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Animistic, not reminiscent
or exotic but disgustingly ignorant
of the ******* space in the present
A poem that doesn’t have to do with emotion?
Who let him in the building, oh, the same ******* who put 85
Security cameras and the same ******* who believes
Visible shoulders will create testosterone molded boulders
In the crotches of every boy’s too low jeans

I haven’t thought schoolwork was important
Since I knew what passion meant, and I’m no different
Than any boy or girl around but I know I am not anything near lost or found
Pertaining to a missing student.

Do you ever consider the other option?
That contumacious behavior is nothing to fear
Because although the misunderstood is misunderstood
Think of who told you should
Now what if they opted for could?

Or will you settle for chopping the wood for your fireplace
settling for our settler’s stolen goods
Vilene Joubert Nov 2010
BFF
About 2 watch a m0vie
I'll b seeing it Through my eyes
I hope its ur face I find

Its been so long
Since I felt ths way
Dnt knw wht 2 say

Thrs no sense of direction
No commitment
Nothing tht wud make me run away

Not once did u judge me
On how I am
Nor hav u tried 2 change me

U r fine with wh0 I am!

U knw I can not love u
N0t tht I dnt want 2
But nxt 2 me u stand

Ur da only 1 thts different
Da way u stood tall 4 me
And defended me
No1 has eva done tht 4 me!


I knw ths 4 a fact
U & I will walk 2getha
Quite a distance

I'll be seeing you in my movie
I'll be waiting at da bar

Thr I will thank you
4 being da best I'v had s0 far
Ashmita Agrahari Oct 2015
This world
Where paper money weigh more
And a person full of emotions
Has no score
Life has got stuck in social media
And true feelings stand no where
This world
Stands false in all scenes
Fake smiles is all we need
Stuck to petty things
Which don't even mean a thing
This world
Has become a tv screen
No emotions just drama
No miracles just fake dreams.
I hope for the real world.
Vilene Joubert Nov 2010
Cnt seem 2 4get
Cnt get ya outa my head..
Wana c u all da tym
Want u 2 stay a while..

Thn u arrive
And its all clear
I hav good reason for ths fear

If thrs 1 thing I jst cnt handle
Its lies..
Da feeling of deceipt
A 6th sense tht comes s0 naturally

Been dwn ths road
Too many timez b4
U'v been cought
1 too many wayz b4

Wht I jst dnt get
Y wud my lov 4 u n0t jst g0?
Y wnt our roads jst part?

Thrs nofing left here
4 me 2 stay

Da trust is gone
Descovia Aug 2022
I been on, and on, and on going at it.
Bring the metal, if you have it.
We can play it out.
I'm paranoid, indulge into the void.
I'm a black Savage, bad as Black Sabbath.
Set your ship, ****-deep,
Your last words, you better
assist with what we can salvage!
The other side of me, asked if you can manage!
I'll take us both out!
Go out. Goku and Raditz
Blasted into King Kait's World
Special Beam Canon.
None of this is common.
None of ths Canon.
I'm no Nick, we wildin' out
Flying high, disregard all by default
without a calculated LANDING.
KOBE!!! ****!  We miss you!
Repent for our sins. Cause we done ENOUGH DAMAGE!
I'm losing my patience and my cool
I'll be ****** if another fool
goes inside a school, with a gun
I'm no mailman. But I will bust out the package.
Go ham on the packet, take it out da plastic!
I'll road-rage-rampage, Laredo Heat
Blacked out Bandit. I am coming for answers!

No water, all Ice with fire.
Pray for help, if he's old enough
To game and gamble, then he can get scrabbled.... like eggs!
Then give him every sample to lead by example
I am not playing games, off with his head!
i am not soft with the dread.
Get ravaged and dismantled
act hard, then get HANDLED!!
Help me. Help me.  Help me....
White noise bringing the realization
from the brain's static
My mind's eye open, I'ma black man,
I know, I know, I know, I know, I
no **** with black magic!
Playing board games, got me bored with your tactics
Try me, you be in Monopoly, figuring why you're "Sorry"
The trouble is on it's way and Trouble is bringing damage
I got nothing else to lose,
My life more wasted than CJ on
highway drifting on xanax.
SKKKKKKKRRRRRRRRRTTT!!!!!!!
Awh ****. HERE WE GO AGAIN.

I will make the best out of my skills.
I am empowered by you all.
Thanks for believing and honoring me.
My decisions to help this world through
the power of words of wisdom and love
GQ James Dec 2020
Lemme see your hands,
That's what the officer said,
But he still shoots like he couldn't see my hands,
Why did you shoot me?
I kept my hands visible,
I didn't resist or reach in my pockets.

You ain't need to pull out and fire your gun,
All that was unnecessary,
You think just because you're an officer of the law,
That you're above the law,
You're not above the law,
You need to be better at protecting and serving,
Stop killing us.

