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The shadows of the railing
By the room I played last night.
The whistle of a siren
And the blood of a lost fight.
And the closed sign on the food store
Brokenwss window, crack of light
And the hurt that won't subside
won't u let me look inside?

And the come on look from a burnt out *****
And the words that split my side.
Everything  makes sense somehow
It's all that I expect
The tears I knew I'd always shed
The freight train singing in my head.
The rocks that turned a stranded heart
Into a sunken, flooded wreck.
All of this is somewhat new,
Baby I never thought this would come from u,
Ur soul was clean and pure and.....

Jesus Christ am I so lame
That it snuck right up on me?

I who's every move was honed and practised,
1 and 2 and *******  63 !
Oh here's the rub, the wake up call.
I never knew that dame at all,
She let me think she needed love
And I gave my past, and then my love.
And when her need of me was done
And some other shmo became the one
The line was cut, connection frayed
Her single, final, vail displayed,
she naked, danced into the shade
So I could fall, into the sun
Not laughed at,



By everyone.

Thank you.

I'm here all week.

Try the soup.
The shadows of the railing
By the room I played last night. 
The whistle of a siren
And the blood of a lost fight.
And the closed sign on the food store 
Broken window, crack of light
And the hurt that won't subside
won't u let me look inside?
And the 'do me' look from a burnt out *****
And the words that split my side. 
Everything makes sense somehow
It's all that I expect 
The tears I knew I'd always shed 
The freight train singing in my head.
The rocks that turned a stranded heart 
Into a sunken, flooded wreck. 
All of this is somewhat new, 
Baby I never thought this would come from u, 
Ur soul was clean and pure and.....
Jesus Christ am I so lame 
That it snuck right up on me? 
I who's every move was honed and practised, 
1 and 2 and ******* 63 !
Oh here's the rub, the wake up call. 
I never knew that dame at all, 
She let me think she needed love
And I gave up my past, and then my love.
And when her need of me was done
And some other shmoe became the one
The line was cut, connection frayed
Her single, final, vail displayed,
she naked, danced into the shade 
So I could fall, into the sun 
Not laughed at, 
By everyone.
Thank you. 
I'm here all week. 
Try the soup.
purple orchid Aug 2014
White paint peels off to leave the walls bare,
naked and exposed to
Much like her soul.
Starved of love and affection,
accepted but not wanted.
The sun casts her shadows on those
she frowns upon,
leaving winding roads to spiral out of control.
Time shifts her world from
it's axis as it progresses,
it doesn't heal,
it doesn't lessen,
It just is.
Echoes of your voice ricochets
to find her heart,
carrying the exact weight they
did the second they fled your tongue,
never shedding an ounce of momentum

"The waves of pain
that had only lapped at her
before now
reared up high and pulled her under .."
The shadows of the railing
By the room I played last night. 
The whistle of a siren
And the blood of a lost fight.
And the closed sign on the food store 
Broken window, crack of light
And the hurt that won't subside
won't u let me look inside?
And the 'do me' look from a burnt out *****
And the words that split my side. 
Everything makes sense somehow
It's all that I expect 
The tears I knew I'd always shed 
The freight train singing in my head.
The rocks that turned a stranded heart 
Into a sunken, flooded wreck. 
All of this is somewhat new, 
Baby I never thought this would come from u, 
Ur soul was clean and pure and.....
Jesus Christ am I so lame 
That it snuck right up on me? 
I who's every move was honed and practised, 
1 and 2 and ******* 63 !
Oh here's the rub, the wake up call. 
I never knew that dame at all, 
She let me think she needed love
And I gave up my past, and then my love.
And when her need of me was done
And some other shmoe became the one
The line was cut, connection frayed
Her single, final, veil displayed,
she naked, danced into the shade 
So I could fall, into the sun 
Not laughed at, 
By everyone.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
. 'as for those poets, only the perverse follow them. do you not see that they go too far in every direction and say things, which they cannot do?' (ash-shu'ara / the poets 26:224-226).

call them what you like,
the Huguenots,
for all i care...

   you always side with
the "heretics"...
   given that, "said" heretics
retain some cultural value
relativism of other cultures,
namely in the form of
depiction -

    since why would, "the word"
be deemed holy,
                rather than donning
a bikini of "iconoclasm"...
         when words... are at
the meat-market of copyright -
what with © coca cola?

                 sunni islam would have
never allowed sufism...
  but Farsi does...
  and will continue...
since no Iranian will bow
before an Arab within the schematics
of history...

          Sunni Islam, it's Wahhabi sentimentality...
so why persist in signing
the Adhan?
   why not speak in a honing like
drone sentiment of plain speech?
i thought all music was banned?
the current Adhan is a form
of music... isn't it? BAN IT!

    you never side with these Sunni
muslims, exploiting Bangladeshi labor,
you side with the heretics of Iran...
these *******, i can at least respect...
      no fast cars, convenient ongoing
cultural insurrections -
       Afghan women's poetry,
and all that much closer to Hindu mysticism...
yeah... "islamophobia":
but only against Sunni Islam...
   but Shia Islam?
   no problem...
   i could stomach these peoples
like i could stomach the in-between
of the Turkish variant -
no ideology - simply, pure, power throttle...

i could make a great Janissary -
with a Turkish barber...
         for a great trim of hair and beard...
i'd cast a shadow on some
obscure chocolatier of Brussels
who thinks himself a politician...

     but there are certain aspect of Islam
i am willing to tolerate...
   what happened to the son in law
of Muhammad, namely, Ali...
was raw ******* kicking...

               promises, promises...
no promises...
           Shia Islam, as an European,
i can tolerate, Turkish Islam, i can tolerate...
Turkey is incrementally shy
of being treated at the 2nd variant of Iran...
at least with Iran, we share a history
via the insurrection into the ancient
texts through Greece...

  come to think of it...
whenever i listen to
matta's song echo babylon...
i start feeding myself goosebumps,
reminding myself
of Cyrus... Nebuchadnezzar...
and the dim-wit that was

always siding with the heretics...
if not on economic groundwork,
then at least motivating,
rather than monetizing an idea...

and the Shia muslims are...
    one way or another...
   unlike the gluttons of Dubai...
the barbie dolls of postage stamp
"proof" of progress,
in size, and worth...

   Sunni Islam would have
never allowed poetics to remain
a viable form of expression -
the Persian tradition that is,
far beyond the western concern
for a comment section...

