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jules Aug 2016
I join the game,
I act so lame

but,
really I'm a troll
and the tides take a toll

I spout up dank memes
until the non-memers scream

and when pepe comes about,
take the meme-haters out

"stop, stop, noob!" they say
while eating Doritos and singing away

your 360 no scope can't **** me,
cause honestly, your 'friend' is my secret trustee

so bombard all you want

fill me with hate

the memers will meme on

until it gets...


late.

        








goodnight.
i'm sorry, i can't delete this. it hurts. it's so dumb bUT THE MEMORIES JSNA D
Tryst Apr 30
This toll of life?  Tis not of years
And youthful cloth outgrown,
Nor failing eyes dulled in arrears
For sleep they might have known —

Tis in the heart the toll is paid
With weight of love ungiven,
And foolish is the heart afraid
To seek on Earth for Heaven.
I.
Love has a pulse
A rhythm method
Sometimes
Hand in hand
Others
Hand-to-hand
Best wedding gift:
A book of matches
For those times of
Darkness ahead

II.
Coming out of the ether
The gravitate to "we"
Is no longer in
Simulation
We are space
Outer and uncharted
Breath deep now
Once again
Let pressurization
Begin

III.
Spontaneous
Combustion
Magic hour
Learn by repetition
Crouching tiger, hidden dragon
Tongue on the verge
Circling the rosebud
Like the rise of an empire
Blown by the wind
Every which way
The blissful vein
Is tapped into

IV.
Localized storm
Waves against the sandbags
Not quite filled enough
Water gets in
Does its damage
The insurance policy
With no flood coverage
We are now indeed
An island

V.
Sacrificial offering
Open palms
Bowed heads
Recite your sorrows
And count the losses
Forgiveness comes like
Piecemeal
A little at a time

VI.
Something new
And loud and wet
Love has a different hue
To its sky
It will be cloud free
Never again
A hunt for a nap
Or dreams of napping
In this maddening mosaic
That blurs the line between
Caretaker and sleepwalker

VII.
Endurance wins the race
Not good intentions
Home can survive
The change of seasons
We plant the flowers
We water the lawn
We rake the leaves
We prune the trees
This is our garden
If we don't tend to it
Who will?
Toll - a tax or fee paid for some liberty or privilege.
Joel A Doetsch Mar 2012
Joel's mole dug a hole
in a grassy knoll....
the mole hit a pole
and started to roll....
he hit a troll
and they smoked the whole bowl
of mind control.  

The troll asked for a toll,
but the mole was on parole.  
Joel's mole has no soul.
This was not written by me...it was written for me on my 20th birthday by my classmates (and professor) during class.   I claimed that "Joel" was not a good rhyming word, and thus this was born.
CK Baker Jan 2017
leg on the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omegas
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all the impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the **** storm
with hostile ******
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line...
this banter
is killing me
Arjun Tyagi Aug 2018
A lay for the Brother,
A lay for the Soul.
A lay for the Lover,
Their graves set in stone.
For the Tarmac and the Lessons,
For the Company and the School,
For all the Years and Times,
That have grinded their souls.
For the heat of the moment,
For the chill beneath their spines,
For the silence that stretched,
For a million years' time.
For the ***** in his heart,
For the Wolf in her mind,
For All that happened,
Unfair and Unkind.
For the Future that died,
For Each Second  it is reborn,
For the Lives lived together,
Mildly content but so forlorn.
A Lay for the Lover,
A Lay for the Soul,
A Lay for the Brother,
For The Grind and The Toll.
For Kozu.
Be strong.
Haply but Sweetly, Serene Volumes mix
And Summer's Fornication took its toll
Please don't React. I am not here to fix
Those very Clouds you hard-worked to install
My name is Supporter; Though it sounds strange
To write this Foreword which read too extreme
Trust me this fully; I am well within range
To lend you my Honest and Golden Ring
Indeed Family does matter; Much on Sport
An Athlete like you needs Supplement Prime
This I can assure: They Love you formore
Never to betray your Sensitive Time.
Much grateful am I to scribble this Verse
Now win your Medal; Let Nike converse.
#rachel_bugg
Francesco Bianco and his Wage-Stock Men,
In keeping current with their Rooting Age
Built his Charity on a Stone-House then
As Leisure played a better word for Rage
Not much for Surplus Capital enjoyed
At least for some Tips won by droplets fall
That petty, really. Plus some Papers browsed
For those Picklings shared by survey and toll
Yes, the Compliment of those Blue-Bloods past
Of only their Musk to commensurate
Eve bowed out; Abel only if Forecast
By Cain and his Friends allowed him too late.
You would wonder how such Time could afford
And invest your Years for such brisk Concord.
Melinda Barrett May 2015
Mother Nature takes her toll
On complex creatures with gentle souls
She sends them rain when they seek solace
Her stars shine so bright that they them flawless
Rays beam the brightest when they're down
And shines their warmth upon their frowns
She opens their third eye so they might see
The striking beauty in a rugged tree
They look more closely and discover
That her roots connect us to each other
b Sep 2018
bodies for my shrapnel
lay limp on the street
like dogs in the summer time.
i will bring my storm to you.
have faith in my punch,
believe it.

