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Alyssa Underwood Aug 2018
We're forced, each man, to walk a trialed path—
resisted trek, uphill through blinding daze
that shrouds with crucible's perplexing haze
till fog-white skies yield quick to black clouds' wrath.
Affliction brims a thorny pack to bear
whilst dewy darkness drenches in the night,
but where is calming lamp to lend us sight?
And who will come to give us saving care?
Here through veil is heard a whisper certain,
then o'er the mountain creeps the dawning day
and with clear eyes we see the brume give way
as God retracts His theatre's curtain,
unsheathing velvet waves whose morning sheen
beyond grey mist splays vast and wondrous green.
~~~

"I will exalt You, LORD,
    for You lifted me out of the depths
    and did not let my enemies gloat over me.
LORD my God, I called to You for help,
    and You healed me.
You, LORD, brought me up from the realm of the dead;
    You spared me from going down to the pit.
Sing the praises of the LORD, you His faithful people;
    praise His holy name.
For His anger lasts only a moment,
    but His favor lasts a lifetime;
weeping may stay for the night,
    but rejoicing comes in the morning.
When I felt secure, I said,
    'I will never be shaken.'
LORD, when You favored me,
    You made my royal mountain stand firm;
but when You hid Your face,
    I was dismayed.
To You, LORD, I called;
    to the Lord I cried for mercy:
'What is gained if I am silenced,
    if I go down to the pit?
Will the dust praise You?
    Will it proclaim Your faithfulness?
Hear, LORD, and be merciful to me;
    LORD, be my help.'
You turned my wailing into dancing;
    You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing Your praises and not be silent.
    LORD my God, I will praise You forever."

~ Psalm 30

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1464179/the-beauty-behind-the-fog/
Harper Nov 2012
Each moment so meant
Each particle tickles
Soothing, yet chilling
Humbling, yet exhilarating
In this bliss I find contentment
And once again bask in my ability to understand that it is all so meant
Minty and cool
The breeze blows you this way and that way
Sway each day just to end up the same
Why do we make this some sort of a game we play?
Some sort of dream we convey
In the sea of what could be
I found you
You found me
The joy to be in this see
Oh the significance
The sign if I can see
Through all the in betweens that cloud my mind
I begin to want to fall behind
But truly I am getting ahead
I am falling into each thought, each sense, and each interaction
It is a contraction
A fraction of all, a piece to this maze that leads you to peace
To beneath your own skin, your own life, to him
To her and to us
It is all we, can’t you see
We get up and we go
Just to fold into no
We breathe in through our knows
And let go of our holds
No we can be free
Without gages, or wages, or ages
We just are
It is not far
It is right here, right now
If only you will let it
No more excuses, abuses, reuses, and unsureness
Just let it go
You reap what you sow
Think of your actions, your thoughts, and your words
They are all you have got to express how you feel
To make it all real
You are thought
You are dreams
You are sunbeams
You are infinite love and light
You are feel
It is surreal, this dreamboat we float on
It tips over and we scatter, it wrecks and we shatter
All this matter is not what matters
It comes and it goes
No need to attach or latch, it will all go, just as it came
It’s the same
This cycle is recycled and trialed
Only leading us to denial
It is time to take responsibility for what we emit
And admit and just quit the deceit
The scurrying and worrying
Just stop
Do it now
Breathe and perceive in your own way and just play
It’s okay
Do it now
Don’t put it off because you are too busy or too tired
Tomorrow I will stop
What if there is no tomorrow
Living just to borrow, existing in your own sorrow
Free yourself from yourself
You are beautiful
If you cannot believe that, then you know you are youtifull
So be youtifull, beyoutifull
It is all you have to do, is be you, exactly as you are
We are all just apiece to this puzzle
All completing each other
We are all of all
All love all!

