is a planned and purposeful event

Being consciously perpetuated by some power

That we cannot identify

But we know that it is too systemic

that it is not mere random events congealing

To be seen as something of human mis - management

••

Just look what has become of HUMAN SEXUALITY

Turned into a recreational activity !

A game of ADDICTIVE NUMBNESS vs . HEART ACHE !

the reproductive

Survival of the species

Aspect ?

GONE !

//

We are no longer even TRYING to survive !!

••

We worship CELEBRITY !

we have CELEBRITY SAINTS

and a  CELEBRITY GOD !

//

We are gathered here in solemn commitment

To each other and our dying world

WE ARE THE POETS

we come to stimulate our souls

We come to stimulate bold words !

we come as a healing power

To renew the real meaning of words !

( words such as LOVE )

we are here to DIE !

to die in sacrifice for TOMORROW

and it's PURE PURPOSE AND MEANING

//

We are

THE LAST OF THE HUMANS

the final drops

In the broken wine bottle

Falling so seductively

Onto the old apartment floor

""


We are as the healing Waters

We give ourselves

So that the world

Might drink

//

We give ourselves to GAIA

we give ourselves to LIFE
Poetic Artiste Aug 2014
Lustfully creating chemistry in the bedroom,
Day dreams to wet dreams,
May I play out my sinful thoughts on you?

Your body—my favorite leisure.
Cravings unbearable,
The flavor of your lips forever engraved in my memory.

Will the next be better than the first?
Again a chance to savor your sweetness,
—To hear your moans escape.

Your body against my body, rhythmically our hips gyrates.
Desire for your passion—longing for your embrace.
The ******* of my neck—bites I cannot take.

Excitement, I cringe at the presence of you.
Fingers tactically stroking—smear my wetness.
Low gasps when you penetrate.

****** after ******, now allow me to stimulate.
Exposing all of my weaknesses,
I want you—intimately; the best way.

— The End —