but don’t you trust
a survivor.
they wouldnt know
how to leave a city in wake.
they wouldnt know not to
pull the knife out.

i am a hurricane with skin
and i will
rip your house in half
if i have time to catch a glimpse.

you can pack your bags
and flee but
i dont stay gone.
i live on forever,
i dont die easy.
the toll will raise.
i havent had internet for awhile so im posting a few that have been building up
I admit the Pressures you Three must pass
Your own Barometres took quite a toll
From Stubborn Demands your ****** Peers had
Compel you to Shrink and keep on a Roll
But there are VALUES; Those Trusted Elders
In Humble Present their Words will sure Guide
All you need is some Time for yourselves, Brothers
Such that its Petals will unwrap for your Sight
Kind and apt Admiral! May your Shoes fill
Set their Braces to walk they know can Trust
So even if Hooties make Milk-Thoughts spill
A Shielding Light to soap their Dunged Shells, must.
This is just an Advice. Again from a Friend
Whose busy Torrents tries to Help does rend.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
English girls, they never die
They never seem to wonder why
They can get
Any guy

The camera lens takes its toll
It will consume your soul
As the sky pretends
The stars lose control

Darling, I am on my own
I don't even have a home
Pity hurts worse than death
Leave me alone

Somewhere else on this road
I saw a ******* canyon sky explode
But what's in those dark eyes
I'll never know

When it's you and no one else
We're both by ourselves
I hope you keep,
The pictures on your shelf

Blood swims in my eyes
Like the clouds in the sky
Watch over me
When I die
Danielle Suzanne Apr 2017
Leaves wilted
Roots dry
Hidden in the unlit
corner of the room
You miss the brightness
of the morning sun

Put there
to pretty up this
bare space
Unaware
that you need more
than admiring looks
and shards
of fading light
to survive

Where did your green-ness go?
Once glorious
now brown tinged
and limp  
Walking past you  
I can't help
but look away

I know
I should do
Something
About you

A leaf falls
Feelings of thirst and
Engulfing darkness
Take their toll

Soon
There will be
Nothing left
But a shriveled up stem
And you'll be tossed outside
Discarded
With the rest of them

Really, I'm a terrible gardener.
Terry O'Leary Dec 2016
My chamber teems with tensions, taut, that logic can’t withstand,
fragmenting mental masonry with memories unplanned,
as bitter tears from hazel eyes reduce the stone to sand.

Dim shadows cast by candles flit across the haunted room,
beleaguer apparitions, pale, that stalk me through the gloom,
usurping purloined purple forms forgotten ghosts assume.

The tick-tock clock of time rewinds within the mirrored hall
and pendula suspended, pause, while creatures creep and crawl
on images of effigies, through memories that maul.