Protect us and stop killing us,
I'm just a innocent black man,
The black on black crime getting scary,
Black lives matter,
Ths color of my skin makes life harder,
Had a target on my back since birth.
STOP KILLING US.
Dunya Sun Aug 2013
Time is money
money is time
So when they say it takes money to make money
They mean it takes time.
We all get the same amount daily
Personality gives quality
Because no one can survive selling off white canvases
portraying the self
to receive currensy

Gotta keep ths bar raised
Above and beyond what we call minimum wage
You gotta sell yourself in order to receive a fat check on pay day
Meaning understanding that wealth
Pertains to ones health
Properly known that to diet right heightens stealth.
Mediation nourishes the soul
Hydrating, purifying the flow
Keeping busy to stimulate the brain
Always on top when ignorant folk do or say anything

Its plain to see
Finding yourself includes paying off a bunch of fees
Some say taxes but its really adversity
Cause nothing worth having in life ever comes easy
Best way to succeed is to merely just be me
I can only speak for myself,  cause its my world, my industry
My mind cant escape to retrieve too much of another mans mysteries
Ill burst like a bubble
My mind is that fragile
But ill forever help those in need with any one of their battling struggles
Martin Narrod Feb 2014
Hours. Back. Tideless extreme. Gaunt. Happy face, good luck, forever ago. A go-go. Breakfast. Preference. Slip stream mock tidal bliss. Humpback seal stardom, infinite provocative immortal. Catches me. In between the teeth. Cool, Mach 3. Sumptuous extravagant human meat, flesh game. The flesh game. Heroes air-freight. Wash cloth. Hot breaths. 'ths' and plastic bag I-280 North ***** and sudatorium.

Pick a pepper.
Cow Palace.
Moth ***** and mouth *****.
Tea bags and sore throats.
Presumptuous candid                                            story-telling anomalies, trite

/masterful caustic limping brick-pedaling life-goers in major metropolis wearing leather sandals, whistling\

Whistling deep cavernous chasm bellowing hollowing, in out in out arithmetic.
        
                                                                                        Sand gathers boulders.

Women gather warmer wethers. The weathered. That ton. One of the asinine                                        

                                                        and aesthete.

Curious. Before
clause. The story god.
                                                        The kick of Achilles

                 and the Satan prance. Bleat of the squeeze.
                                        Course set. Picking up the pieces and going spelunking. French maid syndrome. Wan. Wielding the anatomical dollar of the "this-just-didn't-work" childhood.

                                                                                                Wears gloves. Has colds.

Breaks molds, and reads fortune cookies.

Limps                            lifeless, heavy as a Tuesday and digging its own grave. It owns gray. It

makes
meals
and carries them through broken towns,
over smoky ridges,
helping out and just- helping.

The line wakes it.                                        One traffic light.   Three thousand three hundred lakes.

Steals a cell phone. Goes quiet for days in the forest.

Kills a wild pig. Bares a feral hog.

Opens up a can of sour condensed milk and still makes caramels. The open fire. The children gasping and favoring the brave. The score is limitless.



Hours go by.

                                                        ...    ­                                      ...

                      ­                    ...

                                        ­                                            ...

Mites dig into the skins, and the shins of the subtle. The men come back. The palm fronds make excellent roofs. Raised. Reared. Canned food makes abhorrent constipation forest dwelling; syndrome. And excrement. The crowns carry over.

The bejeweled mid-rim equator

                                                               ­                                                 providence.


Ki­ng and queen.
Prince and princess. Knees bend and over and over. Mirthy trammeled lots. Egg white clouds scurry through towns scurrying through. The bastion wall. A romance connecting. Two lovers. The lot. A burrow in the ground. Short-haired hares: run, jump, skip. Life settles. No one comes back. The skin starts to itch. Gratitude is and is not. Worry steps in. The chimes glow through the rorschach tree tops. Fires and combustion. Great oversized bells. Who hears the ringing?

The canopy overcome with splinters, the eyebrows are furnaces that never spit out the light.

Spectacular plight. Unbelievable nights. Feeling fowl in the palms of another                                                        
                                                                        land where weirs and wilds
and roaring waterfalls
                                                decorated with cowards collecting honey
                                                                                                              combs
through hair-strainers, so brave    soo brave, to brave, to hunter-gatherer
African mission-syndrome types in white long coats and sometimes and dangerously called doctors. Do not stop for lines. Do not stop for lions. Or

                        when stuck in the cauldron of the c t a         & cia

do not weave heavily through traffic, railing divorce into the cellular phone of man        . NO ZHE DOES NOT. NO.

No one eats, anymore.
The pleasure is moved.
The happy have landed.
The girl of my dreams is foretelling, foretold. She climbs into a lunchbox and heads to work. She digs her nails into her skirt and chimes for dinner.

All is sentimental and elementary. No one is everyone. There is something human in the air.

Something cumin in the water. I love in French in English. In Germanic.

I'm in the water. Feet stuck in the mud. Hands flailing, I'm naked contemplating making shark moves, one hand flat-out, vertical, putting on a show for ducks and swallows.

The women return. The girls come back. Catastrophe and the merriment of the seven deadly fellows.

I run around Sue
and move back.                         I come to the coast to see what's the matter. It's blue. A cinder blanketed snow home. An igloo. An ice tale of curiosity, of  

                two cities, twisted cities. Mad dragons and weirder wizards that rear silver and portage the weirs of Elk Grove, thru the elk homes
humming bizarre cantatas, making Raspberry jellish and relishing

inthelast
lightsofthemorning

of an

interruption. The wanton exercise. The carnivorous machismo.
We work out with our quirks out and lead with the flaws. A tailored finite saw. A ringing through the air. Who can hear the ringing?                

Makes the men to swine, to mew muses. And get choosy on cabooses while

saving Moose.

                                                  maybe like Salvatore Dali would have done

He would halve none of it and brim over with it all.
Make cape flight from coastal waters. Riding the thermal winds of

North Africa, Tomato, and Japan;                              

BEARDEDfrogOFprinceGENEALOGYneededTOO     ...  ...  ... ....  .. . . ... ..