         Shia Islam allows patronage
of the arts, notably poetry,
without concern for monetary
funding, it, at least, doesn't prohibit it...
given the pride of the Persians...
Sunnis and their continual quest
for finding water...
    sure... poetry is pointless within
such restrictions of
existential concerns...
    but... given the current, civilized
   sky-scrapers in *******
sand dunes?

         the qu'ran should have
forbidden the architectural ambitions
equivalent to the tower of babel
being erected, in environments,
that could never sustain said projects...

    and who originally spewed the term
Sunni Islam...
        i never liked this strand of belief...
i hate the Sunnis like
a Shia partisan...

p.s. it's called patriotism is America...
but nationalism in Europe...
    you sure that's not a synonym?
Europeans can't be patriotic,
and Americans are never nationalistic?


   well: how could i ever convert to islam,
i do enjoy the adhan from time to time,
"sorry", but i do...
  i can't help it:
if i'm a sucker for pop songs,
i'm also a sucker for the adhan...
   crusader songs, templar songs become
stuffy after a while...
and last time i checked:
     there were the northern crusades
against the baltic people:
notably prussians, lithuanians...
with that cushion of: mediating the
escalation of war by the polacks...
coming from the east:
  last time i checked the mongols
didn't reach leipzig...
               buffer zone people...
and what of the ottoman onsalught
of vienna 1529: the ****** winged hussars
won the charge...

so, coming back to heidegger... aphorism 26
ponderings IX... how am i to not be
the historical animal?
         perhaps in german, in germany
i might become a non-historical animal,
to begin: anew, but with a terrible
past to hide, to negate...
   i could do that: if i were a german,
speaking german, in germany...
but i'm in england:
            i might have some roots in
Silesia, but it's "hard" to not be a historical
animal, an "animal" with a sense of time,
i.e. a future a past a present...
esp. under the english conditions
of: the biological animal momentum narrative,
like a tsunami, like an earthquake...
ripples throughout...
              i can't move forward with
the english championing darwinism every
single ******* step of the way...
why can't they hide darwin like the polacks
hid copernicus...
given the motto: copernicus -
who moved the earth, and stopped the sun...
why wouldn't i escape into history
if the current biological reality is:
(a) a yawn... the cruel nature of per se?
   the courting of pigeons on a t.v. antenna...
pigeons get rejected all the time,
lesson learned, he bows and bows,
coos... expands his tail feathers upon
the bow then folds them... she flies away...
    (b) i can't escape being a historical
animal in the way that what the current
facts are being repeated have encountered
a whiff of Chernobyll...
              history is inclided to answer reality...
biology? not so much... not from what i've
seen and heard...
             truly a schizophrenics disney dream:
to walk among the newly insane feeling
like the only sane among them...
                   well... given the current criteria
of being bilingual as being synonymous
with being a schizophrenic...
   now the crescendo...aphorism 24
ponderings X:

              the word designates, the word signifies,
the word says, the word is (heidegger)...

i found that you can only write
"philosophy" with a neat, fixed vocab. regime,
clarity of boundaries...
    quadratic events in vocab.:

i.e. the reflexive: yourself, himself, itself etc.
and the reflective: your, self....
                       his, self...
                                  it, and the self...
                    ergo? atheistic scissors,
  the two articles, indefinite and definite
                                 a / the "self"...

i'm not playing "identity politics",
when i say that only two peoples ever managed
to sack Moscau... the mongols and the polacks
with the help of lithuanians,
"identity politics" only happens in
post-colonial society, akin to the english,
i'll speak the english,
but i will not be a cucked indian of
the former raj: i will eat the fish & chips,
i will eat the sunday roast,
   i will eat the english breakfast with great
            but i will not do what these former
colonial masters expect of me:
integrate at the expense of making my
mutterzunge into hubris!
stubborness contra pride...
                hard to tell the difference...

and why do i like heidegger so much?
i'm not into the ad homine arguments...
my grandfather, was, a communist party member...
       i like heidegger... because he appreciates
poetics, i like that poets can share the same
values as philosophers,
thanks to heidegger: we have been requested
back into the republic...
if plato and islam didn't like us, hanging around,
some offshoot german thinker / promenade
enthusiast like used enough to,
i suppose: ban the theatre puppeteers...

i am not playing identity politics...
biological reality is not enough...
but archeological reality?
       can you really advance to counter?
i was born near:
Krzemionki Opatowskie, a Neolithic and
early Bronze Age complex of flint mines
for the extraction of Upper Jurassic (Oxfordian)
banded flints...
  personally? i don't believe in
the African genesis conundrum...
i believe "my" people originated from
the Indian sub-continent,
as, associated with the complex:
Indo-European categorization of language;
i'm still to see an African phonetic
encoding system, beside the hieroglyphics...

i, was, born, there! i'm not a displaced
post-colonial debacle between former master
and former slave...
i have: roots... i'm not ******* up to the fish & chips
brigade with a friday night's worth of curry...
i cook my own curry,
and by god: it is the food of the gods...
i'll give the blue indians that counter...
but sure as **** not the worth of mead
or whiskey...

if they only tolerated themselves,
sure, learn the english language,
but know this much:
           english is the modern lingua franca...
it's the language of economics,
forget the natives, too ignorant to learn
either deutsche or française:
                what else, what other attitude?
even the russians are like:
that land of the weirdos? the idiosyncratics?
yes, we know that land...
the only "thing" that shelters the english
are the h'americans, the south africans,
the australians etc.,
  sure as **** the scots aren't sheltering them...
and, mind you?
   if the i.r.a. really wanted to plant
a bomb?
   a real bomb? they'd revert from speaking
any english to begin with... resorting
to revising their usage of gàidhlig:
ga-id-hlig... gaelic...
   like the welsh, stubborn people, proud people,
retaining their Çymraeg...
celt: said kelt...
the glaswegian football team?
       Çeltic... not: keltic...
  borrowed from the greek: sigma (ς: cedilla to ****)...
   wow! all the particulars in the english tongue!
guess it would take an ausländer to spot them!

U-21 european championships,
england versus romania:
                           a magnificent match...
the youngsters playing better football
than the oldies in their mid to late / early 30s...

i'm trying to tolerate Islam,
               it's not in my nature...
            hell... i enjoyed visiting a turkish barber
shop, i still have an unflinching opinion that,
the turks are the best barbers in the world...

              this quote, is going to **** you:
same aphorism / pondering (24 / X) -

*** fight videos - count dankula...
you know what i'd love to do to these little
snarky *****?
the french revolution isn't enough...
n'ah, them hanging, is not enough....
ever heard of the butchers' hook?
                 it's also callled close-up fishing...
imitation hang-man...
   you insert a fishing hook...
and you let the sweeney todd ****** dangle...
on a hook, rather than a noose...
lords of salem come your way?
i'd rather the snarky teen hanging off
a fisherman's hook than dangle
like some lynched ******...
beside the suffocation,
i'd like them with a fisherman's hook entombed
in their hard palette...
         i don't want them hanging...
what am i? a sadist?
  i want them on the fisherman's hook!
when suffocating without a broken spine absorbed
by the neck isn't enough!
  fisherman's hook gallows is a
masterpiece... of suffering...
  most certain...
  when cheap comedy is being towed...
making fun of bums, or homeless people...
the current society is so welcome
to bypass all the "adventures" of Loki...
but akin to the lords of Salem...
burn!? such a limitated imagination!

ah... right... digressing...
        the reflexive / reflective quadratic...
language - only if speech  has acquired
the highest univocity of the word does it
become strong (enough) for the hidden
              play of its essential multivocity
(as withdrawn from all "logic"),
             of which poets and thinkers alone
are capable, in their own respective modes
and their own directions of sovreignty.

we do live in a time of a lost sense
of dialectic, since we do not live in a time
of etertaining dialogue,
perfectly sensible opinions,
that's all we have...

                       if one of these snarky *******
came up to me...
they'd get a chance to experience a rubric
of 4, knuckles...
what's 189 centimeters in empirical?
6ft2...      oh!
                   see where imagination takes you?
and here i was: thinking i was without it!
butcher's hangman...
oh, not so easy...
                fame by no association to fame...
just the tears of parents who raised their children
to be nothing more than rugrats...
annoying gnat like bothersomes;
and nothing quiet special to be associated
with weimar berlin...
     just, these,
   h'american mall onlookers
with pwetty-guy-for-a-white-fly-mentality,
as borrowed from californian
1990s punk;

re-used ****** losers.

