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Johnnie Woods Jul 2018
Writing a poem.

There are lots of things that contribute to the outcome, the poem.
-Certain words hold a hard to describe sensation to them, they're made to evoke some feelings and also give a sense of unique kind of rhythm. Had the writer used a synonym, it wouldn't have the same impact on the reader. He's like mysterious chemist adding proper ingredients to his mixture to make it work perfectly.
-The way a writer constructs the poem leads to rhythm as well, how he decides to start a new verse that divides a sentence, the way he locates words - or even blank spaces - on the surface of sheet - the field of his performance - it all contributes to the creation of imagery. Therefore, we can see that creating a poem isn't just writing words. It's how you put them together, too. A poem that's being created, sometimes slightly wanders away from the realm of plain writing - and goes beyond.
acacia Jul 28
You live in a died of obscurities where you have field beneath the strangeness of your morality, yet, still seems to encumber the idea of factual (fractioned) evidence behind blatant vaunting of amour propre that only comes off as discreet in your "jagged, skewed, and isolated" projected matrix when, in fact, it's the most squared and neatly folded linen-textiles. Facile you are. But to me, the angel, it's okay. The angel will consider perpetuating you, even if it is against morals. (Neither cruelty nor kindness will influence the transit of the angel's verdict.) And, perhaps, the delusion of godhead soothes you with an old tear-soaked pillow from many purple skies ago, for you are the only one to break the poison-green chains of your own mind. Self-reflection does not imbrue you (with no follies), for there is no self to reflect on due to—not constant hammerings of your ego—the lack of introspective ability to see your body as fuel to a fire. In conclusion of that one fracture alone shows the vast difference between the bedroom door (Uranus/Saturn) and the bathroom door (Mercury/Mars)—if one were to take it literally, anyway. Almost nothing can not never be a stretch (do I mean stench?) of you, since three negatives means it is a lie; and it is all revolving around the sun-lighted Twin, whilst the other Twin is never going below the twelfth house—forests this idea of shallowness and this idea to never drive to the next town. So, please, end this.
Luminaries; girlhood is a synonym of godhood, celestial, sanctitiy
Tori Schall Oct 31
synonymous to:

Synonymous to:
My life
My existence
My happiness

The Antonym to:
My brain
my love
my head

Something that I do not feel
Something that I don't remember the warmth of
Something I will never have
Ciel Dec 2018
Let me tell you a tale.

A tale passed down
From mother to son
Father to Daughter.
The tale of Chaos.

Chaos is the beginning and the end.
It was there before and it will be here after.
This is not a story about the Chaos you know,
Not the man-made synonym of mayhem.
This is a tale of Chaos in its purest form
It is everything and nothing at once
Both darkness and light
Pain and bliss
Sanity and madness
Past and future.
A senseless contradiction and the perfect combination.

This tale is one that we all seek,
For it is the answer to all our questions.
And once we finally rejoin the stars,
Greeting death with a smile,
We all become part of it.
So maybe you do not need me to tell the tale,
For you will soon be living it.
Steve Page Oct 10
I'm neither - not either!

"Not left, not right
Not black, not white

"Not red, not blue
Not the many, nor the few

"No, neither you
nor any other political tribe
will bribe my alliegence.
No one can expect
my adherence or compliant silence!

"I've no tribe but kin
and my kin can come in any skin
and will come and go again
this close to the rim.

"So, no -
I'll not promise to sing
from only one sheet of hymns.
I'll not sign up to this week's
with-the-tide swim.

"You can't assign me
based on a tick-box whim.
I'm no man's synonym.
I'm no easy pseudonym.

"My vote has never been
and never will be
ANYBODY'S easy win."

She stood at the door poised with her pen.
'Okaay... Is that an 'Undecided' then?'
Theres a lot of strong feelings out there.
F White Jul 4
I don't write them anymore
I say I've lost my words
But in truth, they never left
Bubbling under the surface of my lips
Like sweet blisters of hope, confusion and rancor
I am really [only] a living dictionary
My thoughts like a river
My mouth like a hose
But you always say stop.
So they just sit, drying up
While I breathe through my nose.
Copyright fhw 2019
Valentin May 25
When my hand is close to you
When my hand is touching you
When my hand is caressing you
When my hand makes you feel unique
When my hand is everything you need
When my hand is synonym of pleasure
When my hand just get started
When my hand is inside you
When my hand is all wet
When my hand moves like never before
When my hand brings you up to the sky
When my hand makes you forget about your worries
When my hand makes you understand that you are eternal
When my hand is telling you I love you
When my hand is witness of real love
When my hand is yours
Ciel Mar 12

Remember when we were just kids?
When we used to dance in the rain?
without a worry and careless?
We did not think about how sick we might get
or how bad we would look with our soaked clothes.
We did not even worry about the following minute.
We were not worried about people watching us,
Hell, we did not even understand the notion of judgement.
we just lived in the moment.

The feeling of the droplets of water on our little faces
as we looked up at the sky laughing and waving at the clouds.
The movement of the water in harmony with our feet
as we tried to see who could make the biggest splash.
The happiness those little moments brought us
was greater than any menacing consequence
or possible future problems.

Those were simpler times.
Happier ones.
Ones I wish I could relive.

They are the ones we spend our whole life chasing after
without truly ever reaching them
we think too much,
plan too much,
worry too much.
So much so that we sometimes forget to live.

If you can,
hold onto that innocence,
That fearlessness,
That carelessness,
That spontaneity,
for once you lose it,
once you conform to the absurd idea
of growing up being a synonym of worrying more,
you will have this hole in your spirit
this hole left by the lost of
a feeling we do eve have a name for.
Rich Hues Jun 7
"Alexa,  Talk dirt to me."