Escapism Dream
Escapism dream
Heart crushed symphony
Strings of sound tied together by hope
This expression our only weapon to expose
All this oppression when we don’t even know the root
Our only savior each others’ demise
Oh my eyes to my soul cannot take this any longer
Spending our daze
In an oblivion maze
This haze
It pulls me into the unknown
A pool of uncertainty
All luring we
This wave
We came in on and shattered on the sure
Always needing more
Our hearts pour out of places unknown
Separation overgrown
Fumbling forward we gracefully gasp
As they take off their masks
Feeled up to our seal, time to reveal and re-feel
This ever-living ghost of what once was
Creeps through my new and leaves only fuzz
This dream quilt unraveling
The patches detaching
Yet the thread remains, it was love all along
Always sing our dream song
Kon Grin Jul 2018
ive seen the world all people same
we love we fear, deprived, insane
absolute mass and no division for the HQ supervision
we are Trialed in side by solicitude at night
blindfolded OF!
superiority of those that are biting in our nose
medicating under-eighteen that appear so differently
and thus don't reap the boredom we are destined to live through
im sorry that I'm different
and I'm sorry that I speak
for the nation of the flowers
all fragile but not weak
A call out to generation X
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2015
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"

(from the libretto of Handel's Semele -
opera.stanford.edu/iu/libretti/semele.htm)

think of your ears as an
ever alert, high pitched,
sensory tuning fork,
an aural radar, searching for that
acute, oblique,
perforating and poking phrase,
that lost airplane of solace
buried and too well hid
in the vastness of
empty, characterless searchable seas
that rarely yield up their
comforting finery

when discovered, tripped upon,
instant recognition pleads

"write me down,
write me up,
delve me,
determine me,
make me more!"

t'is a thrumming vibrato
interfering with mind,
that phrase, that phrase, that phrase

"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"

content coursing through the eyes,
piercing veils of hum drum dumbing down,
a life spying drone eliciting excitedly
a high value target,
an unexpected mission,
camouflaged amidst the
chit chat droning of the
choking ordinary and commonplace

murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own
tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life,

You

murmur me again to peace


even the words
be prepared to sacrifice, surrender,
but promise me that
the Justice of

-just-

thy tone,
thy inflections,
will gentle
the infecting turbulence
of being a plain, tried and trialed human

let me not
catalogue the onerous,
the burdening barbell weights,
we carry for no purpose

Give us
our daily bread of a singular
phrase~prayer~poem,**
our verbal bond, modest sequest,
honey oatmeal, cut up strawberried
jewel,
give it, me this day,
my daily soothing

"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
em Aug 2018
i got older again
not any wiser though,
just a little bit sadder.
Tracey A Grove Dec 2011
Many stories are written
Only some are true
But from my lips come truthfulness
As I share my dreams with you.

I have been through many trialed times
As my lovers love and then leave
Too many tears have fallen
Too many to ever conceive.

Then came the day
When love bestowed
A heart so warm and kind
The heart that I've been looking for
Yet never thought I'd find.

And now that it's been found, my dear
I'm  never letting go
I've lots of love inside of me
And to only you I'll show.

But be careful of my naive heart
For it breaks so very easy
I only ask for love and trust
It don't take much to please me.

My dreams have finally happened
My dreams have finally come true
I've found a place called paradise
When I found the one called you.
©1980
Onoma Jul 2015
How many times
must my mind
bury you, and my
heart keep you alive?
How adept at shattering
and gathering must I
become, before the work
that was said unto us,
trialed thus...cease?
Breath is the sound that
answers that silence...no matter
what, I cherish your breath
as you cherish mine.
There are some things as
dear as breath...though they
may come and go.
Onoma Nov 2013
Of no time and place...
save for due Truest North
of no time and place...a kindled
air as such...never a Draconian
night layeth upon...O Hyperborea.
Muse of Muse...whose tacit glory
begot lip and lyre...illumined
wholes that sayeth verily unto
illumined wholes.
Unbroken gaiety...where the only
obscuration's the recesses of
witnesses in full bearing...Beauty's
Knowing...Knowable Beauty.
O Hyperborea...as light, lighteth...
yet lit be not--high heaped upon
high, celebrants of whir and fire...
fire and whir...whir and fire!
