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Colombia needs hellopoetry Comoros needs hellopoetry Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry   Costa Rica needs hellopoetry Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry Croatia needs hellopoetry Cuba needs hellopoetry Cyprus needs hellopoetry Czech Republic needs hellopoetry Denmark needs hellopoetry   Djibouti needs hellopoetry Dominica needs hellopoetry Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry Ecuador needs hellopoetry Egypt needs hellopoetry   El Salvador needs hellopoetry Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry Eritrea needs hellopoetry Estonia needs hellopoetry Eswatini needs hellopoetry Ethiopia needs hellopoetry Fiji needs hellopoetry Finland needs hellopoetry France needs hellopoetry Gabon needs hellopoetry The Gambia needs hellopoetry Georgia needs hellopoetry Germany needs hellopoetry Ghana needs hellopoetry Greece needs hellopoetry Grenada needs hellopoetry Guatemala needs hellopoetry Guinea needs 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hellopoetry Malta needs hellopoetry Marshall Islands needs hellopoetry Mauritania needs hellopoetry Mauritius needs hellopoetry Mexico needs hellopoetry Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry Moldova needs hellopoetry Monaco needs hellopoetry Mongolia needs hellopoetry Montenegro needs hellopoetry Morocco needs hellopoetry Mozambique needs hellopoetry Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry Namibia needs hellopoetry Nauru needs hellopoetry Nepal needs hellopoetry Netherlands needs hellopoetry New Zealand needs hellopoetry Nicaragua needs hellopoetry Niger needs hellopoetry Nigeria needs hellopoetry North Macedonia needs hellopoetry Norway needs hellopoetry Oman needs hellopoetry Pakistan needs hellopoetry Palau needs hellopoetry Panama needs hellopoetry Papua New Guinea needs hellopoetry Paraguay needs hellopoetry Peru needs hellopoetry Philippines needs hellopoetry Poland needs hellopoetry Portugal needs hellopoetry Qatar needs hellopoetry Romania needs hellopoetry Russia needs hellopoetry Rwanda needs hellopoetry Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry Samoa needs hellopoetry San Marino needs hellopoetry Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry Senegal needs hellopoetry Serbia needs hellopoetry Seychelles needs hellopoetry Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry Singapore needs hellopoetry Slovakia needs hellopoetry Slovenia needs hellopoetry Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry Somalia needs hellopoetry South Africa needs hellopoetry Spain needs hellopoetry Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry Sudan needs hellopoetry Sudan, South needs hellopoetry Suriname needs hellopoetry Sweden needs hellopoetry Switzerland needs hellopoetry Syria needs hellopoetry Taiwan needs hellopoetry Tajikistan needs hellopoetry Tanzania needs hellopoetry Thailand needs hellopoetry Togo needs hellopoetry Tonga needs hellopoetry Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry Tunisia needs hellopoetry Turkey needs hellopoetry Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry Tuvalu needs hellopoetry Uganda needs hellopoetry Ukraine needs hellopoetry United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry United Kingdom needs hellopoetry United States needs hellopoetry Uruguay needs hellopoetry Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry Vanuatu needs hellopoetry Vatican City needs hellopoetry Venezuela needs hellopoetry Vietnam needs hellopoetry Yemen needs hellopoetry Zambia needs hellopoetry Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry
0
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
maxneumann
The World NEEDS HelloPoetry (Please Make A Contribution.)
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry Albania needs hellopoetry Algeria needs hellopoetry Andorra needs hellopoetry Angola needs hellopoetry Antigua and Barbuda needs hellopoetry Argentina needs hellopoetry Armenia needs hellopoetry Australia needs hellopoetry Austria needs hellopoetry Azerbaijan needs hellopoetry The Bahamas needs hellopoetry Bahrain needs hellopoetry Bangladesh needs hellopoetry Barbados needs hellopoetry Belarus needs hellopoetry Belgium needs hellopoetry Belize needs hellopoetry Benin needs hellopoetry Bhutan needs hellopoetry Bolivia needs hellopoetry Bosnia and Herzegovina needs hellopoetry Botswana needs hellopoetry Brazil needs hellopoetry Brunei needs hellopoetry Bulgaria needs hellopoetry Burkina Faso needs hellopoetry Burundi needs hellopoetry Cabo Verde needs hellopoetry Cambodia needs hellopoetry Cameroon needs hellopoetry Canada needs hellopoetry Central African Republic needs hellopoetry Chad needs hellopoetry Chile needs hellopoetry China needs hellopoetry Colombia needs hellopoetry Comoros needs hellopoetry Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry   Costa Rica needs hellopoetry Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry Croatia needs hellopoetry Cuba needs hellopoetry Cyprus needs hellopoetry Czech Republic needs hellopoetry Denmark needs hellopoetry   Djibouti needs hellopoetry Dominica needs hellopoetry Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry Ecuador needs hellopoetry Egypt needs hellopoetry   El Salvador needs hellopoetry Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry Eritrea needs hellopoetry Estonia needs hellopoetry Eswatini needs hellopoetry Ethiopia needs hellopoetry Fiji needs hellopoetry Finland needs hellopoetry France needs hellopoetry Gabon needs hellopoetry The Gambia needs hellopoetry Georgia needs hellopoetry Germany needs hellopoetry Ghana needs hellopoetry Greece needs hellopoetry Grenada needs hellopoetry Guatemala needs hellopoetry Guinea needs hellopoetry Guinea-Bissau needs hellopoetry Guyana needs hellopoetry Haiti needs hellopoetry Honduras needs hellopoetry Hungary needs hellopoetry Iceland needs hellopoetry India needs hellopoetry Indonesia needs hellopoetry Iran needs hellopoetry Iraq needs hellopoetry Ireland needs hellopoetry Israel needs hellopoetry Italy needs hellopoetry Jamaica needs hellopoetry Japan needs hellopoetry Jordan needs hellopoetry Kazakhstan needs hellopoetry Kenya needs hellopoetry Kiribati needs hellopoetry Korea, North needs hellopoetry Korea, South needs hellopoetry Kosovo needs hellopoetry Kuwait needs hellopoetry Kyrgyzstan needs hellopoetry Laos needs hellopoetry Latvia needs hellopoetry Lebanon needs hellopoetry Lesotho needs hellopoetry Liberia needs hellopoetry Libya needs hellopoetry Liechtenstein needs hellopoetry Lithuania needs hellopoetry Luxembourg needs hellopoetry Madagascar needs hellopoetry Malawi needs hellopoetry Malaysia needs hellopoetry Maldives needs hellopoetry Mali needs hellopoetry Malta needs hellopoetry Marshall Islands needs hellopoetry Mauritania needs hellopoetry Mauritius needs hellopoetry Mexico needs hellopoetry Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry Moldova needs hellopoetry Monaco needs hellopoetry Mongolia needs hellopoetry Montenegro needs hellopoetry Morocco needs hellopoetry Mozambique needs hellopoetry Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry Namibia needs hellopoetry Nauru needs hellopoetry Nepal needs hellopoetry Netherlands needs hellopoetry New Zealand needs hellopoetry Nicaragua needs hellopoetry Niger needs hellopoetry Nigeria needs hellopoetry North Macedonia needs hellopoetry Norway needs hellopoetry Oman needs hellopoetry Pakistan needs hellopoetry Palau needs hellopoetry Panama needs hellopoetry Papua New Guinea needs hellopoetry Paraguay needs hellopoetry Peru needs hellopoetry Philippines needs hellopoetry Poland needs hellopoetry Portugal needs hellopoetry Qatar needs hellopoetry Romania needs hellopoetry Russia needs hellopoetry Rwanda needs hellopoetry Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry Samoa needs hellopoetry San Marino needs hellopoetry Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry Senegal needs hellopoetry Serbia needs hellopoetry Seychelles needs hellopoetry Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry Singapore needs hellopoetry Slovakia needs hellopoetry Slovenia needs hellopoetry Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry Somalia needs hellopoetry South Africa needs hellopoetry Spain needs hellopoetry Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry Sudan needs hellopoetry Sudan, South needs hellopoetry Suriname needs hellopoetry Sweden needs hellopoetry Switzerland needs hellopoetry Syria needs hellopoetry Taiwan needs hellopoetry Tajikistan needs hellopoetry Tanzania needs hellopoetry Thailand needs hellopoetry Togo needs hellopoetry Tonga needs hellopoetry Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry Tunisia needs hellopoetry Turkey needs hellopoetry Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry Tuvalu needs hellopoetry Uganda needs hellopoetry Ukraine needs hellopoetry United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry United Kingdom needs hellopoetry United States needs hellopoetry Uruguay needs hellopoetry Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry Vanuatu needs hellopoetry Vatican City needs hellopoetry Venezuela needs hellopoetry Vietnam needs hellopoetry Yemen needs hellopoetry Zambia needs hellopoetry Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry
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196
Why in Baste Eyes my Form checks expect Yet cast my Security for his Expense Which, I suppose, that Report I prefect Was a File un-welcomed for my Good Sense Though, I assure, was all to contribute For his Sweets added to his Nationed Chest That, to chillax, take Tidbits absolute And brisk the New Day for his Talent's Best Now this, resolved to wax Slime and Conflict Thus put my Loyalty to Terms reset More fruitful, more pruned, from Pride's Tome inflict Then this Orrery - strike Rocks to Sky's bet. In turn perhaps recover from this Fling On Muted Clouds do those Falcons still Sing.