To sew buttons. To bring the water from the well. The shrimp from the levy. We all go to war on Sundays. We hate on Tuesdays,





but the women never come with the water.


                         [now you're supposed to ask if they keep it for themselves]

sad-leis         'end nose.'

I can't but we can. You don't and I hate you for it.

I smell you on socks

                                                          ­                          .On pillowcases and bullet casings. I'm hot and hard to handle. I lay down in front of forklifts trying to bulldoze shopping malls. I am too and too sentimental. I have a 25¢ ring from a vending machine. I love it. I love you. I go to the bottom room. Blue carpet. **** carpet. Tilted blinds. I find the moors and the heaven. I put my books and a sweater in a sack and I start moving. No ones ever seen me move like this. It's like I had revolution for breakfast. I sip a small glass of orange juice. Orange colored juice. I'm off like a stereo and walking through and through up into a story. I'm making life easy with my purple crayon. I draw a canyon and a boat too. The boat can't float so I draw myself an ocean, a coastline. I call out for my friends and no one is there, so I draw friends. I draw the seashore, the plateau. I make other ships. I shift in my seat, it's uncomfortable so I make it leather. I write a letter but it flies away with a pigeon. I'm stuck on a peninsula, crying. On the front step of a friend's tenement and I'm sobbing. I'm waiting for the waif and she's not coming. I think her over with coffee all alone in a diner, and eventually I have to leave. I trail like an autumn sun, splashing bits of earth with my tepid light. I plash in the sea and still I'm very alone. I run my fingers through my hair and find a find a crown to make myself king. I'm heir to my own home, but it's not good enough. It never was. I grow curiouser and curiouser. I don't know what to do, I'm without. I'm without use. Eight months on top of six years, on top of the second floor of a third floor building, it's hot, and I'm locked out, I'm fighting off weakness and indecision. I'm starving and I haven't eaten in days. I'm confused and the ******* seems the rite. I've got no one to call and I start swimming. I start swimming in circles. I get verbal. I start crawling and drawling and soon I'm weeping in a brutal drawl. And I can't hear you. And all I have is the coastline and the ocean, a plateau,

a yacht club full of empty vessels. A flotilla of friends but there's


eh                                                            ­                        eve             nobody home.

And I see you. I meet you. I mean to meet you. But I can't. I can't move or be moved. I can't speak or be made to speak. I am gripped by your love and yet wrapped in fear. In the rapture of fear. Its rancor grips me. So I stand up. I'm halved and naked and half naked. In the sea. And I see you.

And I seem you, to me. I seam you to me.
Filmore Townsend Feb 2013
my loves, the many accumulated mn-
eumonic responses play'd on future
women. ideas based on the poiv-
rottes of idealized affectation past.
cesspools emptied by the horse-tanks
with stelth in the night, but the-
re couldn't be much stealth for a target
reeking of **** and convalescence.
sadness and that odor would
hang heavy in the first cold rains
of winter. transplanting thoughts,
always transplanted emotions of
subjugation. she was waiting for
someone, this now past but once
future poivrotte. feet to be
knock'd from under, body to find
lulling embrace. mind the levitat-
ing affect. mind, the missing
portion of our feint'd love.
and
  - I was always empty and
    both sad and happy
with a third-class train ride, at
mon poivrottes' expense of mentality.
we could used to lay together talk-
king in adult tones through our
child mouths. remembering to poc-
ket fruit to retain our breakfast
from freezing. speaking no truer
words than those utter'd while
embraced. words from the mou-
ths of us children. truer words
never could be counterfeit, never
could be spoken without loss of
conscience. Cezanne-dreams of color,
Impressionist subconscious,
j'adore mon poivrottes. feasting of mo-
vement and staining all around with
the strong cafe au lait. follow'd aper-
itif, following digestifs, following back
to lie. to flow words from our child mo-
uths, we would walk paths through the
woods in the Autumn twilight. the trees
were sculptures having their leaves
stripped bare. walking alongside, we walk'd
ourselves down the same separate path.
Nazmi Mahamood Sep 2010
Noise of the house is creeping,
It keeps me wondering
What’s going on in there
It doesn’t concern me but yet why do I care

Broken paved path
Leading up to the front porch
Broken windows lighted by the fading torch
Shadows looming among homely lawn

The door open ajar
Whoosh came the wind and open the door
The place was dark, and scary as ever.
Creeky floor, haunting theme

Rustling up my feeling
Came a squealing
The ghosts of the house
Ths is too much.

A tap on my shoulder
I screamed out to the skies
The lights were turned on
And together came a SURPIRSE!!
my imaginatoin, how far has it gone. it will grow more
there was little bull a friendly little thing
he would dream off bull fights and being in the ring
he pictured all the matadors  that he had to fight
waving there red capes in there suits so bright
he dreamt he run around as the crowd did roar
from ths little bull the crowd they wanted more
he would tease the matador as he waved cape
straight in to his eyes the little bull would gape
he was only dreaming of what he'd like to do
maybe when he;s older his dream just may come true.
Hello my brother
Can you spare a moment?
So glad to see you

I've been down on my luck
Living in this alley these days
Always a meal or two in the trash

So how have you been keeping?
Good to hear about the wife and kids
I understand you don't want me visiting

Oh, you want to know about Mary?
She left me a couple years ago
My own fault, too much work

The job took away all my time
Mary was feeling a little rejected
So she found herself another lover

But the job decided to let me go
I kind of allowed myself to go to Hell
So I found myself without a job or home

Yeah I heard about little brother Billy
He joined the army and went off to fight
I miss him, I wish i went to the funeral

Oh, have you really got to go?
Yeah, I know it's been good to talk
My brother, you are always a busy man

Don't be a stranger now, visit soon
I am always living in ths alley, here
Always here, drinking my bottle of rye
copyright Chris Smith 2010
martin Sep 2016
I met my neighbour ths morning so I asked him how he was.