Thou danceth a sun's one-upmanship,
to emblazon the dreams of Thracian
peoples.
That the world may know, and know
well...the north wind...of no time
and place--due Truest North of no
time and place...be kindled by
Apollonian graces.
As an urn contains what's trialed by
fire, as fire...Beauty unbridled...poureth
forth under the Hyperborean sun...
never to casteth a shadow.
ardnaxela Jun 2018
I tripped along the railroad tracks
trying to escape from your trespasses of my trust;
trotting t'wards that treasure I hid
on a trail beyond those trees there.
Triggered by treachery, the truth in these tribulations
trialed and errored and transformed..
Tricky triumph, trifle *****.
I tripped along the railroad tracks.
sometimes love makes us clumsy.
nehyl Dec 2013
A stranger,
I thought I had met before,
when we had  just crossed paths,
or made love on the same floor?
For I wasn't very sure,
about the dress, that day I wore,
or if we had rushed through those doors.

Same stranger,
sets his golden eyes on my face,
or was his gaze sliding lower, bit lower.
I could tell, this was that place,
for how his fingers trialed,
where his stare had been laid,
I thought this moment would fade.

Stranger's eyes,
telling me to close my eyes,
for his cold fingers knew the way,
to the growing sinful skies.
Not anymore, I could hear or see,
for the stranger had hypnotized me,
I had read his eyes when only,
he could see me.
Rebel Heart Jul 2017
We've been scorched and trialed
Scarred beyond recognition
Bruised beyond repair
But we've shed our skin to become
Masters of our own disguises...

Scars line our bodies
Intertwining like a mysterious vine
Lacing together in jagged harmony
Intricate like a hidden beauty within itself..

Some were received from battle
More received from the battle within
From the depths of the darkness
Haunting the forgotten graves
Lost in the whispering wind..

Our skin's a masterpiece
Covered in red, black, and blue
But is it the color of glory
Or of shame
Of fear
Of the silent shadows still living within us...

Are we truly soldiers
Or simply ones without a cause
Lost in the sounds of chaos
For eternity to endure...

Our scars tell our stories
But are they the ones being heard
Or are our silent screams
Lost in the unforgiving wind
In the depths of time itself?

Then truly,
   Do these scars,
       Our story
         Mean anything
              At all ....
At first I didn't understand this poem. Then I realized in the notes RH had written "I don't want to live forgotten". This was written, apparently, back in 2014. Anyway, I realized the soldiers represented everyone in the world who was fighting endlessly just to help leave their marks on this world and had been left forgotten by those who came after them. As a poet/writer we'll forever leave our marks on the world. We may even end up forgotten but our words will find a way to live on, our memory along with them. And someone like Rebel Heart should know its near impossible to forget someone as amazing as herself.... ~BM
Shahrukh Zamir May 2014
Today I lie homeless,
living empty out of cash,
Today I lie hopeless,
thinking of how long will it last,

Today I taste the feeling of those deprived,
Will it make you want to leave
or would you stay and remain
fighting through my plight,

How deep is your love?

Today our meals came from picking in the trash?
We are starving yet filled from all this pressure,
As a couple we lie in trouble
but as for you, is this make you love me lesser?

Today we are  bare sheltered in the cold streets,
will you still be happy and watch up over me,
in which ways will you react?
will you still be here or disappear in a flash,

How deep is your love?

Today I've hit rock bottom
dwelling in the depths of poverty
Today all smiles turned solemn
do my downfalls keep you from loving me?

Living through these trialed times,
in which everything has failed to mold,
will you let every piece of fall apart,
or still have me to hold?

Because honestly as of now,
I've hit the peak of my downfall,
Stumbling, down tumbling,
to crumbling giving it my all,

Aside from you ,
I'm shunned away from world of pleasures,
caught up in the mix
trying to get it things back together,

What if we were in absence,
to these moments of bliss,
would I be dismissed,
or in your eyes still exist?

How deep is your love?..