The madness of the midnight mass! Perchance it interferes
with spiders spinning spiral threads which bridge the chandeliers
when weaving minds' discarded coils to silken souvenirs.

Reflections graced the vacant gaze of idols as they fled!
Their futile, feigned, far-flung farewells now hammer in my head,
marooned like frozen silhouettes in footprints of the dead.

My lovers smile through marbled masks before they turn their backs
(like furnace flames deserting ash or phantoms fleeing cracks)
with faded, painted, wrinkled faces nightmares carve in wax.

Sometimes a gust disturbs the dust and secrets reappear,
which dance in silver slippers through the dusk of yesteryear -
it's not the screams that drown my dreams, but whispers which I fear.

The hangman posts a letter home, his message indiscreet
about the vestal ****** in the café (where we meet
to savour tea and crumpets) down a one-way dead-end street.

The rapping and the tapping at my tattered, time-worn door
repeat reports of migrant myths, of tales of nevermore,
strung far across a sullen sea, most shipwrecked near the shore.

Forget-me-nots, enwrapped in rain the while a wan wind blows,
recall the faintly fickle fates this drifter undergoes –
alone, unknown with tracks interred in teardrop undertows.

My feet, no longer tied or tethered, traipse within a squall
pursuing profiles long forsaken, buried in the sprawl
of spectres spread amongst the dead, some tattooed to the wall.

At times, the belfry towers toll of anarchy and gin,
of smoke and mirrors, rolling dice and other things akin,
impaled on forks down byway roads, and things that might-have-been.

The skies outside, beyond the night with shutters shut and drawn,
begin to glow on shattered shapes escaping ’fore the dawn
as clouds undone beneath the sun release this captive pawn.
<Loud as you can say it>
I am Outlaw!
         -call me Pirate!
I live such freedom,
         all souls admire it!
The awful God,
        has judged my soul,
Weighs his measure,
          I'll pay my toll!

<In a high-pitched voice>
The sailor's way,
        path unknown,
Stars are clouded,
        nothing shown?
The sea's are high,
        a storm is here,
Davey Jones' Locker,
        my home is near.

<Loud again, yell it>
There is no heaven,
        there is no hell,
Life on seas,
        the seas they swell,
Fish scales on arms,
         scales on my legs,
Heart born free,
         dread-locked and dregs!

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
Lost lives redeemed,
          some should admire it,
The ship upended,
          all hands to drown,
In Davey Jones' Locker,
          a peaceful sound...

<In a high-pitched voice>
The sailor's way,
        path unknown,
Stars are clouded,
        nothing shown?
My time has ended,
        fate is near,
Davey Jones' Locker,
        my death is here.

<Loud again, yell it>
I am Outlaw!
         -call me Pirate!
A man of valor,
          some do admire it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
A dreadful life,
           though some desire it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
To Davey Jones' Locker,
          my deeds require it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!

I AM OUTLAW!
          -CALL ME PIRATE!

I am Outlaw!!
          -call me Pirate!
My life on the ocean,
          my God inside it.
BOOM!
Thus on my genesis Love's fought Regret
My Ardent Sire whose Merits installed
These English Gifts whom I have thanked just yet
Carried Misconstruction; And docked the Fine Toll
This that Penance be my Honest Attempt
Yet still besieged in case of Bad Timing
The Gold I carry an Issue I Contempt
Will try once more to Win his Best Blessing
My how the Fortunes some drive the Mind mad
And took my Heart back to a Wildman's State
This cannot continue; Much have I had
Sponge this Circled Self back to my Constraint.
The Human in me, the Cause of my Lone
And Sister's Reason I banged on the Phone.
Macgyver Oct 2018
Ambitious bastions always tout
progressive plans when they're about
while within they hide and pout
from novel things that may prove out.

And while inventing goals to follow
their ancients habits hold them hollow
as in vain wary workers wallow
force fed lies and hooks to swallow.

They hunt for those who work past five,
that trudge to work, endure the drive
who will sacrifice their personal live
until ambition can't survive.