Oh fine, yes we're fine thank you. And how are you both?

I said you should go to Specsavers mate, there's only one of me.
oh well
it made me laugh
Am supposd to b rytn abt hm.
Wat i wnt hm to do to me
Do for me......
Bt the moment ths pen reachs th paper she comes out
Her tht little scared gal
She wnts hr pain bared to u
Shz troubld
Inside hr heart
She hates every1, mst especially hrself
Shz manipulative, shz th mothr of pain
Tormentd little brat
Not all wounds heal
Shz damagd, u cnt help hr, i wnt let u
You see shz th main personality n am hr strongest outer ego
Th othrz r weak
Am in charge, she creatd me to protect hr
Am doin js tht. U wnt her.
Yes i knw such a pretty gal n yet such an ugly soul
Ann Witt Sep 2013
Upon entering the orchestra pit to take my
chair, I noticed someone else was sitting there.
My ressentiment was without notes;
therefore, I was unable to emote.
With my head hanging down,
I felt chagrined because no one
would allow me in.

Up the dark streets I began to walk,
pondering my dreary thoughts.
What had happened to cause this rift?
Perhaps I never possessed a gift.
The playing of the music was sublime
but maybe it was just imagined
in my mind.

It's very quiet and lonely on ths block
except for the ticking of a clock.
The time has come for me to step outside
the fray and determine if there is value
in what I have to say.
Vilene Joubert Nov 2010
Put ur feelings aside 4 a while
Take mine in consideration
Iv been ur fool
4 way 2 long

Its tym 2 let g0
Tym 2 m0ve on

Must admit
Its easier said
Thn d0ne

I'm n0t 1 stay behind
N0r do I hold on
2 things tht can't b saved

I turn around and walk away

Wif u its different
Wif u its strange
I'll be ur fool any day

Done trying 2 make it work
But ths feeling
Jst dnt wana go away

Take my feelings in consideration
I'm n0t here 4 ur entertainment
Ur braking my heart in2 pieces

I jst realized
I hav 2 let u g0

Its n0t u
Its mE
I'm allowing this 2 be
Crucifix Aug 2015
I see bullets in the water. Gently floating down, out of sight, not a sound. I see bullets in the water, they float slowly to the ground. Water fills my lungs and slowly I drown.
Children all around come crying at my wake. A single bullet is all my life could take. Dont feel sad when I'm gone, don't even sing along. All ths bullet did for me, was set me free.
yes the bullets in the water.
And you just watched me drown.
Yes there were bullets in the water. But no gun was found.
Sometimes whatever loes beyond is just as compeling as the life you are living.
Brian Turner Oct 2020
Today an alien came to my door
He asked why I didn't answer before?
I asked which planet was he from?
He said it was something to do with his Mom

She passed and now was up in ths sky
No reason, the other aliens let her die
I said there was nothing to do
Perhaps he could ask for shelter at the zoo?

He said I know that your kind can be good
Is there any way I could spare some food?
I said that English cuisine might not be to his palette
He said that it was probably better than on his planet

Could you not go back to the ship?
He said no, this is the end of the trip
Can't you fly back into the sky?
If I leave I will die

Which planet are you from?
He said with mirth....earth
I choked again..
His name is ...Ben

So, if an alien knocks at your door
Please help him to get some more
Don't assume what you see
Is something ex-planetary
Don't assume that someone comes to your door is an alien from another planet they may need your help.
AM Snyder Dec 2015
I
I wonder if the dot above the "i" gets lonely
as it sits above each i, all by itself.
I mean look at how many times I
have created a lonely i in the last four lines!

What if we never used the letter i,
so then if it wasn't used
there would be no dot in existence to be lonely?
I shall start now.

Ths wll be dffcult, I can already tell.
What f nstead, I used captal I's to replace
all the lowercase ones?
Then there would be no lonely dots!

I shall use bIg I's from here on out!
No dot shall every be lonely on my watch!
But now, the questIon remaIns...
what about punctuatIon?
Mohd Arshad Apr 2014
Love marriage is not a delicious thing
Sometimes It is a little bit more salty
And more pungent than is required
To be easily galloped

The couple are not contented with the stuff
For both had told their own earlier
Then it was beautiful snow fallng in the moonlight
And the romantic raindrops kissing the blossoms

Now it is hackneyd or cliche
Or a haggard leaf crawling not to be liked

Here ushers in pain that is suppressed
And peevish get their nature and
Both lose their cool so soon
And It happens daily till they bid adieu to each
Or one of them kicks ths bucket
james nordlund Jun 2020
United **** of assassins, cards one and all,
built a house, a country, on the convolution
and the only thing that matters is the show
that must, goes on, then 'the house' won't fall.

Every child's mind must be gutted of knowledge,
replaced by information, memorization, routine,
rote, so there can be no doubt that the human
being so and it's evolution, will never grow.