mad-hatter's fraction: 10/6....
      well: to the given extent:
     1, 0, /6,
no number is divisible by 0,
every number, divisible by 1:
is the same number...
    mad hatter's 10/6...

   re-used ****** losers...
i like that phrase...
        7 for every 6, 7 for every 6...
until the 0. fraction comes
a 1.: exponential serf of 0...
0 being the multiplier...
         i really am growing a beard to less
don it, but rather to experience
a relief from patience...
war robots?
the first non n.p.c. game...
i like that, very much...
      and when i did:

you know my first experience of
love at first sight?
the younger sister of my then girlfriend...
****** up ****...

love at first sight is a terrible phenomenon...
i was nearing 18, she was barely 13...
i was dating her older sister...
but it was love at first sight,
the trouble with: love at first sight:
it doesn't lie...
it tries to lie...
          but it can't lie...

   paedophilia? a bit... untouched bodies
though... bodies of people who were
never supposed to touch...
i once said to a fwend:
well wouldn't it be ****** up if i touched
   she's a muse, which doesn't translate
into vacating her as a busy body
worth of a touch, does it?
     if only my old friend samuel said
sylvester "contra" tweety:
my first girlfriend...
but her sister?
         i was nearing 18, she was about 13...
love at first sight...
untouched, cradled, unscathed...
and so she remained...
   until she did what every girl would
have done...thank god she remained
a figment of my imagination...
   rammstein: rosernrot...
           i have seen love at first...
such a load of ******* that it had to be
the younger sister of a girl i was dating...
and the **** that i had to be 18 and see
was just beginning her teenage transition...
the world unfair i grant
the most justifications... as being
the (just - unnecessary adjective) arbiter...

love at first sight becomes a forbidden love...
love at first sight was always a forbidden
           and the sort of "love" that achieves
a perspctive of change that doesn't
translate into old age...
love at first sight is soon translated
into a love of affairs closely associated
with middle-age disenfranchised
state of affairs...
i.e. to love again...
            how else to feel relief from
having lost both one's inhibitions
               as well as one's ambitions?!
in the conundrum of the mortal
"question" of the continuum being
Mikaila Jul 2014
Please love me, although I have loved before.
Please know that even if
I have worshiped foreign hands,
Marveled at constellation eyes,
Shed tears for other minds and hearts
That tore from me some brutal, awesome love,
Know that nobody has ever made me feel safe
For any measurable length of time.
That not one of them ever stopped in the midst of kissing me to say
"You are just so beautiful."
The way you did, Lover,
4 times,
Just yesterday.
That all the flowers I ever gave them,
All the gifts and poems and artwork
All those things to show my love
Were tolerated
The way the sun is tolerated on a blistering summer day
Because to escape from it would be too difficult.
Know that I always knew that,
Felt it from them,
Felt shame for it.
And no matter how many photographs I have obsessively taken
Of a face I thought they must have molded the face of the sun after in every ancient carving,
Know that she never wanted me to see her.
And that that
You looking up at me from those white sheets, Lover,
And never glancing away in embarrassment or apprehension
To someone who has been held at arm's length for so many years.
Kisses count,
And I count them, every single one soothing the ache of the losses I never asked
To suffer.
It is true, you are not my first love.
But never have you pushed me away.
Never have you shut me down,
Have you been cruel to me.
And all this
I find it counts
More than the awe I felt for those who would abuse me,
More than the fear and loss and devotion and destruction that they demanded
And then blamed me for the consequences of.
Although I have loved before,
Please, please, please love me now,
For that is something you can be
First at,
MdAsadullah Nov 2014
Man much respected he was.
Honest opinions he gave.
All tolerated him with smile;
Even if negative, men brave!

Honest opinions when all gave.
His eyes filled with tears.
Much disrespectful he turned;
And closed both his ears.
Scarlet McCall Mar 2017
I think about you.
I think about you hard.
I didn't like your attitude;
it left my image of you marred.
You were immature,
sometimes a nasty ****.
But there’s a thought about you
that’s a real perk:
It might be naughty,
it might be sick,
but I find my thoughts turn pleasant
when I think about your ****.

You annoyed me day and night,
and drove me a bit crazy.
There are some things that  I remember
that I wish were hazy.
Your voice was whiny,
your habits loathsome.
You smoked and stayed up late;
I'd wish that I was lonesome.
Except for that bit about you--
the key that fit my lock--
it’s what I miss about you.
My dear, it’s just your ****.

You talked too much.
You weren’t very bright.
I pretended I was listening
as you rambled on all night.
You didn’t pay the bills.
I mostly cooked the food.
Our stupid arguments
left me in a foul mood.
But even when my thoughts
about you were at their meanest,
I somehow changed my view
when I thought about your *****.

There’s no way to separate
you from your biggest asset.
So though you looked like trouble,
in every single facet,
I tolerated much--
more than I’d like to remember--
because of my strange attraction
to your firm and friendly member.
Probably won't get any likes on this one, lol. It's about the person I dated 20 years ago. An PF re-post, with an additional stanza.
autumn Jan 2019
i am afraid of
losing loved ones
and being alone in the dark,
but mostly,
i am afraid of being
merely tolerated
when i want so badly to be loved.
Anastasia Feb 2018
Marinara is my favourite kind of pizza.
I mean, I can’t really have any others...
Yes, I am one of those ‘annoying vegans’
But I also don’t like the non-dairy cheeses.

I used to order the gluten-free version.
So, I guess I am even more annoying.
However, the dough was so dry and weird
I just could never enjoy it.

I’ve tolerated it though for maybe 4 times.
But seriously, it was quite nasty.
So, please, just get the normal Marinara,
Unless you've got celiac disease.

In which case,
I'm sorry,
You gotta have to get the gross pizza.
Katherine Fuguet Jul 2011
With my unbrushed hair and mismatched shoes,
I’m not exactly tolerable.

With my sideways thoughts and panic attacks
I’m not what you might call

I’ll laugh              
And smile
And cry at you

And defend you.

Some days I'll be the death of you.

And I'll always ask for you to take it, all,
         or leave me.

The only choice is to love me, all,
         or leave me.
Khoi-San Sep 2018
The bonfire was loaded
With exiting tales
Our forerunners legendary
Exploit's these daggers
Cut deep trenches in
Our mindseye we felt
Like the next generation
Of wrath true tales from
A culture of devil worshippers
Yet the tongue's wielding
The blade was non the wiser
Our innate minds chewd
Every word our lives Satan's
Recycling bin two five ten
Deaths and many generations
After we now realised that
We have to cut out the blade
From these forked tongued
Folk tales that whispers filth
Unto the unsuspecting ears
Of our beautiful children
Heroism emenating from
The subculture of criminality
And gangsterism must no
Longer be tolerated it have savaged
The Innocence of young lives
For far too long
I grew up in this filth God forbid I should have been a corpse myself
I have lost many friends because of
This generational sub cultural problems
Progress are slowly being made
Through various educational programmes
And community interventions
IcySky Dec 2015
***** mode activated, so ******* leave me the hell alone.

I no longer give 2 ***** about life, or about anything.

You don't care, so I don't either.

Life is better without ******* ******* it up.

No flex zone.
No ***** zone.
No drama zone.

Gossip girls not tolerated.
******* not allowed.
Drama Queens forget about it.
*******, ****** bags, and ***** this includes you too.... *******!
Not in the mood for ignorant people, and their stupid ignorant comments.
Natalie Neo Oct 2014
I tolerated
Because I loved.

I gave in
Because I loved.

I shut up
Because I loved.

