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Outside Words Oct 2018
Strolling through the park
With humans, dogs, and birds,
Pink leaves make their mark
As they hover down in thirds.

Drifting along lazy airwaves,
An amplified guitar echoes
As a band soulfully misbehaves
For all nearby bedfellows.

Apartments loom over trees,
From a place of urban gray
As blue air works to appease
Spaces between dusk and day.

Sturdy street lights rusted and old
Accompanying a worn path ignite,
One by one flashing dark to gold
On a normal Wednesday night.
Listen to this while you read:

© Outside Words
mariamme May 2018
second thoughts, or maybe thirds
chasing the loops in indecision
tracing pendulums of heart hopes &
                   just a little bit of dissatisfaction
please be angry with me
i'm not angry with myself,
i'm chasing my dreams and maybe
the stars are saying, no don't align,
or maybe i'm asking them not to
                   under my breath, in between heartbeats
where no one can hear these words
because they're my own, they're secret
a little consecrated promise to myself
i swallowed your affection like medicine
you did heal me, a little
now let me heal myself, be patient
i swear it, i will never lose your love
a little bit bittersweet, a little bit grateful dead
renée May 26
Wipe your eyes, my baby
Marlboro and shotgun casings
Pound piano keys and feel it in your bones, this fear you’re facing
Because Debussy can’t take away the sound through unsubstantial apartment wall spacing
Of neighbors screaming, growing skill in the use of debasing words
We’re growing sage to burn alongside the memory of heart-breaking firsts
That didn’t bring any fulfillment or remaining seconds and thirds
We are witches, searching for potions to provoke hard spells
To forget these troubles which were heard from the mouthpiece of hell
Our black cats and crooked hats don’t hide the fact
That these highs don’t last
And soon we will remember why we left yesterday’s December behind
Ice crackling softly in window panes becomes enough to remind us why—
These things don’t leave the solitary, unhinged mind
When there’s nothing else to replace what was once chased
On agonizing below-zero winter days
So wipe your eyes, my baby
Wipe your eyes
This won’t heal, not like the bullet wound and cigarette addiction
That you always lose
(And somehow manage to re-find).
All that it takes to turn blackened skies
Back to a beautiful hue of blue
Much like the iris
Of women that never fail to
Give me heart palpitations
There's a slew of variations
An opportunity of great financial gain
After what feels like a century of
Careening going against the grain
A romantic interest peaked
Peeking back at you
Instead of playing a game of
Peeka-Booooo get off the stage
A family member who you're used to being  a failure
Used to be overly concerned
But that junk mail's been sent back to mailer
Signed Woo-hoo What A Relief
Surely used to eating crow pie
Feeling the grief
Eye a toothpick now
Exclaiming that was righteously delicious
Can I have seconds?
Or thirds?
Because I couldn't even successfully **** me
And those occasions were numerous
Nothing in this world is going to stop me
You can throw me in a real cliff hanger
Like the hungry coyote Wile E.
I'd still come out smiling
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
I feel stressed, I need a gumball.
The gumball machine was in the library where all my friends were studying.
With their apple laptops and $5 pens.
I just wanted a gumball to clear my head, for God sakes.
No I didnt want to study...
There I found a new friend in the Hurstville Library again.
He should've seen me read Tolstoy.
I'm obsessed with T.S Eliot.
I pray to him every week.
My friend didn't laugh at my sonnets, but he understands I have vision.
Oh I'm sorry for being so intelligent, Stephen, I'm sure you'd prefer something, nice, and lovely and feminine.
My psychiatrist thinks I'm two thirds there.
All I'm eating are tomato sandwiches to slim down.
Still lucky to be on six medications not shock therapy though.
He thinks I need to eat the gumball to calm down.
I throw the gumball at him, “take both of them”
Dawnstar Feb 2018
I should have smiled
when I entered,
dusted like a corner table
with flakes of Maine ash:
grandiose visions of what
I sought to be.
Passing long marble rows;
walking briskly to comfort;
ushered in by the chill.
Neighbors might see me,
but I am cold,
so I do not smile.

In the longhouse,
they celebrate man's
dominion over time.
They pluck paper crafts
by their roots,
and fashion a little gift for me.
Oh, I am merry inside,
singing of renewal,
but I'm tired,
so I do not smile.

In open theater,
upon the carbonite stage,
I find myself
balancing on a tightrope,
while the audience roars and jeers.
I could play their games,
and surely they'd accommodate,
but I am bare,
so I do not smile.

Then, I'm out in the quarry,
cutting stone into thirds;
sweating from the hot sun.
A family sits across the way --
see how they laugh with one another!
If I were born
under a different sign,
I might join them;
but as this is my duty,
I do not smile.

No, I'll walk in circles
like the rest.
I'll make certain
the boilers are filled,
without time
for green-speckled wishes,
or chatting with friends,
old and new:
It's up and down
the stairs with you!
...To see that crescent
creeping through
the winter sky
would do my heart well....
There it is,
alight on the trail!
Yet still I do not smile.