That, resulting in the move to 'my kid first',
movement's corporatizing, privatizing education,
cemented 'all about the benjamins' self-possession
in the extreme, me-ism into political technocracy,

where science's supposed progress at all costs
and more, mustn't be abhorred, for, nothing else
matters, "'cause whitie's on the moon" too soon.
Scientism's religion dictating the score,

possession is 9/10 ths of the get away wit' it law,
and the only tenth that should, doesn't matter,
as all citizens that still are scatter from not-sees,
republican conspiracy, and totalitarians, the sino,

gino, aino conspiracy, West/East.  13 % of Bernie
Or Bust 'Bots voted **** installed into the Black
House, some revolution.  Only Black Lives Matters is
grabbing everything it can, Black supremacy in a can.

Also, the supposed "evolution, love revolution",
has extended it's love so far up our ases that we
can't see the forest for the trees, while we're
getting pandemiced by ****'s yaba, daba, dooing,

racing to rallies, to dictate classist and racial tallies, to
the undoing of a nation for the vultures ever circling
above and below, not just Ebony and ivory, the Black,
white supremacies, but, all 23 flavors in this baskin

'n robbins of supremacies, this house of cons, cards.
Convolutionaries have dictated all the news that fits
into the multi-media conspiracy's show, is filled with
their gibberish, now a 'moral revolution', since when

did moralizing stop the global oligarchy's class war
against the lower-middle-class to poor?  **** of Utin
cut food-stamps at the start of the coronaing of the poor,
and he gave 100's of billions to the richest of the rich,

food taken straight out the mouths of babes and given
to billionaires, without a care.  Their moral revival
is racist as well, it says "for people of color", be-
have, besides, this ain't the 50's, we don't need moral

hootinanies sans 'shine, "...we(e),..." need real change
now.  Sadly, that bi-polar axi of supposed powers 'use'
of pandemic to subjugate the world to survival instead
of alival, exigency...humanity, has pulled the rug out...,

determining the Winter of extermination to come, will
surpass their class warfare's liquidation of ases, assets
of the masses en masse's increased rate of blitzkreiging
Gaia's kids to their extinction.  When will the coviding

of a million Americans into their graves matter, a large
% people of color, the largest the poor?  It's happening
to you now.  The Resident-in-Chief's not using the NPA
to nationalize the production of verified accurate tests

to lessen the cost and distribution of, increase use of
them, is society's confession of this genocide and it
should be prosecuted as such, now.  Yet, everybody's
'going along to get along with the program's', new speed,

nearly blitzkreiging, of exterminating mankind to it's
end, readying the world for the almost complete replacing
of orga by mecha after the 'singularity', man by machine,
indicates to rich that it's convolution's working, man

will go out with a whimper, instead of determining that
"death (******) shall have no dominion", or, at least,
"rage, rage against the dying of the light" be the day's
order, are they right, or do you have a will that won't

allow it?  Will you, as a people tell the un-powers that
un-be, that science lost it's sense of proportion, it's
perspective, humanity could no more live on Mars than
**** could fit through the eye of a needle.  That it's

"...funny how one insect can damage so much grain...",
One instant can damage so much Grace, yet, abominable
that only 400 years of supposed science has almost
destroyed what it took The Evolution 15 billion years

to create, the Earth's life!  That, as cults aren't religions,
rather anti-religions, sciences that extinct their own
species are anti-science, and must be defunded.
That, extinction is forever and no one will wear it well.

Their corp. structure's convolution need not con anyone,
we let them steer our perceptions, thoughts, acts, ships.
The Cosmos can't stop us from basing global society on
scarcity, instead of nature's abundance, it can't force us

to walk in nature's balance, giving back to her abundance,
to allow life eternal instead of humanity's extinction in
20 years, to leave no carbon footprints which will echo
forever on, in all ways, always, to gain the sanity to

abolish the 'use' of fossil fuels, thereby ending climate
crisis and abolishing global defacto-slavery, realizing
economic parity, but, you and all, illimitable potential,
indivisible as life can, will you?  Will you take bullets

instead of making them?  Remember, if you didn't vote
for Hillary you voted for Utin and his **** to be illegally
installed into the Black House.  Public records tell who
didn't, stop them from doing it again, or die trying.

"The root of all oppression lies in (supposed) science",
Gandhi.  They're going to ****** your family, if not with
this virus than another, unless you protect, occupy, GOTV,
"you can't dismantle the man's house with the man's

tools", Lourdes: classism, notseeism, totalitarianism,
defining power as manipulation through to genocide,
instead of learning through to consciousness raising.   Be
well. Viva la vida, solidaridad, la evolucion   :)   reality
If we don't exercise the astronomically increased responsibility to save life, Earth, placed on our shoulders by our fore-bearers, how can we expect our kids to exercise responsibility or his Siamese twin sister freedom will wither like an unused muscle as well.  La machine's devolving every coming generation exponentially more, they actually believe we can live on Mars; humanity's extinction is nigh.  Thanx for all you do; have a great day   :)   reality
authentic Jun 2014
Stay right where you are
Don't move at all
Because where you are standing
You have never looked more beautiful
And although you do not see me
I love you
And I will love you from the corner of your eye forever
If that is what it takes
To keep ths love alive
In atleast one of us
Cheryl Tan Apr 2015
do you remember our little corridor
that blackish floor between two and three
where dreams were made and staged and broken
where we were free and still made eleven

your voice echoes along three black walls
and your laughter, along the green
i still remember what you said about your sister
and how i held you as you cried with me

it's three months over, but i see you still
dancing through a building in the sky
i hope you're smiling, where you are
free from the dark stage you chose to leave behind

it's funny how it all comes back in waves
maybe you miss it too - all the fun
maybe you're up there, smiling down
maybe you're somewhere, saluting the sun

and when my turn comes, i'll look for you
in another space unscathed by time
i'll embrace you tight in a fresnel light
and softly sing you lullabies

but for now,
i'll just keep going on
i'll keep you where time cannot erase you
and where no one can ever hurt or break you:
i'll keep you in our little corridor
the blackish floor between two and three
where dreams were made and staged and broken
where we were free; where we'll always make eleven.