0
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
xavier-paolo-josh-mandreza
SONNET TRIBUTE SUNDRY - NINETY-THREE - TOM DALEY: M'AM DEBBIE DALEY - REASONS
Why in Baste Eyes my Form checks expect Yet cast my Security for his Expense Which, I suppose, that Report I prefect Was a File un-welcomed for my Good Sense Though, I assure, was all to contribute For his Sweets added to his Nationed Chest That, to chillax, take Tidbits absolute And brisk the New Day for his Talent's Best Now this, resolved to wax Slime and Conflict Thus put my Loyalty to Terms reset More fruitful, more pruned, from Pride's Tome inflict Then this Orrery - strike Rocks to Sky's bet. In turn perhaps recover from this Fling On Muted Clouds do those Falcons still Sing.
Continue reading...
14
I carry the clothes on my body– a plain t-shirt and sweater leggings– attempting to stay warm and keep cool. I carry my backpack, my heavy, heavy backpack, to carry the things I can’t carry in my arms… my books, pencils, papers, and keys. In my arms I sometimes carry more books, sometimes a cup of chai, and sometimes, nothing. Sometimes I wish I carried a little bit more time; then I could carry the things I’ve left behind. I carry all the parts of me simultaneously, and I am full now. I carry my eyes, for without them, my path would be blurred, and I would be ignorant. I carry my ears to hear music and dissonance and I carry a heart to feel the soundwaves and make sense of them. I carry my nose to hold the sweetness of a flower in my lungs, and skin to caress their soft petals, without plucking them. When I carry nothing, I sleep, and in my dreams, I carry the clouds and the stars beyond them. From there I may see the things I have yet to carry. I carry my own weight across the populated Earth. I carry my own gravity and the light of the sun. I carry the stars from my dreams, and from them, I create constellations in broad daylight. I carry my heart. I carry the soundwaves of voices like space nymphs, singing songs I want to remember. I carry the sight of people coming closer and drifting further from me, escaping and re-entering my orbit, an arm-length or a light-year away. I carry their images and sometimes, I reach for their silhouettes and I try to feel their thoughts. I carry my heart and it is full. My heart is filled with emotion, and my emotions are the Earth’s turbulent winds across a golden, sun-kissed field and the sound of a waterfall crashing into a pool of water at the bottom of the valley, and equally the eye of the storm in which the world is a spinning oblivion, but here, it is quiet. My heart is the recollection of times past in a yellowed, well-worn tome awaiting a reader and the diary of someone whose story begs to be forgotten. My heart beats for someone to understand its journey, but it longs to understand what it beats for. I carry the silence and the music alike; I carry the Earth and all its wonders.
0
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
angie-s
The things I carry
I carry the clothes on my body– a plain t-shirt and sweater leggings– attempting to stay warm and keep cool. I carry my backpack, my heavy, heavy backpack, to carry the things I can’t carry in my arms… my books, pencils, papers, and keys. In my arms I sometimes carry more books, sometimes a cup of chai, and sometimes, nothing. Sometimes I wish I carried a little bit more time; then I could carry the things I’ve left behind. I carry all the parts of me simultaneously, and I am full now. I carry my eyes, for without them, my path would be blurred, and I would be ignorant. I carry my ears to hear music and dissonance and I carry a heart to feel the soundwaves and make sense of them. I carry my nose to hold the sweetness of a flower in my lungs, and skin to caress their soft petals, without plucking them. When I carry nothing, I sleep, and in my dreams, I carry the clouds and the stars beyond them. From there I may see the things I have yet to carry. I carry my own weight across the populated Earth. I carry my own gravity and the light of the sun. I carry the stars from my dreams, and from them, I create constellations in broad daylight. I carry my heart. I carry the soundwaves of voices like space nymphs, singing songs I want to remember. I carry the sight of people coming closer and drifting further from me, escaping and re-entering my orbit, an arm-length or a light-year away. I carry their images and sometimes, I reach for their silhouettes and I try to feel their thoughts. I carry my heart and it is full. My heart is filled with emotion, and my emotions are the Earth’s turbulent winds across a golden, sun-kissed field and the sound of a waterfall crashing into a pool of water at the bottom of the valley, and equally the eye of the storm in which the world is a spinning oblivion, but here, it is quiet. My heart is the recollection of times past in a yellowed, well-worn tome awaiting a reader and the diary of someone whose story begs to be forgotten. My heart beats for someone to understand its journey, but it longs to understand what it beats for. I carry the silence and the music alike; I carry the Earth and all its wonders.