On the road to destiny,
stuck behind two sisters on horseback....
If I were free,
I would slow
to hear their pleasant conversation,
but as I'm in a hurry,
I spur my horse onward,
my eyes set straight ahead;
my cloak whips as I pass,
and I do not smile.

At the great meeting of chieftains,
we are all
seated in the hall.
I feel the weight
of approaching weeks,
and the cold desert river
that awaits.
My face rises and falls
like the tide on the Aral Sea.
In soft surprise,
I feel a presence behind me.
Surrounded by circling vultures....
No wonder I hesitate
to expose my flesh.
Sands ******* my eyelids.
I take a quick glimpse,
but I am watched,
so I do not smile.

Soon, I come upon an oasis.
The water soothes
my parched throat,
and I,
a forager,
A hunting party makes camp
on the opposite bank.
I peer out through the shrubs....
Only a simple request
would rescue me,
but I am principled,
so I do not smile.

Watching fish jump by the water,
I long for that fading mornglow,
in tattered pots
and cairns,
by shuttered blinds,
where my emotions were kept.
All my love
is cradled in the shade.
Time moves on with haste,
and I do not smile.

At day's end,
I gather my belongings.
I rush to climb the peaks,
that I might meet her on the path.
Again, my heart lifts!
Her face appears in the distance.
With joy, I walk close to her.
I smile a little,
but does she notice?
How can one day's expression
erase those months of melancholy?
Now, my whole body forces a sigh;
I listen quietly to Otemoyan,
and I do not smile.
Written January 19, 2018.
Edited February 21, 2018.
A single leaf,
nearly two-thirds torn,
floats idly down a mountain stream,
passing from light into darkness
into light again.

Refracted through the crystalline currents,
a bed of smooth, staid stones
cries, "Eternity! Everlasting!"
but the leaf drifts on.

And I, splashing my way upstream,
thinking myself the keeper
of this shadowed domain,
bend hurriedly
to pluck the leaf from my path.

Then, for just a moment, I hesitate,
to listen as the rivulets
lap against my legs,
longing to hear in them
Heraclitus' lonely, elegiac lament:

"All things are in process;
nothing stays still.
Upon those that step
into the same rivers
different and different waters flow."

But only the rocks sing on --
their same, unchanging song
of the stream's secret source.

And though I,
still deaf to the cry,
hear but the half-uttered echos
of my fleeting thoughts,

I can see,
as the radiant flux of the night
again turns the leaf into light,
how at last we, too, shall step
into that same river twice.

At death --
when in the new-found kenosis of time,
all will be one.
"Kenosis" is a theological term that means self-emptying. It's usually applied to the Incarnation of Christ. But I mean it in a more existential sense, of our -- and time's -- self-emptying at death.
Mark Feb 10
Tho' I do write with truth, my self's conceived -
That where your love abodes, resides just me.
My love in rhyme, is rhyme in part deceived
Do, I linger still or let this sonnet free?
The former is a rhythmic dance of words
Where A can't wait the love connect of C.
The latter brings the sorrow near the thirds
As each unstressed, would stress the pain to be.
I pass this ninth with syllable delay
The tenth, I love but yearns a love as true.
I burden here, where eyes of yours can't sway
Yes now, at last, do I withdraw from you.

I hope the other grows to love as I
But doubt that heart the will of heart to die.
see, there is a place where the clock doesn’t count
on every second The Time’s giving out
where Always is final yet tends to be shown
as some kind of present you couldn’t have sown
whatever was given to you in your hands
is what will be tested by God become Man
and if you have nothing but seconds and thirds
you’ll be like the king who was fed to the birds
«Главный хлебодар увидел, что истолковал он хорошо, и сказал Иосифу: мне также снилось: вот на голове у меня три корзины решетчатых; в верхней корзине всякая пища фараонова, изделие пекаря, и птицы [небесные] клевали ее из корзины на голове моей. И отвечал Иосиф, и сказал [ему]: вот истолкование его: три корзины — это три дня; чрез три дня фараон снимет с тебя голову твою и повесит тебя на дереве, и птицы [небесные] будут клевать плоть твою с тебя.»
‭‭Бытие‬ ‭40:16-19‬
Emily Aug 2018
20 techs working all together
10 scientists reviewing all their work
2 techs gone for questionable behavior
3 techs lured away by lucrative positions
3 scientists went on to greener pastures
1 scientist promoted into management

Two-thirds the work force—extra work for all.
Management decrees that:
Worker shortages are not sufficient cause for revenue shortages or excess overtime.
Lunch breaks are mandatory and not to be worked through.
Invite all your friends to work here—isn’t it a wonderful environment?
Just think, we’re getting a new building in 3 years and will double in size.
All your woes will be solved then, if only you survive.
The age old question: is the grass greener elsewhere? Or is it that fewer sheep are grazing there?
Destiny C Oct 2018
You found my hills-
ignoring the pleas and appeals.

You rampaged your way into the hidden valley,
while I sat their dissociating - assuming death was my finale.

You scourged through my dips and curves,
as though I should be flattered you came back for thirds.

Imprinting your unwelcomed touch on my mind forever,
the violation of my body will be forgotten never.

— The End —