-c.t.
For the ten of you: Jimmy, Dougie, Deanie, Normal, Mel, Phoebe, Charles' crazy wife, Trudy, Sunshine's guardian, and..of course, Suspicious Moon.

It's a different kind of pain - the kind that never goes away, and I begin to realise that nobody really will understand unless they experience it for themselves. So we'll hold on to each other until our turn comes. And when it does, when we finally make eleven again, it'll finally be okay.
How do you like me now?

Does it appear to you that I am a man? Because my hair is short?

I am very much a woman and love my feminine side as well as my masculine side. I am ****, loveable, kind and always me.

You don't want to change me, you just want to be me. You cannot see yourself as me but you want to be me.Why is that?

You cannot be me. I am me and me is all I have and if there was another me then I wouldn't want to be me. it's hard enough being me without trying to be me more than once.

Maybe in my next life. After I have lived through this life and have perfected ths one. maybe then will I be able to be me more than once. But if in this life now I don't succeed in perfecting myself then the new life will have to work harder to be able to catch up to me more than once.

I am not making any sense of this or are you?

see.................. it's hard to be me.

Copyright@2010 By Madeline C. Baxter
em Sep 2015
#5
lets just put it ths way, you're everything, my everything. you're all mine and im all yours. i love you and only you. please remember that, keep that in mind. i fckg love you, every part of you and your flaws, everything about you, i love it. thank you for existing.
Tashea Young Jan 2017
"Paradise Wish"

I ambled on the beach to Explore
My bare naked toes touched the gentle waters cascading upon ths sandy wet shore.
As I Inhale the air, the taste was refreshingly pure.
Watching Birds taking flight
And slowly fading from My eye sight

I begun to be Entranced with the Reddish Orange Broad painted Horizon, where the waters meet up with the sun.
I close my eyes as Nature And I grew to be as one.
My soul breaks free and just runs.
My hair sways back and fourth with the coconut trees
My skin Tingles as it feels the cool ocean's breeze,
During the hour of Summer's Eve.

I open my eyes to behold the Golden sand
As it Shimmers like tiny bits of diamonds in the palm of my hand.
And out of no where Comes this Royal looking man,
Grasping a hold of my attention span,
Walking bold and strong like a sound of the drum in a band.

He was tall dark handsome, slim build, with a muscular physique,
I felt his Charismatic ambiance as it loudly begun to speak
Then it caress my forhead and kissed me on my left and right cheek.

And the whiff of his scent was ever so pleasant.
I had smelled an aroma mixture of shea butter and coconut oil.
He had me drunken with the overwhelming sense of being Joyful.
I was surrounded by his presence as I was the flower blooming with radiance and he was my healthy soil.

He was the Ripen fruit specially picked from the grape vine
That look so delectablely divine
I desired to let him Intoxicate me with his  fermented wine.
He Exhilarated me sending chills up my spine.
He Vitalize my mind.
As I left the stress behind, And continue to unwind.

The waters were Groving to thier own beat.
As the ocean laughed at my feet.
The Rippling saphire waves played a song soothingly.
And This beautiful man was being pulled closer to me as if nature took Conplete control over our space of gravity.

The opera of the sea danced all over our bodies and the waves became a tone serene and heavenly.
A Musically fine tuned medlody, like an voila in an orchestrated symphony.
He and I at this moment were ment to be.

My wrist against his veiny wrist
I couldnt resist,
Our tongues Exchanging salvia as they twist.
Who knew our passionate kiss lead to us swimming in the ocean's of love like 2 love making fish.
This is the place my heart longed to exist.
It had me thinking it couldnt get any better than this.

Until I woke up out of my sleep realizing I was only dreaming about my paradise wish.
the life is a world
compleatly diferent from ours
with trees and animals and beutyful things everywere
flowers and butterfly flying in the sky
lions and tigers playng with cats
elephants and mouses living together in the same house
humans and dogs with the same toys
with not a single fight about who got it first.


the death is a world**
compleatly diferent from ours
with black sky with no clouds
the humans and animals and plant are disaper from the ground
the floor with a gray aspect and gloomy ground
the silent in ths air with any noise
trying to be and have more choise
and trying tho save a pice of green ground.
Unathi taliwe Apr 2015
My mind is a siner of good and evil i fear only the darkness,because i belve it has a way a changing reality and making thngs look worce befor ur ayes even the smallest thng could be fedal,daknes is a place of evil corsed by the pain and suffering one's heart has to indore,the pain that one fells its more than 1 can tell and it cannot be heal as they say u may heal the wound bt scares remain the same,the pain that we fell is cosed by the memories that we once had and lost and dreams that we have and lost as time passes by,then we fall 2 a place that its nt easy 2 get back 2,ths place is known as hell burning for al iternity bt thts nothng compare 2 the heart's pain,the devil smiles when u enter the world of revenge u ar tied and bonded until the end of days
Hate goes a long wai never fades
Martin Narrod Apr 2017
Hours. Back. Tideless extreme. Gaunt. Happy face, good luck, forever ago. A go-go. Breakfast. Preference. Slip stream mock tidal bliss. Humpback seal stardom, infinite provocative immortal. Catches me. In between the teeth. Cool, Mach 3. Sumptuous extravagant human meat, flesh game. The flesh game. Heroes air-freight. Wash cloth. Hot breaths. 'ths' and plastic bag I-280 North ***** and sudatorium. Pick a pepper. Cow Palace. Moth ***** and mouth *****. Tea bags and sore throats. Presumptuous candid story-telling anomalies, trite masterful caustic limping brick-pedaling life-goers in major metropolis wearing leather sandals, whistling. Whistling deep cavernous chasm bellowing hollowing, in out in out arithmetic. Sand gathers boulders. Women gather warmer wethers. The weathered. That ton. One of the asinine and aesthete. Curious. Before clause. The story god. The kick to the Achilles and the Satan prance. Bleat of the squeeze. Course set. Picking up the pieces and going spelunking. French maid syndrome. Wan. Wielding the anatomical dollar of the "this-just-didn't-work" childhood. Wears gloves. Has colds. Breaks molds, and reads fortune cookies. Limps lifeless, heavy as a Tuesday and digging its own grave. It owns gray. It makes meals and carries them through broken towns, over smokey ridges, helping out and just- helping.