You left
Because you love
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
Not A Poem: A Personal Message to Hello Poetry and A Pledge**

None of what has been going on here at Hello Poetry makes any sense but it is hurting many poets here and driving many poets/friends away (8 and counting)... my only thinking is that it is a deliberate attack not only on poets but poetry, and these web sites where poets gather and is part of a growing american culture of barbarity.. it's like those U.S. drone attacks done from behind closed doors that no one sees coming and then everything and everybody gets destroyed... it must stop and we must stop it!

For all those who are interested, I will do the same as Quinn has done and post ANY and ALL private messages that are character attacks or personal attack on me or my friends (if they allow); or ugly comments left on my poetry... Walt Livingston’s  comment on Quinn’s poem should not be tolerated here at HP, and called out for its inhumanity. It has nothing to do with poetry or the poem he left it on. Not one thing he said can be verified and this kind of thing has to stop. It’s like watching Fox or CNN news- ******* opinions posing as news and training us on what to think.

Also, for the record, if anyone receives a message claiming to be me do 2 things, first ask me if I actually wrote it sent it and 2 send it to me... I do not really know (that is I do not yet have the proof needed) who or how many are behind this, BUT I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS TO CONTINUE AS LONG AS I AM AT HP. And this goes for any other site I may visit. So please block me now all who think I will not stand up against plagiarism, attacks, harrassments, trolling, stalking, and any other form of oppression.

I also know that I may lose a few friends in doing this. To them, I can only say, that this is not a reflection on or directed to you in any way and I am sorry if this has hurt you, deeply sorry...


PS  Oh, and by the way, the friends I am referring to know who they are, so if there are any questions about this,  message me and ask me.. no one has the right to declare friendship without my say so...

Wish I didn't have to say this, but since part of the sneak attacks have been done by people using other people's names to pick fights and attacks... yes it has gotten that bad.. That insidious...

So poets of HP, Let’s write poetry, support each other with mutual respect (even if and while we debate the content/ideas of a poem); build a community of poets that is a MODEL for the way human beings should and can treat each other, with mutual respect and listening to and seeing our diversity of ideas and nationalities as a great advantage to art and society and to ourselves... this is not a call for love and peace, since this will have to be fought for, nor is it a call to live and let live... there can be no place among human beings for these attacks... as well as no “free speech” for wreckers and attackers..
Let our language be poetry
Let our words be open and honest debate over poetry and art
Let our hearts be filled with fresh new ideas about life
Lets create wonderment and awe with our pen!!!!  
Come on HP poets, Lets Go!!

Aztec Warrior 1.25.16
Well, this post has sure caused an uproar. I am tempted to say, ya'll deserve each other, so *******, but that would be foolish and wrong of me and get us no further, and the attacks on each other would continue and the real poets, those who want to actually write poetry and have it read and appreciated are leaving. So the first think I want to add to this post is: Quinn, and the rest of you (Rick who is "r'and also "woody", a few others; along with Gary L, Nagi,and I think Jack and Vicki were named in Woody's comment that is not gone) STAND DOWN!! No more poems, comments or messaging spreading rumors or attacking people for who they like or block or what happened  months ago or at another poetry site. STOP.

Look everyone who actually cares, someone (and all admit they do not know who he is or was) by the name of Walt Livingston posted and ugly attack. It 's one of the reasons why I posted the above post. This WAS NOT a defense of Quinn, as it is a method being used in several poetry site to create dissention and havoc.  No one knows who this is and yet everyone thinks they know and they spread this rumor far and wide to anyone who will listen. It has to be Quinn he just wants attention. It has to be 'r" he's been attacking me forever and on it goes round and round until it is almost impossible to find the truth. The truth is someone created that account and look at the results Instead of pointing fingers and coming up with all kinds of conspiracy theories, lets put or know how together and find out.

I do not know who this is nor will I speculate. But I will say this, all of us at this point are being played!!! And attacking each other is not helping to get at this problem.

No matter what Quinn did or didn't do at WC that got him kicked off, there was continued trouble at WC that Quinn had nothing to do with. Does this mean Quinn is innocent, no, it just means this mess we are dealing with is bigger than one individual. Look I know you all don't agree with me on this, Which leads me to the main point.

I put the center or heart of the above post last for a reason. To make it stand out from the part where I was saying what I would do to prevent attacks on me and friends (if allowed). Maybe I was wrong in doing this because you all have ignore it. Or at best gave it some general nod and then went right into attacking each other trying to prove who was the real hero/heroine and blah blah. Why?? Why couldn't these points be the glue that can help sort out this "sad state of affairs at HP"  as someone put it. They certainly do not detract from the "Rules of Conduct" Eliot has posted. and everyone "agrees" they will abide by. They could actually act as a banner of sorts that people could come around and express why they like or dislike them and as a means of determining disputes. But I am also convinced that if these points do take hold it will be much easier to root out and identify anyone or someone who is provoking bs on the site.  Are they perfect? hell no. And that is why it will take many many of us to do this including CRITIQUING THE POINTS. But there will be no tolerance of knocking at people for any reason.   It's easy: critiquing points, yes; critiquing people, NO..
I hope I am not talking to the wind here...
Azurel Mar 2019
Dysphoria, what does it feel like?
They sigh, trying to find a single sentence for years of caged silence.

Identity: Female
Stuck in the wrong way
To me it’s a sense of nothing will ever be right
The feeling of being in extreme danger
Like you’re about to die

Identity: Male
All I can say is
This isn’t me
The feeling is a long and windy explanation of
There are things about me that I don’t associate with myself
And it’s weird and confusing
When I become aware of them

Identity: ****. A drag queen? Trans fluid.
It's a lot like,
An itch
Like a really itchy sweater,
You can’t take it off
And the longer you have to wear it the worse it gets
You start to hate yourself because
You’re the one that put the sweater on in the first place

They say we are ill

It’s not correct

When they say it’s their right to say those
That’s when I get mad

If there is no way to make the mind conform to the body
You must make the body conform to the mind

If they think it’s their right to tell other people that their identity is wrong,
Then they are ill and broken
They have no f**king clue
And I know,
I can’t tell them they’re wrong
Without telling them why
But I realize
Explaining this is futile
With closed minded people

Bathrooms need to change, Health care needs to change, Identification needs to change
People are forced to “pick one”
Trans-phobia shouldn’t be tolerated
Mental health care shouldn’t be because it’s a “defect”
Social pressure, Internalized oppression, Abuse,
Politicians have got it the wrong way around
One in two transgender persons have experienced ****** assault
One. In. Two.
They say, “We don’t want men undercover spying on our women and children”
You think they are in there to spy or ****?
Name more than two cases in the last 25 years
Where a transgender person has sexually abused a woman in the ladies bathroom
You can’t
But give me five minutes, and I can come up with five to eight names of transgender people
That have been assaulted in bathrooms since 2019 started

But our Pride cannot be destroyed
It’s our strength
A feeling of belonging
A belief that we can change this

We are not alone.

We Are Not Alone.

