What ail thee, pilgrim of the mall,
Silent grief of the fall,
Pushing beneath her branded mask
A chariot to manage her task?

A writ of habeas corpus on paper:
"'Garden rocket,' 'lamp,' and 'mirror,'
For your inward eye and the terror
Of the still blast of oldhood and time

That left you with no place but rhyme -
And the mall."
What ail thee, woman of language
And the fall?

© LazharBouazzi, 3 July, 2018
What ail thee, pilgrim of the mall,
Silent grief of the fall,
Pushing beneath her branded mask
A chariot to manage her task?

A writ of habeas corpus on paper:
"'Garden rocket,' 'lamp,' and 'mirror,'
For your inward eye and the terror
Of the still blast of oldhood and time

That left you with no place but rhyme -
And the mall."
What ail thee, woman of language
And the fall?

© LazharBouazzi
Jayesh 2d
I hear of your struggles
In every way
You tell me of them
Over and over and over
And I feel mixed

On one side honored
You trust me enough to tell me
But on the other side worried
For how this consumes you

I found you in the midst of Dark
Shining as the brightest Light
Undeterred by the greatest of evils
And I was forever in awe
As a moth to its light

But instead of finding my solace in your warmth
You dimmed
Once withstanding anything thrown at you,
But instead finding darkness to come
From a place least expected:
From those closest
And the Dark took you
Elated in its clever nature

Now you complain
Over matters you would have brushed aside

I can see this aura around you
While once filled with the greatest Light,
Now tinged with specks of black
And I can see it consuming you

Perhaps I was naïve
Searching for something different in our world
A source of Light
Rather than a consumer of it
I’m glad I was able to witness your brilliance
As it taught me many things

No matter how brilliant your light,
The greatest Light
Only shows in times of the greatest darkness
Beaming into the Dark
A hopeless task
Yet filled with the greatest Hope of all

The world set about
changing the 14th of July

into the 15th
of July

for no good reason but
time demanded it.

Time was indeed
a hard task master

and wouldn't take
NO for an answer.

complained the world.

"I'm doing it ...see!"
it sulked none too pleased.

The world had quite liked
being the 14th of July.

Was sad to see it

The world wouldn't have
minded if

it had stayed
the 14th of July for ever.

I was only one
of the events

that would comprise
the 15th of July.

It was 1956
and Doris Day was singing

"Ce sera...sera!"

And so it was
I became

Ty 2d
Two years ago, I saw a sentence disguised as opportunity.
At the time I was blinded, and had penchant to try something new to me.
At first it was a breath of fresh air, no cryptic message of despair.
Just stocking and blocking product, then you could just dip outta there.
But as time passed, I asked if this task is to be desired.
This dissatisfaction is gaining traction, a new distraction is required.
Superman doesnt fight the same villain every time.
So it's insane to slave in one occupation 'til you die
But if I'm stranded down that path, I might as well stash a handy pistol.
Would you rather pass away in your own hands or let a corporation get you?
I'm a stock boy in real life but I wanted to convey being disgruntled doing the same job everyday.
AS Jul 6
"Blaming a group of people for societies problems".

How can one religion or age or race or gender or sexuality be to blame?

Isn't it just an amalgamation of hate,
That society blurts out each day.

Putting blame on people who already suffer their own pains,
weakened minds from both sides.

One side from the family it came,
Next the society which judges them with overwhelming shame.

Screaming at them with curses,
Burning their surfaces.

Judgement in the way you speak,
Creates walls for them to come integrate and meet.

Spiralling their mental health passed the point of reasoning.

At this point they become led,
Hoping to find people who seem to accept.

These who cruise for the broken people, with nothing left and broken in way they've been oppressed.

To get them hooked on booze, drugs, easily indoctrinated as they have nothing else to lose.

Becoming primary to being used!

Remember they are humans too!

Remember not to spread your judgemental views, do not be the last straw of abuse.

The whispering, the pointing, the loud debates, the way some scums love to drive hate or bullying for these people for what they ain't.

This is a way to oppress, which I needed to get off my chest.