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50
I started on the rooftop The empty sky above was all I had And all I needed It was pure Like a blank page Waiting for a story to be written But at the first sight of clouds I fled to the top floor There were fun and simple things on the top floor Like Pokémon games I got red, white, and blue The monsters seemed so banal and repetitive But nobody else would acknowledge it Sending me into a dragon's rage I tried using flamethrower on Charmander Ending in futility as I ran out of burn heals I looked out the window in frustration Rain was falling outside Inside Patriotism was buffeted by the hail So I devolved into a lower level Going further down this building For ***** and giggles I found more **** Less giggles On a floor with a TV displaying the news I was eager to learn about the world Only to learn everybody hates each other And nobody talks Or cares And the smartest person in the room Is the one I agree with the most Unable to view the tokens in my mind As anything less than treasure And those who try to persuade me otherwise Are thieves My spite steals tranquility Like the persistent storm outside My solution is shelter in lower levels My experimentation on communication With the general population Had rained on my playful parade But I felt very comfortable on a floor with friends Until they saw through my charade Discovering my emotions in disarray As the people who made me love this building Made me curse it's walls the more I loved them I searched for the peaceful embrace of solitude Once the storm outside transformed into a typhoon I found that solitude In a tiny bare room With a syringe and spoon I was unaware That room was an elevator That lowered me down the concrete void As the hurricane outside rattled me violently inside my box Trapped and lacking all agency I resigned myself to wherever the elevator chose to take me After the elevator finished pulling me into the basement The tsunami seemed to cease But I was buried under debris I had to burrow out of my tomb The dig was tedious and ***** My perseverance was heroic But triumph was thwarted When I reached the surface To discover only wreckage remained And when I looked up I saw the building I inhabited It's damaged facade Made it clear I would never visit those floors I missed on the elevator Above my building Hangs an empty sky It's purity is a lie The page was never blank Just constantly written on and erased To lure innocent readers into a tome
0
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
andrew-rueter
Building
I started on the rooftop The empty sky above was all I had And all I needed It was pure Like a blank page Waiting for a story to be written But at the first sight of clouds I fled to the top floor There were fun and simple things on the top floor Like Pokémon games I got red, white, and blue The monsters seemed so banal and repetitive But nobody else would acknowledge it Sending me into a dragon's rage I tried using flamethrower on Charmander Ending in futility as I ran out of burn heals I looked out the window in frustration Rain was falling outside Inside Patriotism was buffeted by the hail So I devolved into a lower level Going further down this building For ***** and giggles I found more **** Less giggles On a floor with a TV displaying the news I was eager to learn about the world Only to learn everybody hates each other And nobody talks Or cares And the smartest person in the room Is the one I agree with the most Unable to view the tokens in my mind As anything less than treasure And those who try to persuade me otherwise Are thieves My spite steals tranquility Like the persistent storm outside My solution is shelter in lower levels My experimentation on communication With the general population Had rained on my playful parade But I felt very comfortable on a floor with friends Until they saw through my charade Discovering my emotions in disarray As the people who made me love this building Made me curse it's walls the more I loved them I searched for the peaceful embrace of solitude Once the storm outside transformed into a typhoon I found that solitude In a tiny bare room With a syringe and spoon I was unaware That room was an elevator That lowered me down the concrete void As the hurricane outside rattled me violently inside my box Trapped and lacking all agency I resigned myself to wherever the elevator chose to take me After the elevator finished pulling me into the basement The tsunami seemed to cease But I was buried under debris I had to burrow out of my tomb The dig was tedious and ***** My perseverance was heroic But triumph was thwarted When I reached the surface To discover only wreckage remained And when I looked up I saw the building I inhabited It's damaged facade Made it clear I would never visit those floors I missed on the elevator Above my building Hangs an empty sky It's purity is a lie The page was never blank Just constantly written on and erased To lure innocent readers into a tome
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78
[From Fragments,  The Following...] ... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge. The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished. But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused - with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming. ... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue ' into the soft palette, of the First Mouth.  The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming. A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen - gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund. They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation and not a boy, a man from no woman and no woman a man. ... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy. ... and that's how the rain gets in. [ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ] What ?
0
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
third-eye-candy
LOST TOME LULLABIES, THE KINGDOMS OF WANE [ WITH COMMENTARY ]
[From Fragments,  The Following...] ... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge. The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished. But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused - with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming. ... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue ' into the soft palette, of the First Mouth.  The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming. A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen - gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund. They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation and not a boy, a man from no woman and no woman a man. ... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy. ... and that's how the rain gets in. [ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ] What ?
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23
Ash to mouth divide north and south east and west, shout  with class of Scout let it out with griffin clout we here we out , hear me out — rhymes in time without silent shrines to mime cleared the crowd covered eyes and mouth over body desert shroud if vengeance is your business then from swords to plow en lakesh an eye for an eye binds the all to be blind but you can’t unsee the signs no thoughts unclouded by loss out the window I toss mosaic fragments that cost health and awesome sauce Nazareth gutted commandments by anarchy spelled disaster after culture massive ego it swell up the road ahead a pit depress the juncture so we spit the dirt divide just to touch the other from pup to wolf so many bites, a pitted puncture so much disfunct the fight till all be winded lungs sir you can run but  from gamma ray you no hide passed a black hole wand inside a body died but it’s alright (it’s heaven sight till Zombie night ) animate dead necromantic black ring the rhythm of life and death a chronic swing the pendulum blade cross over cosmic skin consciousness draw out from within traced the win which wound round tat to skeleton a dusty tome bound and crafted man medicine subtracted by the head that spin in the sky and its happening, blessen-ings the miracle is mystery u cant guess it talking 3 eye see talking vip climb high as canopy walking so my shadow lands under me. ten toes touch to the dusty roads when toads appear throats close mighta had the Midas touch still the golden one was too much to flush you might live in Laos you my livid crowd you might live it now neva hit my limit how cause you live in now when you wake up proud timid mind plowed divid-dine fill the cloud insta crowd wowed this I vowed
0
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
Im
NȺƶȺɍɇŧħ FɍȺǥmɇnŧs
Ash to mouth divide north and south east and west, shout  with class of Scout let it out with griffin clout we here we out , hear me out — rhymes in time without silent shrines to mime cleared the crowd covered eyes and mouth over body desert shroud if vengeance is your business then from swords to plow en lakesh an eye for an eye binds the all to be blind but you can’t unsee the signs no thoughts unclouded by loss out the window I toss mosaic fragments that cost health and awesome sauce Nazareth gutted commandments by anarchy spelled disaster after culture massive ego it swell up the road ahead a pit depress the juncture so we spit the dirt divide just to touch the other from pup to wolf so many bites, a pitted puncture so much disfunct the fight till all be winded lungs sir you can run but  from gamma ray you no hide passed a black hole wand inside a body died but it’s alright (it’s heaven sight till Zombie night ) animate dead necromantic black ring the rhythm of life and death a chronic swing the pendulum blade cross over cosmic skin consciousness draw out from within traced the win which wound round tat to skeleton a dusty tome bound and crafted man medicine subtracted by the head that spin in the sky and its happening, blessen-ings the miracle is mystery u cant guess it talking 3 eye see talking vip climb high as canopy walking so my shadow lands under me. ten toes touch to the dusty roads when toads appear throats close mighta had the Midas touch still the golden one was too much to flush you might live in Laos you my livid crowd you might live it now neva hit my limit how cause you live in now when you wake up proud timid mind plowed divid-dine fill the cloud insta crowd wowed this I vowed
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68
I found you on page 119, of the sacred tome the only sin, to slay the fine fowl called mockingbird--why blue jays were fair game remains mystery to me, but I trust thee, Ms Lee, to have writ the grand truth though when I look to the skies, or in the flush of leaves in my oak, I find only mourning dove, robins and a plain sparrow or two, all hiding, from sinners, in the soft rain they would not heed my words no matter how earnestly implored "stay behind the branches, do not move a feather, words cannot protect you; when the rains stop, those with sharp eye and cold heart will rob you of flight and light " and then I awake, to a  bright sun, to realize there has been no rain and the slaughter has continued all along
0
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
spysgrandson
listening to the rain and reading To **** a Mockingbird
I found you on page 119, of the sacred tome the only sin, to slay the fine fowl called mockingbird--why blue jays were fair game remains mystery to me, but I trust thee, Ms Lee, to have writ the grand truth though when I look to the skies, or in the flush of leaves in my oak, I find only mourning dove, robins and a plain sparrow or two, all hiding, from sinners, in the soft rain they would not heed my words no matter how earnestly implored "stay behind the branches, do not move a feather, words cannot protect you; when the rains stop, those with sharp eye and cold heart will rob you of flight and light " and then I awake, to a  bright sun, to realize there has been no rain and the slaughter has continued all along
Continue reading...