This is a poem written from the words of transgender people in my school. It is written for all who don’t understand who we are and all who wish to be understood. Please listen.
Kassiani Dec 2011
I exist in a world of careful structure
Taken out of Chaos and made habitable
By strict planning and strict ruling—
Structure is imperative
Order keeps us going
Deviations are not allowed

If you wish to live in my world
You must learn to follow rules

Reliability is key
Being dependable as the rising sun
Predictable as a new moon
Always infallible

Disappointments are not tolerated
Insufficient will be cast away
Deviations are not allowed
So if you can’t be trusted
Then you don’t belong here

There will be order in my house
For in games of two, there can be no others

And they exist to keep us out of Chaos
They exist because structure
Ensures that we don’t collapse
So when your eyes are wandering
You are marking yourself as inconstant
And I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve suffered for every sweetness you’ve laid at another’s feet
I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve learned that you must always choose me

I will burn you for every betrayal
And some will call me jealous
Written 12/23/11
Bob B Aug 2018
THEY will have the final word.
Believe what the PARTY says is true.
Even Facecrime gives you away,
For BIG BROTHER is watching you.

Honesty? Bah, such nonsense!
Loyalty is what must sell.
State-spread rumors incite the mob
In your bleak, dystopian hell.

Reject evidence of eyes and ears.
That's what THEY say. Watch how hate
Turns the unquestioning supporter
Against the enemies of the state.

The Goodthinkful, unaware
How language affects their thoughts and behavior,
Show how ignorance is strength
And lavish praise upon their savior.

Manipulating public opinion,
THEY know well-spread lies will last,
For that's how THEY'LL control the future,
And that's how THEY control the past.

Doublethink is what THEY call it:
The clever art of reality control.
Ignorance is strength, THEY tell you.
Controlled insanity is THEIR goal.

The more powerful THEY become,
The less THEY prove to be your friend.
It's NOT about what's good for the people.
Power is NOT a means but an end.

War is declared on language and memory.
Inconvenient facts are rejected.
Science is reviled, and THEY
Discredit people once respected.

Doublespeak narrows the range of thought.
By caving in you might survive.
Two and two make four, but sometimes
THEY'LL say that two and two make five.

Opinions are not tolerated.
Protective stupidity: that's THEIR plan.
You think THEY can't control your thoughts,
But, oh, THEY can. THEY really can.

Do you look at your screen, or does
Your screen look at you? Or Both?
Do you know how much THEY know
Or if THEY know you've kept your oath?

Who's the next to be vaporized?
Who's the next to become an unperson?
As long as THEY control your "thinking,"
Everything can only worsen.

If only to awaken from the nightmare
Where truth becomes a likelihood
And we retain humanity!
Wouldn't that be "doubleplusgood"?

-by Bob B (8-30-18)
Dad Poet Society Jun 2014
Does evil exist?
Well, does it, or not?
I demand an answer
And if it does, hold that thought

Because if wrong does exist
We must face the reality
That calling something wrong means
There's a right way things ought to be

But if wrong does not truly
Exist in bright colors
Well, what, then is justice
But a meaningless construct?

If the **** of a child
In all histories and cultures
Can be called pure evil
Even by society's worst prisoners

If the ****** of innocents
Is forever and always
An evil in society
That can't be tolerated

If imprisonment of a woman
Like chattel for sale
Being held as a *** slave
In her own private hell

Or murdering Jews
Like ******'s evil plan
Or starving millions unjustly
In Stalin's Ukraine

Or killing the masses
For political expedience
Culling babies in China
Or locking up dissidents

If beheading of heretics
Is inherently wrong
Or even violating your privacy
Or invading your home

If these are universally bad
And there's meaning in words
Then there's universal good
That our souls are drawn toward

Something more than just philosophy
Because that lacks authority
And if good is defined by the majority
Then what about the minority?

Tyrants run roughshod
When rights come and go
At the whims of the powerful
Because what they say goes

No, evil is something
More than laws, or from cultures
Or philosophical sophistry
From ivory towers

To try to stop badness
Is really to defend
That there's a god of pure goodness
Who wants us like him

We can discuss who that god is
And what is his substance
But the least we can do
Is acknowledge his existence

You can say that religion
Starts evil wars and such
And you might just be right
But you've just proved too much

Because if there is no god
Whose nature defines goodness
Who are you to call war bad
Or **** evil, or hate, darkness?

Who are you to sit in judgment
Of the religious who you think hate you?
If there is no moral standard
That makes hate wrong, and judging too?

If morality is nothing more
Than just a social contract
Then it's just he said/she said
And there's no moral compass

You see, your compass is as good as mine
And that may be fine, generally
Until the ****** asserts his own
Warped idea of morality

What makes his wrong
And yours universally right?
That's a tough question
That keeps philosophers up at night

Because indeed, if there is no god
There's no guilt to assuage
For the wrongs that man does
Because there is no such gauge

It's like measuring empty
Without knowing what full is
Or like trying to describe love
Without knowing who God is
To all those who know deep inside there's a god who created you to be good, but you keep trying to convince yourself otherwise.
It was like camp
But I spent the first night
On a thin plastic mattress with ****** sheets freezing
Instead of encircling a campfire
Singing cowboy songs of the West
And little dogs

My first activity was not making a bow and arrow or a target but instead I was
sitting after breakfast
on a concrete bench
in the Sun
Trying to fill myself with that allusive happiness.
That was my plan.

On the next occasion in the open
I did not get a compass
nor a map
but I sat with a table of girls
And spoke up without being asked
They started to show off their pale pinkish arms
I was at the cutters’ table
Smoker’s edition
Layers upon layers of
Rippling Scar tissue
at the elbows in particular
It is thick.
Bleeding and healing
To be sliced open again
For crusting over.
They were cheerful
Despite hallucinations and panic attacks,
Lost children or tomorrow
Scuttling along a murky seabed that did not want them but
Here’s a cigarette

I did not make a sundial or find my canoe
Or make shoes out of leaves
but let the morning sun stick around
while the smoke issuing from their chatty mouths pinched my nose
I would take their smoking breaks with them.
I claimed two for myself and once lit,
slyly handed them over
As I listened to the chatter and laughed
I feel a faint yellow heat
From up over there.

We didn’t at first hover around each other
Talking about nothing like high school
Girls with braces and dorky pajamas
Or bend over from the top bunk to say
one more thing before lights out
At first I never added more than a informed observation about lipgloss or
a roll over the eyes over the next dumbbell talking about nothing that existed
But I was tolerated
And as their numbers diminished
only to be refreshed again
my comfort grew
I made “friends”
We laughed and co-conspired
Over pills, soda and what’s that on your tray?

There were movies on the tv
But no westerns
With horses trekking through the tall grasses
Smoke arising in the distance
Imitating a life that we were imitating as well
Yes we were!
Just a slightly different tale about
Endless treks and wandering

On the weekends
The rules relaxed and the counselors,
Had there been any,
Would have been preoccupied with private intrigues and how to make pineapple cocktails
And we, left to our own devises,
Would saunter in and around each other
Braiding hair and reading magazines.

There was a telephone.