Before you pin blame,
Look at the part you and society plays.

As changing your actions can cause a string of change,
Why someone doesn't become deranged.

Give the oppressed an escape,
So one day it won't be too late.

As they will no longer be surround by confusion, anxiety and later hate.

Fated to escape the compounds they've attained.

Give them your hand,
Show them there is more to be seen.

Teach them there isn't a life,
that seem like there is no reprieve.

Don't break them,
By treating them as a disease.

Don't put them in this paradox,
Which seems no opportunities knock.

Do not ostracize,
Making them blind to all the beauty on the outside.

Give them hope,
That life is not an endless tight rope.

Do not let judgment's push them down a preordained slope.

Where they only see wrong,
As they've have had nowhere else to belong.

Remember to look at where you poke,
Making other groups the point of jokes.

You maybe a part of the sea,
drowning their sanity.

Give them the chance to believe,
Being born within a section means no hate or fated pain.

Don't push them in,
Oppressing them from a child.

It's not our choice,
To be the dominant voice.

Ripping their wings,
before the children have had the opportunity to sing or dream.

This is your task,
is to look at all the unneeded pain you cast.

To give these children a place to feel safe, accepted.

An opportunity to grow,
Without a mould already attached.

An endless world to dream,
Not to be squashed before they've had a chance to think.

© 2018
Abigail Sheard
There’s a wasp in the house
He snuck right on in
But I’m all alone
Wearing nothing but skin
Buzzing and humming
He moves lightning fast
He’s angry I’m sure
No need to ask
He needs to be caught
Or if not, then swatted
I wish I had foresight
Enough to have plotted
An action and course
For exactly this thing
But it did not occur
To me this morning
Now I know you might say
What about me
But you see that just simply
Won’t, and can’t be
For I’m hunkered On down
In the closet all snug
There is no way in hell
I’ll go near that damn bug
So here I will stay
With clothes all rolled up
Wedged in the crack
So the wasp can’t checkup
I gather reserves
Of brave that I’ve stashed
And face this mean wasp
No longer abashed
I gave him a stern talking
Told him what’s up
then demanded he crawl
In to my tea cup
Walked back to the door
And hear a loud “hey kid”
Then slowly it dawned
That I am still naked
I held my head high
As my skin flushed
A wasp in a teacup
A lady in the buff
I released him unharmed
Still on my task
Then turned right around
And smacked my own ass
To all of the neighbors
Staring at me
I ended with the most
Proper curtsy
AS 3d
Energy from within,
where do I begin.
Like my soul ringing,
echoing to climb.
My soul echoing in a rhyme,
to an inner chyme.
Screaming to go on an adventure,
a ride,
to play about with old essences it finds.
To play,
to rave,
to sway,
to trot,
to express it's lot.
Not afraid,
no longer letting myself play the maid.
Screaming out to have its say.
showing how far I have to go.
For this endless thirst from lifetimes of growth.
Not threaten by the strength it finds.
Knowing where to draw the lines,
by evils that lurk out in mankind.
Allowing my inners to shine,
blasting out to those who've lived throughout time.
creating bounds.
titillating those with pounding songs.
but remembering to be wise,
whilst working up appetites.
Being clever not to spur a rise,
even with releasing the moulds and the ego of other souls.
Giving the chosen,
the opportunity to expand and grow.
To a world of unknowns,
moving them to the front of the row.
The power inside restricted by early binds,
set back by the shackles of life.
Broken from the constraints of an adult from a child.
No longer dominanted,
suck dry of the overwhelming light.
After the fight of demanding what is right,
freedom giving this spirit flight.
Opening up the deeper sight,
to truly what lives inside of emotions, souls and minds.
Whilst remembering to be kind,
as every soul deserve to shine,
nurturing to express the inner might.
Helping others face the Black holes,
seeing past the lies masking to protect what has passed.
From the feeling,
a momentarily glance.
Unfastening each and every past.
Choosey with who begins this task.
As there is only so far
one can go,
before the inners overwhelm and explode.
Still curious to delve further into the unknown,
still having far to go,
not to meddle too far,
not to stretch,
to burden or to fetch.
To continue to learn,
to lesson from others turns.
No matter how it yearns,
the constraints of the mind will set it back every time.
Bounded by life,
to the body it calls it home.
Patience learned from each turn,
through time and every life.
Vibrating through the universe,
never on rewind.
Going forward each time,
less awkward as she tries.
Learning each life,
to override the strife.
Manifesting earlier and earlier each lifetime.
One day to break free,
by the body belonging to me.
To break from history,
through the barricades of time,
to transcend.
To no longer fend,
moving forward to the final end.
Nirvana calls,
a level,
a place of unknowns.
A place to grow,
to play,
to awaken,
to finally meet her goals.