24
I spent years of my life in a fantasy world. waters inhabited with murlocs Forests with centuars and unicorns I had badass armor Spellbooks, Abilities, Charisma modifiers! When you live in Dungeons and dragons you finish quests, unlock gods, Slay Monsters When my DnD group broke up I didn't lose a group of friends. I lost a party of adventurers Their eulogies pronounced at the end of that final nat one Will never be forgotten. Portaits carved like improv comedy routines. Characatures of our ideal selves Bound, sealed, stuck on a book shelf We deserved another sequel. When the party healer crumpled her car against a Concrete wall at 70 miles an hour It made sense nobody else knew how to cast raise dead. In a world that is supposed to play out our ideal realities it was no question her charecter lived eternal. the way she would have wanted. The way we wanted so badly to be true. Nobody felt right taking over her charecter. And nobody wanted to **** her off. So we wrote her story. Every die she had tossed this whole adventure. Each murloc she ran from, each unicorn she rode, etched into a leather bound tome. Placed Right on the same shelve we kept our pathfinder books. Her headstone. We never played after that. But she did. When we placed the novel next to the flowers her mother left. We felt her cast healing song one last time And that night We got a full rest
0
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
GeekElement
Healing Tome
I spent years of my life in a fantasy world. waters inhabited with murlocs Forests with centuars and unicorns I had badass armor Spellbooks, Abilities, Charisma modifiers! When you live in Dungeons and dragons you finish quests, unlock gods, Slay Monsters When my DnD group broke up I didn't lose a group of friends. I lost a party of adventurers Their eulogies pronounced at the end of that final nat one Will never be forgotten. Portaits carved like improv comedy routines. Characatures of our ideal selves Bound, sealed, stuck on a book shelf We deserved another sequel. When the party healer crumpled her car against a Concrete wall at 70 miles an hour It made sense nobody else knew how to cast raise dead. In a world that is supposed to play out our ideal realities it was no question her charecter lived eternal. the way she would have wanted. The way we wanted so badly to be true. Nobody felt right taking over her charecter. And nobody wanted to **** her off. So we wrote her story. Every die she had tossed this whole adventure. Each murloc she ran from, each unicorn she rode, etched into a leather bound tome. Placed Right on the same shelve we kept our pathfinder books. Her headstone. We never played after that. But she did. When we placed the novel next to the flowers her mother left. We felt her cast healing song one last time And that night We got a full rest
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34
Algeria a rich land poor people, Angola seems to have kings, Benin is blessed with voodoo, Botswana blood bulls diamonds, Burkina Faso can't cope coups, Burundi twelve years a slave, Cape Verde has half a million, Cameroon got cocoa, Chad's lake is shrinking, Comoros has under a million, DRC is third largest, Congo is it's neighbour with capitals facing, Côte d'Ivoire has few elephants, Djibouti's on the horn, Egypt has mummy's, Equatorial guinea struck oil in 95 but didn't loose change, Eritrea has 5000 running annually, Ethiopia's great rift is pretty ****** Gabon is subject to black gold, Gambia got a peace of it after 65, Great Ghana oasis of peace, Guinea is diverse, Bissau too, Kenyans have beautiful smiles, Lesotho is SA's baby, Liberia oldest republic, Libya needs liberty, Madagascar where are the penguins! Malawi has warm hearts, Mali is 8th, Mauritania is 11th, Mauritius marvel, Morocco fine leather, Mozambique keeps the dugongs, Namibia Windhoek ah, Niger after a river, Nigeria makes zuma rock, Rwanda listen, Sao tome and principe 2nd smallest, Senegoals, She sells Seychelles, Sierra Leone free? Somalia loose, S. Africa reign, South Sudan independent? Sudan - black, Swaziland more than solo men, Tanzania trade, Togo up down, Two knees yeah, Uganda teacher come simeon, Zambia's peace? Zimbabwe got rid of Mugabe. Always thought zed was co.za but we're actually co.zm, so what's zim? One way we'll loose change is when the overseers begin to acknowledge the under looked. -nyanta
0
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
nyant
AFRICA
Algeria a rich land poor people, Angola seems to have kings, Benin is blessed with voodoo, Botswana blood bulls diamonds, Burkina Faso can't cope coups, Burundi twelve years a slave, Cape Verde has half a million, Cameroon got cocoa, Chad's lake is shrinking, Comoros has under a million, DRC is third largest, Congo is it's neighbour with capitals facing, Côte d'Ivoire has few elephants, Djibouti's on the horn, Egypt has mummy's, Equatorial guinea struck oil in 95 but didn't loose change, Eritrea has 5000 running annually, Ethiopia's great rift is pretty ****** Gabon is subject to black gold, Gambia got a peace of it after 65, Great Ghana oasis of peace, Guinea is diverse, Bissau too, Kenyans have beautiful smiles, Lesotho is SA's baby, Liberia oldest republic, Libya needs liberty, Madagascar where are the penguins! Malawi has warm hearts, Mali is 8th, Mauritania is 11th, Mauritius marvel, Morocco fine leather, Mozambique keeps the dugongs, Namibia Windhoek ah, Niger after a river, Nigeria makes zuma rock, Rwanda listen, Sao tome and principe 2nd smallest, Senegoals, She sells Seychelles, Sierra Leone free? Somalia loose, S. Africa reign, South Sudan independent? Sudan - black, Swaziland more than solo men, Tanzania trade, Togo up down, Two knees yeah, Uganda teacher come simeon, Zambia's peace? Zimbabwe got rid of Mugabe. Always thought zed was co.za but we're actually co.zm, so what's zim? One way we'll loose change is when the overseers begin to acknowledge the under looked. -nyanta
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57
After Midnight The narcissists fall After Midnight A new lyric calls After Midnight The bugles will blow After Midnight There’s more left to know After Midnight The lizards collect After Midnight All tales to reflect After Midnight The ticking won’t stop After Midnight The bottom has topped After Midnight A cancerous tome After Midnight Malignancy known After Midnight Betray and deceive After Midnight Alone in the siege After Midnight All footsteps fall deaf After Midnight Last palate uncleft After Midnight New story to front After Midnight A star for the dunce After Midnight The comets rebel After Midnight The coroners yell After Midnight A suit made of steel After Midnight Its melting reveals After Midnight The plain and the slack After Midnight There’s no turning back After Midnight A sacred oath sworn After Midnight All memory forlorn After Midnight The wheels bend and turn After Midnight Lost vision relearns After Midnight False birth is stillborn After Midnight Old vestments are torn After Midnight The here and the now After Midnight That one sacred cow After Midnight Past-Future unseen After Midnight —new eyes that believe (Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
0
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
kurt-philip-behm
After Midnight
After Midnight The narcissists fall After Midnight A new lyric calls After Midnight The bugles will blow After Midnight There’s more left to know After Midnight The lizards collect After Midnight All tales to reflect After Midnight The ticking won’t stop After Midnight The bottom has topped After Midnight A cancerous tome After Midnight Malignancy known After Midnight Betray and deceive After Midnight Alone in the siege After Midnight All footsteps fall deaf After Midnight Last palate uncleft After Midnight New story to front After Midnight A star for the dunce After Midnight The comets rebel After Midnight The coroners yell After Midnight A suit made of steel After Midnight Its melting reveals After Midnight The plain and the slack After Midnight There’s no turning back After Midnight A sacred oath sworn After Midnight All memory forlorn After Midnight The wheels bend and turn After Midnight Lost vision relearns After Midnight False birth is stillborn After Midnight Old vestments are torn After Midnight The here and the now After Midnight That one sacred cow After Midnight Past-Future unseen After Midnight —new eyes that believe (Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
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65
Plumped rouge with pigment her lip fills to graze the ******** intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade autografted with ocular detachment should a Marquis wish to harness the song of the morning within a bandolier of Seine to ensnare any bustled Persephone gilted by discharge of ions into a ménage of torment through the Porte des Lions. Hers is the tincture of doxy caramelized and debrided of naivety, empowered by the eve of invention, swollen to curves and grounded in Paris. Illumination defies pervasion down to every gear and pulley she has hushed through mechanization and lulled by steam, swaging a cacophony of flickers encased in glass by the Lady’s watch, where every rivet of her plate glisters silken reverberation in cascade, elegant, caged, and towering, outspoken in silence, ever challenging the Champ de Mars. "Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books. Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528). Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.