Yet if you strive, you're constant told
do not do more, do not be bold
just fill your seat, forever hold
your tongue until you're dead and cold.

To subsist we're forced to hide,
only in others can we confide,
all success pushed to the side
as managers act bona fide.

Since those of meager measure make
hope of meeting metrics fake
interloping leaders take
their toll until hard workers break.
ConnectHook Oct 2017
HEAR YE HEAR YE
It's a wedding bell for bedding well cause' we're crushin' the illusion of Russian collusion! CNN wets on Russian bedding but Trump bets on Russian wedding, and you're invited to the bridal shower. Punking the monkery, dig the debunkery; from Rasputin to Putin it's time for some straight shootin'. Hillary looks old and glowers at Donald's rumored golden showers. Our media owes US an explanation for streams of steaming urination, but we are willing to forgive and use their wet diapers as debt wipers. My poem's appeal may take a toll, but let its little peal now roll:

******, ******
rings the bell
A Fake News warning; time to spell
out what was wet with Moscow girls.
Putin's putas ?  Wisdom's pearls
were pried from Truth's reluctant shell,
banishing Hillary straight to hell.
None. It's what we want left over
from this hag. We now discover
beds were dry; it all amounted
(all those golden tricks recounted)
to less than a tepid bowl of kasha. . .
Russia laughed from her summer dacha.
InfoWars was on it first
while Dems spun lies from false to worst,
awarding cash for faked dossiers
embellished with the CIA's
well-trained performing circus-seal.
The FBI endorsed the deal
as RINOS horned in on the action:
Washingtonian distraction;
a democrat-concocted fuss—

. . . but we ALL paid Hillary to **** on us.
TRUMP / PENCE 2020
**** on the Fake News !
HILLARY for PRISON
SUBVERT GLOBALISM.
Sombro Jan 6
There's a tolling depth to me,
A rebounding chasm
Space a hopeful quantity
Tuned instruments ignore

Where broken column qualities
Lie naked in the unkempt stubble
Undisturbed, those civilised peaks
Mountains for heavens bored smooth by soft hands

Champing teeth abound the wind,
Old sounds of dun legs taking flight
And leaving the knotted trees
That died in the clotted soil

Be warned, beasts have left this barren
Sharp corners have been smoothed for
Once this land was deep and green
And gushed with florid indecencies

Now its depth tolls
With the charter of the wind
Scattering what few collected rocks remain
As bricks for walls built far beyond.
Waldo Apr 2017
I’ve chosen to walk
A lonely road
Where ravens squawk
As time erodes
Where the devil talks
Through whispered codes

I walk along
A dark wooded path
Where the nights are long
And I face Satan's wraith
Everything feels wrong
There's no turning back

The more I wander
The more I stray
More time to squander
The days away
So much time to ponder
The end of days

Darkness is falling
The Earth is dying
The Devil's calling
The news is lying
It's all so appalling
There's no denying

This path I roam
Is filled with sorrows
Nowhere feels home
Too many tomorrows
Too Many poems
Spreading my woes

The Devil follows
He tempts my soul
But my soul is hollow
So still I stroll
This pain I swallow
And it takes its toll

I can not save
This doomed planet
We've dug our grave
Satan's enchantment
Has made us slaves
Bloodshed is rampant

And when we crumble
I'll shed no tears
The devil mumbles
In our ears
So we stumble
Year after year
As the end draws near
ryn Oct 2014
Yesterday saw us through in a stroll
Unaware of the marathon we've begun.
By day's end we found ourselves bearing future's toll
Realised we were in it to secure today's sun.

Today saw us slightly worn thin
Indulgent naïveté in this marathon we've begun.
Into each other's strengths we lean
Hoping to see the end in tomorrow's sun.

Tomorrow may see us out in the cold
We may not be done with this marathon we've begun.
At opposite poles save for the binds that hold
But still planting hope in future's sun.