The line wakes it. One traffic light. Three thousand three hundred lakes. Steals a cell phone. Goes quiet for days in the forest. Kills a wild pig. Bares a feral hog. Opens up a can of sour condensed milk and still makes caramels. The open fire. The children gasping and favoring the brave. The score is limitless. Hours go by. Mites dig into the skins, and the shins of the subtle. The men come back. The palm fronds make excellent roofs. Raised. Reared. Canned food makes abhorrent constipation forest dwelling; syndrome. And excrement. The crowns carry over. The bejeweled mid-rim equator providence. King and queen. Prince and princess. Knees bend and over and over. Mirthy trammeled lots. Egg white clouds scurry through towns scurrying through. The bastion wall. A romance connecting. Two lovers. The lot. A burrow in the ground. Short-haired hares: run, jump, skip. Life settles. No one comes back. The skin starts to itch. Gratitude is and is not. Worry steps in. The chimes glow through the rorschach tree tops. Fires and combustion. Great oversized bells. Who hears the ringing? The canopy overcome with splinters, the eyebrows are furnaces that never spit out the light.

No one eats, anymore. The pleasure is moved. The happy have landed. The girl of my dreams is foretelling, foretold. She climbs into a lunchbox and heads to work. She digs her nails into her skirt and chimes for dinner. All is sentimental and elementary. No one is everyone. There is something human in the air. Something cumin in the water. I love in French. In English. In Germanic. I'm in the water. Feet stuck in the mud. Hands flailing, I'm naked contemplating making shark moves, one hand flat-out, vertical, putting on a show for ducks and swallows. The women return. The girls come back. Catastrophe and the merriment of the seven deadly fellows. I run around and move back. I come to the coast to see what's the matter. It's blue. A neige built snow home. An igloo. A tale of curiosity, of interruption. The wanton exercise. The carnivorous machismo. We work out with our quirks out and lead with the flaws. A tailored finite saw. A ringing through the air. Who can hear the ringing? Makes the men to swine, to amuse muses. To sew buttons. To bring the water from the well. The shrimp from the levy. We all go to war on Sundays. We hate on Tuesdays but the women never come with the water.-

I can't but we can. You don't and I hate you for it. I smell you on socks. On pillowcases and bullet casings. I'm hot and hard to handle. I lay down in front of forklifts trying to bulldoze shopping malls. I am too and too sentimental. I have a 25¢ ring from a vending machine. I love it. I love you. I go to the bottom room. Blue carpet. **** carpet. Tilted blinds. I find the moors and the heaven. I put my books and a sweater in a sack and I start moving. The none-ones ever seen me move like this. It's like I had revolution for breakfast. I sip a small glass of orange juice. Orange colored juice. I'm off like a stereo and walking through and through up into a story. I'm making life easy with my purple crayon. I draw a canyon and a boat too. The boat can't float so I draw myself an ocean, a coastline. I call out for my friends and no one is there, so I draw friends. I draw the seashore, the plateau. I make other ships. I shift in my seat, it's uncomfortable so I make it leather. I write a letter but it flies away with a pigeon. I'm stuck on a peninsula, crying. On the front step of a friend's tenement and I'm sobbing. I'm waiting for the waif and she's not coming. I think her over with coffee all alone in a diner, and eventually I have to leave. I trail like an autumn sun, splashing bits of earth with my tepid light. I plash in the sea and still I'm very alone. I run my fingers through my hair and find a find a crown to make myself king. I'm heir to my own home, but it's not good enough. It never was. I grow curiouser and curiouser. I don't know what to do, I'm without. I'm without use. Eight months on top of six years, on top of the second floor of a third floor building, it's hot, and I'm locked out, I'm fighting off weakness and indecision. I'm starving and I haven't eaten in days. I'm confused and the ******* seems the rite. I've got no one to call and I start swimming. I start swimming in circles. I get verbal. I start crawling and drawaling and soon I'm weeping in a brutal drawl. And I can't hear you. And all I have is the coastline and the ocean, a plateau, a yacht club full of empty vessels. A flotilla of friends but there's nobody home. And I see you. I meet you. I mean to meet you. But I can't. I can't move or be moved. I can't speak or be made to speak. I am gripped by your love and yet wrapped in fear. In the rapture of fear. Its rancor grips me. So I stand up. I'm halved and naked and half naked. In the sea. And I see you. And I seam you, to me. I seam you to me.
seams inseam truth visionary vision yelp thought pattern circle square heart heartache days day life loss live living poet poetry he him man men write writing streamofconsciousness and you me I it eight month months year years find crowns crown crowned ocean oceans water pacific floored coastline brutal navy earth domes curios curiosity help helpless helplessness hope hopeless hopelessness fighting fight hurt hurting hurtful autumn sun planets moon hate hateful pillows pillow love luck lust **** ******* drugs drug drugging during whirl whirling whirring scared fear fearing godfearing god-fearing hollow hollowing spoiled spoil godless wealth rich but **** can can't naked **** muscle mussels oysters clams sea seashores seashore
TreadingWater Nov 2015
wrapped on your lap;
eyes-caught\sharing- breaths
squeeze press.heels.to.your.back
one thumb pressed to my hip
while/your/fingERs/slide/inside