0
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
dionne-charlet
Paris by Gaslight
Plumped rouge with pigment her lip fills to graze the ******** intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade autografted with ocular detachment should a Marquis wish to harness the song of the morning within a bandolier of Seine to ensnare any bustled Persephone gilted by discharge of ions into a ménage of torment through the Porte des Lions. Hers is the tincture of doxy caramelized and debrided of naivety, empowered by the eve of invention, swollen to curves and grounded in Paris. Illumination defies pervasion down to every gear and pulley she has hushed through mechanization and lulled by steam, swaging a cacophony of flickers encased in glass by the Lady’s watch, where every rivet of her plate glisters silken reverberation in cascade, elegant, caged, and towering, outspoken in silence, ever challenging the Champ de Mars. "Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books. Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528). Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.
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27
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome Has many sonnets: so here now shall be One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; Whose service is my special dignity, And she my loadstar while I go and come. And so because you love me, and because I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: In you not fourscore years can dim the flame Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws Of time and change and mortal life and death.
0
3.4k
Christina Rossetti
A Pageant And Other Poems
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome Has many sonnets: so here now shall be One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; Whose service is my special dignity, And she my loadstar while I go and come. And so because you love me, and because I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: In you not fourscore years can dim the flame Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws Of time and change and mortal life and death.
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14
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa Continental wonderland of love this is Africa What's in Africa? What's there to see? I asked myself on the New Year's eve I thought that I was good in geography But I didn't know Lagos or Nairobi I might be ignorant, I have to admit About Africa I knew just a little bit The great Sahara - sands of mystery! The Nile river - so much history! Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa Namibia, Nigeria, Niger, Angola, Algeria Burundi, Benin and Libya, Lesotho and Liberia Burkina-Faso, Botswana, Guinea-Bissau, Ghana Djibouti, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Uganda, Rwanda, Gambia I saw a film on Serengeti Park A one of a kind, a must-see landmark I watched a documentary on pyramids of Giza They're much much older than Mona Lisa I heard that oldest coffee plants Take their roots in Ethiopia's land And that samba, rumba, funk and jazz Take their beats from African drums Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa Continental wonderland of love this is Africa Cameroon and Congo, Malawi, Mali, Morocco Côte d'Ivoire and Kenya, Mauritius, Mauritania Tunisia, Tanzania, Eswatini, Eritrea Sudan, Senegal, Somalia, Sierra Leone, South Sudan You can travel around cities of Africa Like Cape Town, Cairo or Casablanca If you're in love or plan to be Go to Zanzibar, feel that ocean breeze! Climb up mount Kilimanjaro Watch the zebras cross the Masai Mara If you're adventurous, you're a dreamer Take a wild trip down Zambezi river Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa Comoros, Chad, Cabo Verde, Democratic Republic of Congo Ethiopia, Egypt, Guinea, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea and Togo Madagascar, Mozambique, Central African Republic Sao Tome and Principe, South Africa and Seychelles Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa Continental wonderland, I'm on my way to Africa!
0
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 7:33 PM UTC
aidar-omar
Africa is Beautiful
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa Continental wonderland of love this is Africa What's in Africa? What's there to see? I asked myself on the New Year's eve I thought that I was good in geography But I didn't know Lagos or Nairobi I might be ignorant, I have to admit About Africa I knew just a little bit The great Sahara - sands of mystery! The Nile river - so much history! Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa Namibia, Nigeria, Niger, Angola, Algeria Burundi, Benin and Libya, Lesotho and Liberia Burkina-Faso, Botswana, Guinea-Bissau, Ghana Djibouti, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Uganda, Rwanda, Gambia I saw a film on Serengeti Park A one of a kind, a must-see landmark I watched a documentary on pyramids of Giza They're much much older than Mona Lisa I heard that oldest coffee plants Take their roots in Ethiopia's land And that samba, rumba, funk and jazz Take their beats from African drums Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa Continental wonderland of love this is Africa Cameroon and Congo, Malawi, Mali, Morocco Côte d'Ivoire and Kenya, Mauritius, Mauritania Tunisia, Tanzania, Eswatini, Eritrea Sudan, Senegal, Somalia, Sierra Leone, South Sudan You can travel around cities of Africa Like Cape Town, Cairo or Casablanca If you're in love or plan to be Go to Zanzibar, feel that ocean breeze! Climb up mount Kilimanjaro Watch the zebras cross the Masai Mara If you're adventurous, you're a dreamer Take a wild trip down Zambezi river Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa Comoros, Chad, Cabo Verde, Democratic Republic of Congo Ethiopia, Egypt, Guinea, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea and Togo Madagascar, Mozambique, Central African Republic Sao Tome and Principe, South Africa and Seychelles Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa Continental wonderland, I'm on my way to Africa!
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46
I saw hostile clearly She was an ambling pear She turned, and amber melt effused my person I - her saccharine tome turning pages in my minds eye I heard her dog-earring the notion I should remember most And I felt mealy, and bruised.
0
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
meagan-moore
Bruised Pear
I saw hostile clearly She was an ambling pear She turned, and amber melt effused my person I - her saccharine tome turning pages in my minds eye I heard her dog-earring the notion I should remember most And I felt mealy, and bruised.