When it was time to get into the car to go back home by way of the freeway
I didn’t have a hat that I had painted myself with only three colors
Nor feathers
or a blue ribbon for starting fires
We all said our good-byes
Even the mean one called me by my name
And we shot off like the explosive plumes of fireworks
into a dimming sky.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2017
but even surrounded
by my kids,
wonder what century this is.
where did my world go
all the values I once knew,
I'm sure I instilled them.
I'm out of touch I'm told,
I guess I am since women
now-a-days don't
work, cook, clean, Iron, *** I iron,
I'm patriotic, and I pray,
believe in meals on the table.
Yep I cook from scratch
not something boxed
that gets delivered daily.
I am out of touch.
But it sure feels good
being able to
fend for myself,
able to cope,
with what the hell
ever is thrown at me.
Yep, I'm out of touch
with some of the
crap they watch on tv
Their reality is
not my reality.
passing the tissues.  
Patty m


we wince inside,
more than smile,
when we venture outside,
outside being anywhere
our eyes take us

the simple notion we carried,
the simple notion given us,
see me, watch me, learn from me,
be like me, for my model is
a not-so-bad one, even if the
styling is so retro,
with its yes ma'am, no ma'am,
can I help you with that sir,
and with a wave and a smile,
let them go in front, cut in,
even though our time is far not, closer shorter,
and hurry is not in the
top ten list of our commandments

be not wistful,
from your window
you can see a green land, well endowed,
where speech freedom yet lives,
not a half bad achievement

perhaps we did not suckle them perfect,
for they are and err in contented
perfect surety
intolerance of anything but newer ways,
that too oft are the discards
of older ideas born of a
disproved arrogant new math
of selfie-righteousness

but let us no croak too much
like old people croaked about us

for we both fear for them,
far more than we silent chide,
the days to come seem so fraught
with excesses we tolerated

wonder if
they will be forced to buy their manufactured water in masticated plastic,
drinking tap water a dangerous high, or food of any kind be plenty after
seven decades of famine

wonder if
they will work for the robots,
those labor saving devices that will
steal the honor of labor, the dignity of a paycheck's message, the honor of rising early to work

wonder if
the madmen we tolerated,
that we chose to ignore,
will return to them
a racked and ruined world

wonder if
they will recall, renember
the kindness of soft spokeness,
the tolerance for a well reasoned argument
and be open to the bounty of
thoughtful persuasion
and the relief in and of

wonder if I despair?
do not!
for daily they come here,
where good word's rule,
tender their fears,
leaving behind the arrogance
perhaps reading these,
even these words
and realize that the good we have the good we struggled to bequeath,
was born from
good struggle,
in more struggle,
is the only way to be
less afraid

July 6th
4:55 am
Patty srnds me a message which inspires, as much poem as message.
I take it abd write a counterpoint, contrapunto, or a contrepoint

She never knows when I am hatching this "duo"
till it is public and ergo, the oooh's, ahhh's and dayuuums of her genuine surprise.
Towela Kams Oct 2014
Yesterday, I was on my way to the mall and I decided to use public transport.
There was this odd man in the bus, who spoke in a very peculiar tone.
I heard him speak our local language, shouting, "I beat her yesterday! My wife came home late from work yesterday and I beat her! I slapped her! I ****** her! I kicked her!"
I was sitting in the back, and I thought that maybe this was just a joke. Even still, it was a rather morose "joke".
The man beside him, his friend, exclaimed in heavy laughter saying, "Yes, my friend, that's what we do. They'll learn to respect us. And they'll learn that they should not do just as they please!"
The man replied, "That's true! She must be thankful I brought her from the village and into the city. She shouldn't even be working. She should be home, being a housewife."
At this point in time, the elderly woman beside me shot a glance to the men behind her.
It could've been that she had experienced abuse, too, in her earlier years of marriage.
I knew she was stunned and I knew she wanted to say something, just as I did but didn't know how to structure her words.

I'm fourteen. And I'm very lucky to be born in modern day where abuse isn't tolerated and education for women is recommended.
It's more than "just" education. It's empowerment.
And that's what a lot of women don't understand.
I won't be quick to blame them for staying in such an abusive relationship.
Not that I'm encouraging that they stay, or anything.
I know that sometimes they stay because they can't leave.
There's their children they can't leave behind
I think it's high time society appreciated women, they go through more than we can imagine
Physical abuse is one thing, emotional abuse is the deadliest
And the scars left on these women's lives is irreversible
They learn to reduce themselves to this HORRENDOUS "lifestyle" that people from long ago accustomed to
Education is the key to success; you best believe that
Over the next few years, I want to hear the story of the girl who witnessed and sometimes endured abuse
And how she used her experience to help fellow girls
And how she further grew up to help empower women
I want that girl to be me
To be the mouthpiece for women
And it all begins today.

As my mother has said before, "If he even ATTEMPTS/THREATENS/ to hit you, LEAVE."
Due to circumstances that abusers usually encounter in their early stages of life, abuse isn't something you can easily rectify. It's not a cycle that can be broken.
So, L E A V E.
Close the door to abuse, open the door to happiness and success. Especially when you have the key to open it; Education - the key to success.

Thank you,
Towela Kams [Future women-advocate]
Unfortunately, I have tons of friends who witness abuse. And it scars them when that abuse is done by someone their mothers really love.
This piece is pretty self-explanatory.
heather leather Sep 2014
I’m sorry if I interrupted your class with text messages
because you hate putting your phone on silent
it’s just that I should be there with you
laughing at your confused faces during Calculus I and
staring at your look of sheer concentration during Creative Writing
You were always the poet, not me
But it’s 1pm and I’m stuck in Calculus with someone else as my partner
who doesn't get nearly as confused as you and puts me to shame
which ****** me off because you would never correct me in Calculus
and so I can’t help but wonder who your new partner is
Is she smarter
Is she funnier
Do you quote Shakespeare to her like you did to me?
Is she better than me?
There’s no doubt that a. I ******* it all up and that b. you’ll move on from me
because you were always the popular one, I was the antisocial outcast that most people barely
For some unknown reason you decided to become my friend that faithful day in
Calculus I
and ever since then you became my 3am conversations and midnight laugh

I depended on you much more than you did on me
I cared so much more
and maybe that was my fatal flaw
because if I hadn't cared so much
then maybe I wouldn't feel like screaming and throwing my partner’s textbook
at the teacher
but I did
I cared too much; against all warnings not to and now I’m wrecked
then again, I always was in a way
I just didn't know it

You told me that it didn't matter
that they couldn't separate us; no matter what
that you would never let me go
and you kept your promise
but I can’t keep mine

The words “I’m sorry”
come to my head
but those aren't the right words
because I’m more than sorry
I’m bleeding
I’m crying
I’m devastated
I’m torn
I’m broken
and perhaps that’s why I can’t keep my
Okay?Okay promise to you
because no, I am not okay
and you deserve so much more
and this is not okay
me lying to you through a computer screen is
not okay
me putting my gashes of regret on my arm is
not okay
me making you wait only for you to find a fraction of the girl I was is
not okay

and that is why
today during Calculus I
I will finish this ****** poem
and excuse myself and go to the girls’ bathroom
and cry my eyes out after sending this to you

I should end this with a ‘goodbye’
because there’s no use giving you false hope
but I can’t bring myself to end there
so I’ll just say something
and hope that you still remember what it means

P.S. I’ll always love you

^who catched the song reference and the book reference? No one? Okay. Inspired by a wattpad story that I cannot fathom to remember
Brian Oarr Oct 2012
It had been one of those enervating days,
when officialdom and red tape paperwork
had ****** the yolk and marrow leaving only
a dullness that yawed the ghost ship of her frame.

She decided not to cook, as much as
payback for her ordeal by proper channels.
And so to the "Toilet Bar", cafe of choice
for malicious villagers, though rarely women.

The men folk hardly stared upon her entrance,
by now they knew those leopard skin boots,
that packed a wallop they grudgingly took
stock of, then returned to their cheese and wine.

This was her quarter of salt cod with cream,
prepared by owner Paula and daughter Carolina,
the only other women tolerated amongst the chairs,
that smelled of tar and testosterone.

Lacking collars three tumbled to the stony street,
drunken mechanic, one armed plumber, peg-legged sailor,
the kerfuffle amusing her, their wicked aunt.
Another Lagoan night that shimmered out to sea.
Inspired by the bravest woman in Lagoa, Portugal
She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.

Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.

That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those  ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.

She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.
andrea hundt Jul 2014
Winter is quiet, but always restless.
Irrevocably cold, and deceitfully burning.
Harsh at times, throwing storms of ice when tempered.
Apologetic, as it stews in silent shame.
Unforgiven, and tolerated.
A season which destroys beauty in order to create a kind of it's own.
Decorated, as if the beauty it created for itself hadn't been enough.

I never liked Winter very much,
but I've come to realize we've got a lot in common.
Ken Pepiton Aug 2019
Wonder this today, what if
We are
existent in ever only in the life we leave
graffiti to prove we examined and proved it worthy.

We swore
to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth
vicariously a thousand times,
because Pop watched Perry Mason,

we were on the bench being waited for,
endurance is encouraged for the same reason faith

is evident.

"Mortgage the farm, Pop, I got G.I. life insurance."
Uncle's last letter, afore he was made sacred

for our own American Dream, it seems, now.

Mortal tyranny
finds little worth in the 20th percentile signed
away in
death pledges held in banks of money
multipliers, who take our thousand and lend me ten

to deposit at interest less than I pay,

this we learned, is the way of thrift
in 1928, then in 1985, then in 2008
after that enough is enough

old men should not
spend no time to find
the purpose of each breath…

we're here to find the reason war is tolerated here.

The days of fewer humans, past now in haps,
left lies formed from living words
in old Sybline rants simple subtle
sublime, impulse urge
twisted in slang to become science
when only insiders are conscious of using
writing to lock meaning in unutterable names

Ha. That lie. The unspeakable name game,
perverted priests have played
with passion,
proud, puffed up butchers,
heirs of
Moses guessing, fingers crossed, a word
to the wise is enough.

Say I am,
How long will that be funny?

Timing is perceivable as everything, but so long as

eternity and infinity and twisted paths along the surface
of myelinated axioms,
slick as snot,
it's not.
here we be. Redeemed. Useless mutterings picked up
in passant

considering the ant, scouting, marking, remaining in the dark
of the tiled counter-top, aware of being brown on sterile
white ceramic surfaces
intensified florescent reflecting high gloss,
-- good god--

ah, Tender-eyed Leah meet Rhea impulsive creative dia
metrically opposed - as
to randomness on any level.
We square?
This, I think, is why war is thought tolerated here.

Right angle messages tweaked, to fit
fractures from the days when only evil was imagined
shapeless, having form in
no shape, save some old wives tales all fused with spite
expressed in rhymey verse
or, worse, glossolalia
its inverse, aha, wordplay, verse-ification

springs hope eternal, spits in the dust, fine-ground red
ochre clay from far away

brought to our place in time on muddy iron feet

A voice arose,
shake the clay from your feet,
-- the feet of them who buried thy lying sack o'
-- those clay clad feet, did I read, at the door, stood they…
-- some translation of Ananias and Saphira,

Uri, Uri! Libsi libsi
Uz zek Sigh-own

libsi big de tipart-tech, ye ru say limnal
agent of
Isaiah 57: 2 for the Jesus freaque
frequency of
calm in confusion's unpacking, fission
as the firstborn under the cloud of unknowing
emerge afraid to lie.

Nurses whisper, listener listen
emulate Socrates
in knowing
Plato could carry quite a load. But listen,

who admits to knowing nothing? be real, this takes time…

The spit in the clay, rub that in yer eye?
men, like trees… yeh, some say they see that here.
Phonetic Hebrew from Strong's Pre-computer era concordance of every word in the KJV. A grimoire of the benefucent sort for sure. Aitia proof.
Victor Thorn May 2011
i'll admit it

i'm just trying to score some prozac;
something to supplement the steroids
that never seemed to ease the pain.
my body never
anything they gave me:
all their alcohol distraction,
all their **** carelessness,
all their acid lifestyle,
none of it.

as for ecstasy,
i never got the dosage right:

i've been offered ersatz masterpieces
and turned them all down,
so they sacrificed their snatches to other gods,
who happily and hungrily partook in the
appetizing, dangerous bounty for which there is no cure.

i was once appeased for my lust
and committed love crimes,
so i learned not take ecstasy
until i tried the steroids.

i'll admit it

i'm just a pair of eyes
in a white ocean
Copyright May 3rd, 2011 by Victor Thorn
Joel A Doetsch Feb 2012
This is a formal complaint to one Cupid
on behalf of the population of earth.

We find that you've become somewhat,
how can we put it mildly....
ever since you started drinking.  We've
found that you have not been taking
your job seriously at all since that time

We were understanding at first.  Your
job?  It's not an easy one.  It tolerates
almost no failure, and requires both
physical and mental capacity that is
beyond what most of us can spare.

However...we feel that the alcohol is
affecting your judgement and character
in a way that we can no longer accept.
Below, we've listed the particularly
heinous abuses of your power

1.  Taking bets on what you can make people fall in love with.  John is now smitten with a cactus while Jenny can't stay away from the inflatable Santa Claus on the Morgans' lawn.
2.  Having very attractive women fall in love for your...erm...personal pleasure.  That's just offensive
3.  Having members of the same family fall in love.  The vulgarity of it all is just appalling!  It's an ****** epidemic!
4.  Shooting your arrows at Rhinoceroses and then laughing as they charge a poor unsuspecting person is not funny.
5.  Likewise, shooting an unsuspecting person and having them fall in love with a Rhinoceros who doesn't reciprocate is equally unfunny
6.  Last, but not least...Please fix the Republican Candidates.  Mitt Romney and Rick ******* are trying to get married next week.  While I'm happy that they are now "for" gay marriage, this cannot be tolerated.

So?  Do you have anything to say for
yourself?  Is that alcohol I smell on your
breath?  You don't even care, do you?
Well...we have no choice but to revok---OW!

Oh dear.
The Story** begins with silence and black out, a void. Not darkness. Nor anything that attempts to define nothingness, because it’s nothing. The blackness or void is only a metaphor representing nothing. Within this point, so close to simultaneous you’d think they were one in the same, a light emerges, emanating divine, pure energy and love.  Its intelligence and complexity expands and fills what was once nothing with beauty and truth. At this moment, all is whole, fast as thought, strong beyond comprehension, gentle as a whisper and furious beyond all flame. The wild spirit of happiness is real and alive! The void was never the enemy, only a point in which to be born. Duality can only exist if unification finds an enemy within itself. The enemy is reflected by the segregation and space created between divine and mortal. This space is developed by Ego.

   This entity “Ego” is the essence of self resistance, absorption, chaos, consciousness…hate. The inner antagonist rises and begins to cut and eliminate the threads attached to creation and spirit. A mirror that envelopes and contains the living spirit.  An orb caging vulnerable souls spread throughout the expansion of life and suffocating energetic flow.  The universe and it’s creatures that lost connection being virtually incapable of seeing one another ever again while the enemy exists.