"Dirt:  Synonym - Soil.
Soils are chemically different from the rocks and minerals from which they are formed in that soils contain less of the water soluble weathering products,
and potassium,
and more of the relatively insoluble elements such as iron and aluminum."

She continued with the heavy elements,
But I really didn't care,
By the time she'd got to potassium,
I was pretty much already there.
Jeremy Betts Feb 2018
Hello old friend...
Across from me he sits, fixed, his cold gaze like a winters reflection
No sun, no motion, just done
I'm not even sure he's capable of emotion
And the real man inside, he's seen by no one
Except me, I see...
I see a semi good looking, moderately attractive man
Doing the best he can to get out of **** it and I don't give a **** land
Trying to hide the brand of a misfit that's been burnt into his hand
Before it gets out of hand
Not even sure if I can, I mean he can, I mean we can
Change the plan enough to rage the river and bust through the dam
The whole things a sham
The t-top trans am and all the glam
Just put into place to hide who I really am
I mean, who he really is, I mean who we really are
He's gone to far in the wrong direction, he's lost the farm
He didn't see the harm in projecting his charm
How could he have known that presenting a false hand would lead to the loss of an arm
Maybe he thought it a false alarm
Maybe he couldn't see the danger through the swarm
Or maybe, just maybe, it was to loud between his ears to hear, confused the warning siren for a victory horn
Now the fire inside is a flicker, the passion for life only luke warm
And he's worn a grove in the floor as he passes, fighting with the desire to have never been born
Feeling like a child from under the stairs or of the corn
Forced to adorn a smile he's worn just to hide the scorn
Being ****** by life to the brink of death, almost a ***** ****
Sworn in my the devil, when the sediment settles no one will mourn
His dreams ripped from his hands, left alone to weather the storm
Cold and frightened, not even a recognizable life form
Torn between being himself or having to conform
The norm unattainable like a hunt for a unicorn
So he gave up, and who could blame him
A Titanic adventure, sink or swim, the chance of survival slim
The future grim, on unlevel ground, in need of a shim
His life a synonym for the darkness within
Told over and over again that it's up to him
Up to him to make a better life but where to begin
His light goes dim as he recalls a hymn
That use to give him hope but now it's like a dead limb
Useless as a possums survival mechanism
He looks directly in my eyes while I listen
Almost begging for advise but there's non to be given
What would you say to me? I mean, what would you say to him?

Written by
Jeremy Betts
— The End —
liv faye clarke Sep 2018
asleep on the walnut sofa bed, my body sprawled over yours, clinging maternally. with your mouth slightly open and your eyelids cracked, your skin tight and your hair- still short, intwined with my fingers, you pull me towards you, still half asleep. your lips touch my forehead gently, my hand now resting on your neck and my thumb on your jaw, doused in the feeling of safety, as you lightly whisper good morning. of course i say it back and you kiss me so blissfully, and you feel like the relief of finally coming home. me, still in yesterday’s t-shirt of yours, now watches you hand roll us both a cigarette- your red nails going back and forth with the cigarette paper with ease. we go in to the back garden and sit opposite each other on the small glass table by the corner and we share a lighter again. again, i watch you inhale and exhale as we drink our tea as the rain begins to fall lightly. strangely, you finish your cigarette first, and begin clearing the table for me. im still overwhelmed by everything and all of my thoughts are in my tangled mind and the words i speak do not compare to the things i think, you are exceptional and any synonym of that word also, you are rare and you are beautiful and something that can not so simply be but into words. as you get up to go back into the house, leaving me to smoke your cigarette until the filter, you kiss me and tell me you love me. i- frozen at the thought of this and overwhelmed by this, my heart races and my mind panics and my mouth blurts out a empty-headed “What?”. you dismiss it as nothing and apologise for the accident, you didn’t mean it. my heart is singing for you. i am in love with you.
Wyatt Aug 2018
Sometimes I question
my circumstances,
why I’m always
the weakest link.
has always been
a synonym
to all I think.
What more
do I have to do
to convey
that I’m afraid?
I’m tapping scars,
thinking of all the stars
that burst in my brain.

Pacing back and forth,
constantly in a daze.
The edge of this cliff
must be miles wide,
because I’ve been
on it for many days.
Leaning forward,
I haven’t fallen yet.
Looking down into the void,
suddenly the fall isn’t so scary.
Put me out of my misery,
I see bliss in the kiss of death.

My life,
full of curses,
written in cursive.
I feel guilty,
awful, pitiful.
Life alone
should be enough
to be grateful for,
but they say a cup
with nothing in it
is always useless.
I’ve given up,
can’t act tough.
I’m hardly living,
a shell of what I was.
Death, swallow me up.
I’m sick of living in this.
By: Cedric McClester

The fast food was as cold,
As their host
Who was giving the Baylor girls team
A White House toast
Because of the winning record
They were able to boast
That automatically comes with
Winning the most

It was rare recognition for
A women’s basketball team
To be invited to the White House
Ya know what I mean?
But an inexpensive one
From all I can glean
Cuz how much is McDonald’s
In the larger scheme ?

They laughed to keep from crying
By the time they entered the Oval Office
They were dying
Their host had some awkward moments
Though he was trying
His best to entertain them
But they weren’t buying
The reality TV persona him

He really tried to display his charms
By mentioning their short sleeves
And the definition of their arms
Which coming from someone else
Would have set off alarms
But an awkward quip from him
Hardly ever harms
Just like its synonym

Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
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