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8
After Midnight The narcissists fall After Midnight A new lyric calls After Midnight Last bugle to blow After Midnight There’s more left to know After Midnight The lizards collect After Midnight Old tales to reflect After Midnight The ticking will stop After Midnight The bottom will top After Midnight A cancerous tome After Midnight Malignancy known After Midnight Betray and deceive After Midnight Alone in the siege After Midnight All footsteps fall deaf After Midnight Lost palates are cleft After Midnight New story to front After Midnight Two stars for the dunce After Midnight The comets rebel After Midnight The coroners yell After Midnight A suit made of steel After Midnight Its melting reveals After Midnight That voice in the back After Midnight There’s no turning back After Midnight A sacred oath sworn After Midnight All memory forlorn After Midnight The wheels bend and churn After Midnight Lost vision returns After Midnight False birth is stillborn After Midnight Old vestments are torn After Midnight The here and the now After Midnight That one sacred cow After Midnight Past-Future unseen After Midnight —creation redeemed (Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
0
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
kurt-philip-behm
Creation Redeemed
After Midnight The narcissists fall After Midnight A new lyric calls After Midnight Last bugle to blow After Midnight There’s more left to know After Midnight The lizards collect After Midnight Old tales to reflect After Midnight The ticking will stop After Midnight The bottom will top After Midnight A cancerous tome After Midnight Malignancy known After Midnight Betray and deceive After Midnight Alone in the siege After Midnight All footsteps fall deaf After Midnight Lost palates are cleft After Midnight New story to front After Midnight Two stars for the dunce After Midnight The comets rebel After Midnight The coroners yell After Midnight A suit made of steel After Midnight Its melting reveals After Midnight That voice in the back After Midnight There’s no turning back After Midnight A sacred oath sworn After Midnight All memory forlorn After Midnight The wheels bend and churn After Midnight Lost vision returns After Midnight False birth is stillborn After Midnight Old vestments are torn After Midnight The here and the now After Midnight That one sacred cow After Midnight Past-Future unseen After Midnight —creation redeemed (Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
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65
On the night of initiation, curves of pale luster began to gleam unwrinkled from the darkened divots along the lunar surface A perspective unseen for so long, it was viewed as a defaulted “wink” on the face of the moon And therefore, forgotten, unmentioned, until it’s means were sought   From days ‘fore, and long since now dust Scribing authors, secrete beads of frenzy  into ink filled phial Sending tremors down, into the quill tip Filling scrolls for permanence in a preemptive defense against continuous unraveling thoughts would befall this fluency into incoherent clutter   Pioneers of preprint in a provoking tome, would speak educated reasons why these areas of Moon had been locked under sealed dark punishment since Empedocles mixed cosmic elements to breed an undeniable proving truth Exhibiting the myth of danger alongside The established absolute and supervening fizzling sunset proving the existence of love... —————————————————- “Since I have given you words from my within like the ecliptic rising and burning massive, Our mutual visibility of late is either one-sided or short lived I’ll take a detour around the comforts of romance And try to talk my way into your pants By tossing at you, letters squeezed together, for your minds transcription into the heart of my subliminal write   In hopes you’ll feel a trickling gush If I get really lucky these words will find you like a volcano erupts a **** The same way water, beating against years of stone can fall And crash through a dam with pouring force so insatiable it’s territory is marked in history
0
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 11:09 PM UTC
JudLove
On the Night of Initiation
On the night of initiation, curves of pale luster began to gleam unwrinkled from the darkened divots along the lunar surface A perspective unseen for so long, it was viewed as a defaulted “wink” on the face of the moon And therefore, forgotten, unmentioned, until it’s means were sought   From days ‘fore, and long since now dust Scribing authors, secrete beads of frenzy  into ink filled phial Sending tremors down, into the quill tip Filling scrolls for permanence in a preemptive defense against continuous unraveling thoughts would befall this fluency into incoherent clutter   Pioneers of preprint in a provoking tome, would speak educated reasons why these areas of Moon had been locked under sealed dark punishment since Empedocles mixed cosmic elements to breed an undeniable proving truth Exhibiting the myth of danger alongside The established absolute and supervening fizzling sunset proving the existence of love... —————————————————- “Since I have given you words from my within like the ecliptic rising and burning massive, Our mutual visibility of late is either one-sided or short lived I’ll take a detour around the comforts of romance And try to talk my way into your pants By tossing at you, letters squeezed together, for your minds transcription into the heart of my subliminal write   In hopes you’ll feel a trickling gush If I get really lucky these words will find you like a volcano erupts a **** The same way water, beating against years of stone can fall And crash through a dam with pouring force so insatiable it’s territory is marked in history
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30
I keep collecting books I know I'll never, never read; My wife and daughter tell me so, And yet I never head. "Please make me," says some wistful tome, "A wee bit of yourself." And so I take my treasure home, And tuck it in a shelf. And now my very shelves complain; They jam and over-spill. They say: "Why don't you ease our strain?" "some day," I say, "I will." So book by book they plead and sigh; I pick and dip and scan; Then put them back, distrest that I Am such a busy man. Now, there's my Boswell and my Sterne, my Gibbon and Defoe; To savour Swift I'll never learn, Montaigne I may not know. On Bacon I will never sup, For Shakespeare I've no time; Because I'm busy making up These jingly bits of rhyme. Chekov is caviare to me, While Stendhal makes me snore; Poor Proust is not my cup of tea, And Balzac is a bore. I have their books, I love their names, And yet alas! they head, With Lawrence, Joyce and Henry James, My Roster of Unread. I think it would be very well If I commit a crime, And get put in a prison cell And not allowed to rhyme; Yet given all these worthy books According to my need, I now caress with loving looks, But never, never read.
0
3k
Robert Service
Book Lover
I keep collecting books I know I'll never, never read; My wife and daughter tell me so, And yet I never head. "Please make me," says some wistful tome, "A wee bit of yourself." And so I take my treasure home, And tuck it in a shelf. And now my very shelves complain; They jam and over-spill. They say: "Why don't you ease our strain?" "some day," I say, "I will." So book by book they plead and sigh; I pick and dip and scan; Then put them back, distrest that I Am such a busy man. Now, there's my Boswell and my Sterne, my Gibbon and Defoe; To savour Swift I'll never learn, Montaigne I may not know. On Bacon I will never sup, For Shakespeare I've no time; Because I'm busy making up These jingly bits of rhyme. Chekov is caviare to me, While Stendhal makes me snore; Poor Proust is not my cup of tea, And Balzac is a bore. I have their books, I love their names, And yet alas! they head, With Lawrence, Joyce and Henry James, My Roster of Unread. I think it would be very well If I commit a crime, And get put in a prison cell And not allowed to rhyme; Yet given all these worthy books According to my need, I now caress with loving looks, But never, never read.