...nails/break/skin...
moUths locked in a kiss;...
my hand pulls your hair//
~fingers~TangLed~
the other,...
holding on-foR-dear-life.
digging//in

ribs-to-chest
~pressing~into~yoU~
^^breaThing^^labored^^
­puLLing-you-in...
and...in
...and
in (sidE//deepeR)

Biting yo(my)ur lip
pUsh-me-to-the-bed
mouth, taking, over, where
   fing//ers//be//gan
puLl.your.teeth.closer
~so~lost~in~the~moment ~
pulsing cosmic tendRils
of explosive t.a.n.g.e.r.i.n.e.
throughout all of my
...being.

anD i never need another
thing;... again
except.thIs.moment.
~as~you~reveal~
...my
cOmplete...
sur//reN//der.
Donall Dempsey May 2018
YET THIS WILL GO ONWARD THE SAME

( for Jennifer Mass )

wave after wave
of earth
the furrows touch the horizon

I follow my uncle
following the plough
Dolly the horse laughing

I could live
in this moment
as once I did

but ths time
for always
live in its forever

I have stolen
the moment
from time

hid it in my mind
after all
it is mine

I command the moment
to "uuPPTHERE..move on!"
or "woeOOOH...slow down!"

I check it
with a "chUCK!" or "tttSK!"
it stops and shakes its head

harness bells in the breeze
the only sound
in this world

wave after wave
of earth
the furrows touch the horizon
"He that by the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive."

Italian Proverb.

The title is taken of course from Hardy's In Time of ‘The Breaking of Nations’
which I learnt as a schoolboy way back in the day.

                        I
Only a man harrowing clods
    In a slow silent walk
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
    Half asleep as they stalk.

                       II
Only thin smoke without flame
    From the heaps of couch-grass;
Yet this will go onward the same
    Though Dynasties pass.

                       III
Yonder a maid and her wight
    Come whispering by:
War’s annals will cloud into night
    Ere their story die.

Jennifer's mum...my aunt Peggy took the first colour photographs we had ever seen on a visit back to her home in Cork all the way from mythical Chicago. We were all amazed to see that Uncle Michael's green corduroy trousers were actually GREEN as if we needed to see a photo to tell us what our own eyes could see...but a photo made them more real. I always remember tracing my finger along the green furrows of his corduroy as well as tagging along behind him as he ploughed with Dolly and all his commands which if I copied...Dolly only laughed at...she was only in love with my uncle's voice...as I was...he was a great teller of tales and could make up worlds of his own all on his own to my great surprise and delight.
I still follow in his furrows as the tilled land goes on forever as does this one stolen moment. I remember how hard it was to lift a leg with the amount of earth stuck to it made it almost impossible to make the next footstep. I tried to copy everything about him...his gait...his tone of voice...his tongue stuck firmly in his cheek...his lovely laugh.
Josie Heggaton Apr 2015
There is so much pain inside of me
Things that you can not see
I hide my heart from your face
Because there's things that you cannot erase
There is a wall between me and you
I'm so afraid to let You through
I want to show you who I am
Maybe there you will find answers
A sign to point in my direction
I want to stop this wall from growing
But I can't without knowing
Will you hurt me
Will you stay
Or someday will you go away
I love you with my whole heart
Even when we are far apart
So maybe someday when I'm ready
We can make this wall go away

I give to you my heart
The one you can get to know
Promise me one thing
When you have ths heart of mine
You will treat it like gold
Please don't throw it away
Or put it on a shelf to stay
I hope you treat it as your own
Don't break this heart of mine
Then I will only have pieces of memories you left behind
Broken dreams of what can not be
I love you
So now you know me
Haakim U Allah Feb 2018
As she moves to the rhythm of my pulsating rays
Playfully teasing under my gaze
Intoxicating hills, mountains, ripples and waves
Covered by 3/4 ths overlays
The mental visual plays.
Finger lumens caress and rove
Flick and probe
tickle and pinch
Patiently exploring every square inch.
A galactic minx
Bringing me to brinks
Prospecting her nectar for energy drinks
Spin at a terrific speed changeable and swift indeed
her winds will cut in a storm
Yet the right currents keep her warm
Spinning in orbit at 93 still in full form
To know the cipher and understand the God
ahm smiling at her curves.
**** it’s hard
could shatter light into shards
Transforming crystals to stars
must dip in her dew
It’s mountin’ and this fountain
bout to spit atomic stew
nucleatin’ and hydratin’
keepin up with her gyratin’
vibratin’, shakin’ and quakin’
Osiris’ rod cleavin’ into her sod
spewin’ ray seed in clods
a spectrum of dust
It’s a must to keep her satient with love, no lust…

– Haakim Understanding

— The End —