   The instigation is tolerated by those who always continue the journey. The emasculation of Ego, commences as the divine resonates it’s vibration as a weapon like a solar flare, piercing the Ego. Then the inner spirit begins to open up and claw its way out. The Spirit sees that vanity is leading the despair of self pity into the heart as it remains a vessel dwelling in a false world channeling a false force. This awareness makes The Spirit lifts up, against and out of a matrix constructed within the crystal ball cage that refracts the true sun’s rays. Together, The Spirit and The Divine begin to crush Ego. Ego begins to flatten, compress and then combust. Through the flames the chord of love between The Divine and The Spirit bursts like a shooting star towards the kinship’s re-established nexus. The collision creates what was pure and full in circulation again and the expansion becomes an infinite motion harmonizing with the void in an adventure that goes on forever. When Ego tries to slither back in after a nearly insurmountable time of hiding between the gaps that contains new life, it is given no room by anything in thought, theory, in any form of existence.
(This is only the beginning of an unfinished piece of work) **FadedFate**
life nomadic Jan 2013
I don’t have faith.  
I just know that I belong to my Savior Jesus.  I met her once when I was 11, at her humble single wide in a cramped trailer park and she made candied walnuts on a hotplate.  I didn’t find out until years later that she paid for my scholarship.  She had passed on by then; I wish I could have thanked her.

He arrived at Juvenile Hall at 7:00 pm looking like Mrs. Santa Claus, to take me into her home for a year.  I made some sarcastic teenage comment about the stupid country music on her car radio, and she tolerated it with a smile; saying ‘its not stupid, its simple.’ She showed me what a caring family looks like and didn’t kick me out for being a smart-***; gave me chores and a curfew to show me I belonged.

When I had no family or boyfriend in my life, I lived in a maternity home until my baby would be adopted.  Jesus was the stranger in the hushed hospital room holding my hand, after the medics couldn’t find the heartbeat in the ambulance, which was confirmed on the maternity floor, and I was taken to another floor so my crying wouldn’t upset the other mothers.  The room was small and dark and alone, and the clock on the wall took an eternity to move two minutes, for the entire night that I was in labor, the longest night in my life.   I didn’t remember someone holding my hand; I was so drugged for pain.  She showed me her arms two days later, so bruised because she didn’t leave me.

Jesus was the woman from Planned Parenthood on the other end of the phone, listening to me when I called the Women’s Clinic asking how I could find a doctor.  ‘ I just moved here, and I work at a minimum wage job, and I lost my baby a month ago, but how do I get a post-partum exam when I don’t have a doctor, or any money, or insurance?’  I was very matter of fact about it, I mean this was my circumstance and what to do?  She arranged a birth control exam because the state would pay for that, by a doctor who would give me the post-partum.  She also referred me to a support group.  I had been alone but she found me people who understood and could sympathize and help me accept grief.   I look back on that now; there were no sign-carrying Christians or Churches arranging the adoption who helped me, she was the only one who cared.
Copyright © 2013 Anna Honda. All Rights Reserved.
magdalena Sep 2012
I can still smell your cheap cologne on my bed,
On my CAL hoodie  
And in my hair.

I don't know how I tolerated you for so long
Your hands were always ***** and covered in car-grease
Sometimes your hair was too messy
And your eyebrows were uneven.

We had nothing in common
You were a liar
And It  was my passion to expose the truth.
You were bottom class
I was a famous superstar.

High school dropout mechanic
Honor student debater.

But somehow
In some way
Your smile
captivated my heart.

And you and I were one.
This is my first poem in a while. I'm still kinda rusty. Feedback is well appreciated :D
Grace Jordan May 2015
You know what, this is not a love story this time. In this case, it never was. I thought it was, but I was mistaken and lied to by my lonely heart. And For once, I am standing my ground and telling you what you deserve to hear.


******* for making me so dependent on you that I was scared to stand up to you, even though you were cruel to everyone I loved. You may have thought you were cute, you may have thought it was your odd way of love, but it was honestly just an excuse to be an utter ***** to everyone and none of us should have tolerated it.

******* for competing with me. I am not a competitive person, but you'd laugh and comment how you were better, smarter, more mature. It drove me wild. Not only because your arrogance made me want to drive you into the ground, but also because it made me feel like I had to prove myself to you, brag in front of you, compete with you to feel worthy.

******* for turning on me at my weakest. Over a boy for god's sakes. I was your best friend, the one you turned to and confided in, and you started to completely disregard me over a boy I had feelings for first. You had no respect for our friendship in any facet, and it made me regret letting you in at all.

******* for always being at the back of my mind, for being so infuriatingly insidious that I have to always check up on you and worry about you even though you don't deserve it. For doing things that don't make me feel anything but pity and concern for your life, instead of being proud and maybe thinking I could accept you.

******* for making me want to **** myself. For being the selfish catalyst who showed me the cuts on her legs and made me feel so guilty that I didn't deserve life. Everyone deserves life, even the cruelest of people, and to purposefully make me feel that worthless, just to try to win me back, was the most heartless, selfish, thoughtless thing you could have ever done.

******* for being similar to me in any frivolous way, because now I am utterly terrified to be anything like you. Obsessive, rude, cruel, thoughtless, and selfish. I fear for my boyfriend, my friends, everyone around me because I know being your friend has given me the capacity to be just as ruthless as you. And I hate you for it.

******* for making me forget anything pleasurable about our relationship. All I can feel is a burning frustration when I hear your name, or an overwhelming sadness, or endless anger. None of it is pleasant.

******* for everything you've done to me, and **** the dark part of my heart that exists now because of your knives stabbing me in the back.

******* for still making me think about you, and ******* for any part of me that is like you.

I'm done with you. This is the end. Its ******* over.

And just remember.

Nnaemeka Mokeme Aug 2018
Here standing again
at the edge of the cliff,
struggling against the
force of the wind.
Drenched and cold,
thinking and wondering
what to do.
This is what I was seeking.
I wanted to feel the
storm in my bones.
Fearing what I want and
wanting what I fear.
Desiring and yearning for it,
yet distanced myself from it.
Never been more sure
about changing than now.
Angels are busy working and
trying to show visions
of heaven.
But here am I clawing the
ground trying to get hell for you.
Now I have to stop struggling,
for this striving and toiling are not
yielding desired fruits.
I'm so breathless from all this
going up and down
trying to make it work.
Rest is not so bad after all this
rigours of running around.
Dullness has taken over the heart
of one who suppose to rule.
Stagnation cannot be tolerated
and condoned or we all go down.
Change is needful urgently.
It is time for you to learn the balance.
I bring from the east,
I bring from the west,
I bring from the south,
I bring from the north
the power of balance.
It begins in the spirit.
We can balance anything.
Our voice, our work, our body.
You can even balance your sadness.
First you find patience.
Perhaps you will meet patience in this
sunlight and become good friends.
I will tell you again.
I will tell you again and again
until your inside knows.
It takes a long time to learn the art of balance.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Nnaemeka Mokeme Jul 2018
Just the other day,
I would never have
thought that it
can be done.
Couldn't believe
that it is possible.
Never imagined I
would come out
victorious with my
dignity not messed up.
How can this be done
for the sake of posterity.
With enthusiasm we
can do wonders.
Positiveness is vital
to propel you
to the miraculous.
It can generate you
and powerfully send you
to a spiritual high.
Anyone who has
not experienced the
darkness will never
appreciate the light.
You will never know
the beauty of heaven
until you pass through
hell to overcome evil.
Enlightened mind is
a determined one and
can't be stopped by
the frivolous feelings
of the weak mind.
Uprightness must be
a priority in its dealing
with the worldly things.
Separated from the crowed,
he becomes more in tuned with
the divine and the fantastic.
Trusted with the fabulous,
the mind is tested for strength
of purpose to be fully accepted.
No weakness is tolerated
for the inner beauty of man is
made visible by the power
beyond the ordinary.
The innate power within man
is called forth at a time such as this.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

— The End —