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40
There was an eerie quiet peacefulness in the small sparsely furnished room. The only sound that may have been heard was of a solitary man wearing a brown robe with the hood pushed carefully back in order that his head would bared before God. He was breathing in and out in a steady and relaxed way as he occasionally and deliberately turned a page. The man, perhaps in his sixties, one couldn’t tell but for the age-worn hands that rested gently on a tome before him. He was deep in thought and concentration as he studied his Bible, something he did daily. These were his moments of quiet contemplation, but ones that he never shared, but with his God, and upon finishing, he quickly rose and rejoined his Brothers. He felt at Peace. ©Joe Wilson – In quiet contemplation 2014
0
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
joe-wilson
In quiet contemplation
There was an eerie quiet peacefulness in the small sparsely furnished room. The only sound that may have been heard was of a solitary man wearing a brown robe with the hood pushed carefully back in order that his head would bared before God. He was breathing in and out in a steady and relaxed way as he occasionally and deliberately turned a page. The man, perhaps in his sixties, one couldn’t tell but for the age-worn hands that rested gently on a tome before him. He was deep in thought and concentration as he studied his Bible, something he did daily. These were his moments of quiet contemplation, but ones that he never shared, but with his God, and upon finishing, he quickly rose and rejoined his Brothers. He felt at Peace. ©Joe Wilson – In quiet contemplation 2014
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17
Alone with this desk, And a notebook chock-fulled with paper; Endless.. he chomp everything away. Things truly aren’t easy, The silence makes it harder. Hey music, fill the air; For not all truths, But laughs of frauds may break out. Just like the old days. Just like the lady boss, Just..maybe. There should be dancing all around, Where crowds should chip in And take things in stern. Errands were not decors – Trespass! Like mini ciphers, Digits, letters, they knock the drill out. Only a couple more days left, But in ignominy, This generation may fall; How pitiable.. With such marks and inkblots, The source remains unrecognized. They’re used to seize papers like that, Although such are committing theft already. Left were words, Can’t spell it unerringly; Yet the hearsays divulged its address, So now, it’s time to slam this tome; End the toil that has always been the crook! Go outside, For the sun’s rays are there! Goodbye to this aged chair, And to this notebook full of nicks, With new freedom, We shall embrace.. Everything.. “Ciao” to what’s new, ‘Coz this is the real world! Oh college days! (7/25/13 @xirlleelang)
0
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
psalmiseta
The Everyday Poetic Routine of a College Student
Alone with this desk, And a notebook chock-fulled with paper; Endless.. he chomp everything away. Things truly aren’t easy, The silence makes it harder. Hey music, fill the air; For not all truths, But laughs of frauds may break out. Just like the old days. Just like the lady boss, Just..maybe. There should be dancing all around, Where crowds should chip in And take things in stern. Errands were not decors – Trespass! Like mini ciphers, Digits, letters, they knock the drill out. Only a couple more days left, But in ignominy, This generation may fall; How pitiable.. With such marks and inkblots, The source remains unrecognized. They’re used to seize papers like that, Although such are committing theft already. Left were words, Can’t spell it unerringly; Yet the hearsays divulged its address, So now, it’s time to slam this tome; End the toil that has always been the crook! Go outside, For the sun’s rays are there! Goodbye to this aged chair, And to this notebook full of nicks, With new freedom, We shall embrace.. Everything.. “Ciao” to what’s new, ‘Coz this is the real world! Oh college days! (7/25/13 @xirlleelang)
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40
*I found peace, on  water's ample ******* the river cascaded, plethora of questions, the fervent lover, wanting to know more and more though she knows me body and soul, in and out, from the days I was small. We became lovers at the first sight, tickling my bod'y secret places she taught me, alphabets of a woman, one by one now I can read each, a cryptic tome, full of secret murmurs and symbols, hieroglyphycs, Sanskrit, all rich, obscure languages. My river, the quintessential woman, power of meandering serpent, immense her hands supple, fingers, mischievous,moving, which make my mouth go dry, with the pleasure that erupts in me. Embracing her cool waters I come alive, even when my heart is on fire. We have spoken to each other long long hours, spilled every secret, forbidden wish, made sure depths of each is  filled with the scent of other, I found my peace on the bed of water, where I  had spilled my seeds first, ecstatic never forgotten that moment, ever.
0
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
k-balachandran
I found peace on water's ample *******
*I found peace, on  water's ample ******* the river cascaded, plethora of questions, the fervent lover, wanting to know more and more though she knows me body and soul, in and out, from the days I was small. We became lovers at the first sight, tickling my bod'y secret places she taught me, alphabets of a woman, one by one now I can read each, a cryptic tome, full of secret murmurs and symbols, hieroglyphycs, Sanskrit, all rich, obscure languages. My river, the quintessential woman, power of meandering serpent, immense her hands supple, fingers, mischievous,moving, which make my mouth go dry, with the pleasure that erupts in me. Embracing her cool waters I come alive, even when my heart is on fire. We have spoken to each other long long hours, spilled every secret, forbidden wish, made sure depths of each is  filled with the scent of other, I found my peace on the bed of water, where I  had spilled my seeds first, ecstatic never forgotten that moment, ever.
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37
Imagine the outrage If a band, all-male members, Refuse to play tunes for the opposite gender. Imagine the uproar The venue would face For excluding a half of their customer base. “It’s rank discrimination!” The ladies would moan. If the males got to listen while the girls stayed at home. Yet the Bulletproof Stockings, That band that wears wigs, Exclude guys from their concerts Not just chauvinist pigs. “It’s a matter of Faith!” The girl band members say; No guys at their gigs! No men hear them play. Yet I’ve heard pious Pastry chefs Don’t get to choose. If gay brides want a cake It’s a crime to refuse. An Orthodox authoress who published a tome would be most put out if male buyers stayed home. So if girl musicians seek public expression They ought to think twice about gender oppression. Its great that they’re keeping an orthodox home. But enough of these concerts For women alone.
0
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
john-f-mccullagh
Down with the Bulletproof Stockings!
Imagine the outrage If a band, all-male members, Refuse to play tunes for the opposite gender. Imagine the uproar The venue would face For excluding a half of their customer base. “It’s rank discrimination!” The ladies would moan. If the males got to listen while the girls stayed at home. Yet the Bulletproof Stockings, That band that wears wigs, Exclude guys from their concerts Not just chauvinist pigs. “It’s a matter of Faith!” The girl band members say; No guys at their gigs! No men hear them play. Yet I’ve heard pious Pastry chefs Don’t get to choose. If gay brides want a cake It’s a crime to refuse. An Orthodox authoress who published a tome would be most put out if male buyers stayed home. So if girl musicians seek public expression They ought to think twice about gender oppression. Its great that they’re keeping an orthodox home. But enough of these concerts For women alone.
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36
Union and Grand I moved into this house less than a year ago and already three gun related murders have occurred within a three block radius; two of them involving children. I'm not making this **** up. Those numbers wouldn't be anything exciting for a population hitting upwards of the millions, but this is not a big city. This is the heartland. - The city paid for a series of strategically placed dead ends, forced turns, and surveillance equipment to be installed in the area of about a mile surrounding my house. No wonder they call this place "The Trap". They keep changing the maze, and studying us like rats. - They had a make-do memorial for the little girl who got shot. They attached her stuffed animals, cards, and photos to a utility pole on the corner of Union and Grand. The city had it taken down. Some kind of city ordinance from some dusty tome at the town hall. Kids killing kids, and the shots keep firing. - Now don't get me wrong, I'm not what'd you call an activist. But when bloodshed occurs within eye shot of where you sleep, you start to get a little irked. These kids have as much potential as me, and twice as much grit. Their teachers barely even know their names, let alone what it's like to be deprived of privilege. - I'll stomp this concrete until my feet break. This labyrinth is my constant reminder and reality check. I am here, and you are there. This connection is suspended on silver threads and I am your puppet. Mold me into your angst driven dreamboat. Because tomorrow, I'm just going to wake up here. Tyler. - This soul has been folded seven times and I grow tired of this reality. There was a time when I could scream loud enough to wake the dead. I guess I'm showing the symptoms of an accidental child with a tongue that only tastes art as bitter protest. - I'd tear my face off to know if this is really getting through to you. The face in the photo is that of the goat; the false idol and deceiver. A Knight of Pentacles, selling you gold plated garbage. Odin-kin. You always feel like I have a secret to keep; my fist is in the air.