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
honey, often i think of you
how special you are to me
lost within a single breath
the dreams that could be

just  a few short years ago
showed  how to love again
promises in for the long haul
you and i to the bitter end

i’ll  help you face your fears
however painful they may be
your my love , my life you’ve
found a  best friend  in me

prince the one who mended
this broken heart it’s true
allowed me to believe  in love
attribute so much joy to you

my beautiful man “gets me”
realize not a simple task
dream  of growing  old
our loves built to last

believe in us baby we can
make it to our someday
never said would be easy
together we’ll find our way

unimaginable world without you
when your weak ill be strong
every  poem penned for you
my version of a love song

you are the only one for me
born to be your special girl
love you more than anything  
in this  whole entire world

honey, don’t leave me now
words simply can’t convey
damage would be lifelong
please don’t walk away
Depression is stealing the love of my life
The music is proper to the time
a pulse echoing within the soul
reminding all of their tasks
to move a groove deep inside

allegiance shown to task at hand
none should despair in consent
nothing more than conjoined bliss
rhythm felt and then expressed

that heartbeat pulsing in between
prompting contact few may dare
now inevitable by nature’s nod
quick response to the notes heard

the music varies every time
some recorded, some is live
sometimes only heard within
still the motion moves a groove.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180714.
The poem “Moves a Groove” is a poem about dance, specifically forms of social dance.
god is tugging at my sleeve. the weight added to the fabric adds an urgency to my steps. im sweating now, grappling with the burdensome presence of a creator. he whines and demands my attention. he cries when i cant pick him up off the ground. he asks for task after task of menial, worthless labor until i am face first on the dirt with exhaustion. my aura has grown squeamish with anticipation of his next tantrum.  i walk on hand sharpened eggshells i myself have placed as he ordered, i live in a fortress of solitude, shame, exasperation, and fear. i retract myself from enjoyment, fulfillment, and success at the empty promises he gives to entrap me further. since birth i have upheld this responsibility. babysat my guardians. protected them from their own mistakes. leaving feels like abandoning an infant to destroy itself from the inside out. living for myself invokes nausea and confusion. how can i function without approval from the hellbeast that gave me life only to use it for his own?  growth is the only freeing process by which i can loosen his grip on the fabric of my shirt. outgrow your creator, your fractorial parent, your burden you did not choose to undertake. slowly detach from his entrapment. slowly make your life worth living again.
hey homos im sad
habiba 4d
In a coming storm, there is little in the way of shelter,

In an angry sea, there is little to hold on to,

In the middle of an accident, nearly all will pelter

On a raging horse, do you know what to do?

The daunting expanse of unconquered land wants to make a fool out of you.

Do we then come together to see one another through?

Wrap me inside the carpet and roll me near the fire for I am cold,

The task requires that I shun warm comfort in favour of the cold unknown,

My bones rattle incessantly at the thought,

Whence hideth ye, my religious swathe?

It is a new cup that shakes in my hand in a froth

I am beset in my own skin, utterly fraught.

Laugh at the vicissitudes of life!

Muse at how the ingeniouses are rife

I know that you inveigh against it every once in a while,

With great gusto and all of it in a pile.

Woe betide she who looks at it with stars in her eyes

The floor is not solid and the walls are not thick, walk as if everyone lies.
optimism, life, stars, eyes
Next page