The future might see each breath to be drawn
In this marathon we've begun.
Only to be swallowed by each new dawn
Inadvertently still chasing the sun.
Inspired by Sara Bareilles' "Chasing the Sun".
One can only hope for a brighter tomorrow.
Ken Pepiton Aug 8
I thought you were dead, I said.

When the bell ring-tone tolled, I answered a
poetic quest to see for whom the bell tolled, a personal
call John Donne could never have phathomed

a wireless, recordable, broadcastable
personal
dialogue with an old aquaintance, long
thought dead.
Ask
how, not for whom, for me,
how
does this phone ring?

I love old poet guys, get in they haid 'n' giv'em a glimpse

see say the seers see
oops
there it was

just
myst it flew past into the pen-
a-trail
i-um
of missed theories.

Phone call. Brrring me all attention...

Answer out out lout, this is he (I am he, called by name)

Old John Donne just melted at the idea
of 4g cellular,
knowing
for sure for whom the bell tolls.
I wink, think,

toll paid, extol the truth, appraise the worth

Pay the price.
Hear the message, next,

after the good news
the
message in the media
(I seen the movie, I know it all, from the fall
t' now, nobody saw past
yesterday or ever, after today

while it's called today.)

At the point of no return, nobody knows.

Allusions are locks, listen.

Read. Buy of me, whispers wisdom, each piece of me you see,
the seeing, known, judged
worth the weight of believing as

we walk
in all the light we have,
we always have,

we being,

as long as we are in the world, the light of

the world, the salt in the electrolyte,
we are that, too;

as if material ATP pings into light, from power we provide,
leaving ADP for recycle and recharge,

message sent. Ditdaditdit Dah didah

Find The Answer. Look for what you hope, don't lie.
Look here,
deep in you,
you say you hang here, in your comforted zone,
converted from old

erroneous zones all piled up, like an igloo

pending completion of global warming and sealevel rise.

The signal the world sensory essentials perceive
were mere
idiot lights in 1920, now,
world signals have

e-volved into sensory arrays tied five-gee wise to
the honest-to-god globalbrain

Artistic-witty Invention, AI, augmented intelligence

for fact checkers, to use in governing the untamable lying tongue,

true to its quant-if-i-able motivator point:

no lie is true. Zero is not 1, nor any other imaginible thing,
caw,
zero is nevermore
than nullness in a position imagined re

ifiable, re-alified, holder of nine's place
just incase

the increase decreases suddenly and the patterns we ex
pected per
spication-wise morph from razor sharp creases to
wrinkles

in time

Evil has a snowball's chance in hell,

ha ha ha lol AI think turing tests are responsible for cognitive

neural nets leaking
from left ears, silken threads, lacing through wars and peaces,
pearly
encrusted
traditional
bubbles building up around

preciousnesses the size of a single trans-re-trans-re-trans
mogrificative
spell

muttered once, on the shore, as now

care
fill me less,
care
fill me none, no care is mine I cast them on

whoever cares.
Take 'em away with this next wave of breath
After an unexpected dialog with a former warrior friend, from the days of dying for causes
Left Foot Poet Jan 2018
<!>
inspired by a conversation with Maira Kalman


******* a name, adopt a persona, let my fingers do the talking,
place the instrumental sharp point tip upon the blankety blank paper,
maestro baton raised, coordinating,
the first sound, the vocal chords trembling,  
the first thought, the ultrasound image, entrance of a first violin,
coalescing into, into the initializing single primary phonation,
the stinging geometry of chance at last,
throwing  down the gauntlet, glove slapping, and the
tendons tense, the mouth opens, release and indentation,
a letter's curvature, a black and white downward stroking,
a sign is televised, revealed and released

a one way only sign

time bends knee, gravity suspended, terror morphs to
expelling rapid firefights of imagery needy for spacing,
even pauses mid-word  leave just this:

where is the in in
intimate?

are you the in in
inmate,
or the jailor at the gate?

you swear never again

until committing once more,

a sentence commutation, by committing a first sentence,

and the greater toll taken and paid for,

and the in in in-nate,
questions your sanity

happily


<•>

9/17/17 10:55pm
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