0
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
tyler-lynn-pulliam
Decatur, A Kingdom in Six Parts, Part III: Union and Grand
Union and Grand I moved into this house less than a year ago and already three gun related murders have occurred within a three block radius; two of them involving children. I'm not making this **** up. Those numbers wouldn't be anything exciting for a population hitting upwards of the millions, but this is not a big city. This is the heartland. - The city paid for a series of strategically placed dead ends, forced turns, and surveillance equipment to be installed in the area of about a mile surrounding my house. No wonder they call this place "The Trap". They keep changing the maze, and studying us like rats. - They had a make-do memorial for the little girl who got shot. They attached her stuffed animals, cards, and photos to a utility pole on the corner of Union and Grand. The city had it taken down. Some kind of city ordinance from some dusty tome at the town hall. Kids killing kids, and the shots keep firing. - Now don't get me wrong, I'm not what'd you call an activist. But when bloodshed occurs within eye shot of where you sleep, you start to get a little irked. These kids have as much potential as me, and twice as much grit. Their teachers barely even know their names, let alone what it's like to be deprived of privilege. - I'll stomp this concrete until my feet break. This labyrinth is my constant reminder and reality check. I am here, and you are there. This connection is suspended on silver threads and I am your puppet. Mold me into your angst driven dreamboat. Because tomorrow, I'm just going to wake up here. Tyler. - This soul has been folded seven times and I grow tired of this reality. There was a time when I could scream loud enough to wake the dead. I guess I'm showing the symptoms of an accidental child with a tongue that only tastes art as bitter protest. - I'd tear my face off to know if this is really getting through to you. The face in the photo is that of the goat; the false idol and deceiver. A Knight of Pentacles, selling you gold plated garbage. Odin-kin. You always feel like I have a secret to keep; my fist is in the air.
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I came to a courtyard of my own making, To a cottage by the sea at the worlds edge. I furnished it with my left over life, complete, Barren and colorless and I wrote the newest Book of psalms out of tinder and flame, a tome Of grey and useless poems, unheard of songs And reams of flesh. There in the lightest dark, By the Druid stone that was placed just for me, I planted a creeping yew tree. And the moon Sang in celebration and silence like a fallen Priest. Under the covering hazel trees, That sprung to life after the longest winter, Which taught me to forget my name, I now Struggle with light and my body, warring, torn Is fading slow, like the always arriving, down Turning solstice, the climates of the mind, Where it is digging the never ending shallow Hole only the spreading eternal yew, that I Planted, will ever know and only the Lazarus Moon shall ever rise above. I came to a courtyard of my own making, Was it dream that led me there or my eyes?
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Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
ormond
By the Druid Stone
I came to a courtyard of my own making, To a cottage by the sea at the worlds edge. I furnished it with my left over life, complete, Barren and colorless and I wrote the newest Book of psalms out of tinder and flame, a tome Of grey and useless poems, unheard of songs And reams of flesh. There in the lightest dark, By the Druid stone that was placed just for me, I planted a creeping yew tree. And the moon Sang in celebration and silence like a fallen Priest. Under the covering hazel trees, That sprung to life after the longest winter, Which taught me to forget my name, I now Struggle with light and my body, warring, torn Is fading slow, like the always arriving, down Turning solstice, the climates of the mind, Where it is digging the never ending shallow Hole only the spreading eternal yew, that I Planted, will ever know and only the Lazarus Moon shall ever rise above. I came to a courtyard of my own making, Was it dream that led me there or my eyes?
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23
We watched the sun fall down and scrape its knee again, across the horizon. Effusing amaranth, carmine, and cochineal across polluted vista. It felt petty to issue guttural laughs, or engage the myofacial crescents beneath its visual lament as the Earth turned its back again. We watched the sun rise, bruised, tender and shy this morning. Its muddled contusion obviated by the gauze of fog. A mottled neophyte - Luminescent crepuscular rays defied dregs of interstellar debris and cloud. Aching to kiss your skin - In stellar cloud nursery, it eschewed the torque of orbit and gravity - eras before verity of your essence. Humbly settling concentrically about oblate sphere, and gaseous tome. Latterly - It altered the atmospheric pressure on the other side of the planet a week antecedently, as you clung to your dream lattice, and Earth innately turned oblate nucleus. Its intent – A veneration of you. It bade the atmosphere convey a breeze echoing about your dermis, as it gilded your frame laconically, betwixt shaded steps beneath cloud and arbor. The sun yelled at me at its pinnacle today, Pallid bone – molten - miasma of rage Its core missive garnered inertia – coronal plasma warping ellipsoid factions in inflections of elusive filigree Pirouetting spicules spattered smelted torrents in the dismal anchorite Atomic schism – silent but felt It stoked humidity under shadowed niche - casual vaporous smears evinced no clemency. Flesh torqued, and seized beneath itself, briny globules shed from puckered pore. Culminations of sensitive fluid sacs scorched into the shallows of my chassis. Insignia knit in cellular shrapnel The sun ignored me today – or perhaps, it was I it. Enigmatic tenacious resolution – an echo of its gravitational collapse Inverse thermonuclear fusion It is not fear in a relationship that keeps you apart, it is neglect of the infinitesimal.
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Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
meagan-moore
Heliophilia
We watched the sun fall down and scrape its knee again, across the horizon. Effusing amaranth, carmine, and cochineal across polluted vista. It felt petty to issue guttural laughs, or engage the myofacial crescents beneath its visual lament as the Earth turned its back again. We watched the sun rise, bruised, tender and shy this morning. Its muddled contusion obviated by the gauze of fog. A mottled neophyte - Luminescent crepuscular rays defied dregs of interstellar debris and cloud. Aching to kiss your skin - In stellar cloud nursery, it eschewed the torque of orbit and gravity - eras before verity of your essence. Humbly settling concentrically about oblate sphere, and gaseous tome. Latterly - It altered the atmospheric pressure on the other side of the planet a week antecedently, as you clung to your dream lattice, and Earth innately turned oblate nucleus. Its intent – A veneration of you. It bade the atmosphere convey a breeze echoing about your dermis, as it gilded your frame laconically, betwixt shaded steps beneath cloud and arbor. The sun yelled at me at its pinnacle today, Pallid bone – molten - miasma of rage Its core missive garnered inertia – coronal plasma warping ellipsoid factions in inflections of elusive filigree Pirouetting spicules spattered smelted torrents in the dismal anchorite Atomic schism – silent but felt It stoked humidity under shadowed niche - casual vaporous smears evinced no clemency. Flesh torqued, and seized beneath itself, briny globules shed from puckered pore. Culminations of sensitive fluid sacs scorched into the shallows of my chassis. Insignia knit in cellular shrapnel The sun ignored me today – or perhaps, it was I it. Enigmatic tenacious resolution – an echo of its gravitational collapse Inverse thermonuclear fusion It is not fear in a relationship that keeps you apart, it is neglect of the infinitesimal.
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