Colm Sep 2018
When the books of bold close cold on you
     And the results bend nether way
With a hopeful truth speak Carpe diem
     Don’t wait to seize the day

When the months of old turn back to you
     And the dew of springtime stays
With your shoulders shake the dawn anew
     In the chaos find a way

When you’re home to pass midst summers last
     And the memories fade away
Speak Carpe diem non differas
     Don’t wait to seize the day

When your merit is tested on the field
     And the court of your kingdom sways
When your trialed life becomes the sim
     In the chaos find a way

Because you’ll never have what you have now
     And no time will ever stay
This precious, blessed, life to pass
     Don’t wait to seize the day
I encourage you, don't wait!
P for Poems Feb 2015
Some day's are sad,
some are bad,
some days are happy,
some are ******.
But a smile on the face,
can make you feel like an ace.
So just try,
instead of wondering why.
each day is different so give it your best,
think of it as you being trialed for a test.
VV Lettish Feb 2019
of all the names to keep in sight
yours are the sharpest
denoise and watch us reunite
the ones that are just
belittled, fleeing underbreath
the rathe arrivers
recount the signs that have been dealt
a lifetime prior

trialed with love on better times
fruitlessly frantic
for apter notes or fitter rhymes
some order, planted
uncoiling subjects from your hand
as if you're equal
in reach for the desicion-man
the drudging eagle.

keep dancing on your master's knees
no questions uttered
miss not to arm yourself with these
heels bent to cut her
denoise and ler her understand
this aimless evil
in reach for the desicion-man
the taunted eagle.
Peppy Miller Jan 2015
I gotta tell you not to miss those times cause we'll be missing our whole lives. If you gain deep sadness for the past it's sometimes greeted with sharp knives.
Like when I learned of **** at native boarding schools or watched a peaceful protest met with fists.
I'm not sure if I should **** myself or grow extremely ******.
I'm paralyzed with grief but need to turn it into action.
I feel as though I've been caught in a great illusion of greed and satisfaction. When distance is measured in numbers, it seems so far away.
But all this **** is here and now, it's happening each day.
Where should I really point the gun and when will I be trialed?
Long before the man who bluffed about abusing his wife and child. Where's the real justice here? In this backwards, ****** up place?
We're forced into such confines due to our gender and race.
Today is the day I break the chains, I think I'm going to snap.
No one's safe until you get out, until then it's all a trap.
RayRay Jun 2023
there is beauty in innocent intelligence
where the elder sister disturb the younger sister through the window i of class
just so that they can go back earlier
through the changing times of the world
and the storm of wild emotions
it is warm to know that life as humans ages and eons ago, likely shared the same experiences and innocent amusing through the times and ages
we cant ever escape our emotion but rather should deal with it
one way or another
we will never know how
there is just so many ways to handle
all most likely already been explored or trialed
it might work or not
we will not know
through the world
beyond innocent laugher and simple joy
the darkness and terror eludes
how can we stay pure and not judge with such
or how can we be a terror but find pureness
life and human world
is a wildy conflicting place
how can we know for sure
what is what
amused with innocent and terror
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
that the EU was over... i could have told you...
way back in 2004...
when the "project" expanded by a gravity
of 8...
             plain and simple...
                   thank you - dear west...
                      sprechen deutsch!
nein!
              sprrrrr-ECHEN deuTsch!
danke - liebe abend...
                                         liebe... abend...
the hounds and the workers from under
the curtain...
with iron teeth and bones and smiles...
  the hounds...
                   i composed a list...
                  almost all of them are the former
conscripts of the WarshauPakt...
                    the idea was... though...
to postpone their entry... to... strenghten
the common currency... the shared currency...
zu stärken die währung!
    too bad... well... the british would never
exchange fiat or gold... without Lizzy's face
donning the coinage or paperaeroplanes
of in-debted over spending...
           i do live on debit...
i'm trying to get a credit card...
since... i heard... all credit can be regained...
a credit is a safety-net -
   debit tenticles into your details and there's
very or little chance to argue against:
a zombie affair of debit -
an amazon 30-day free trial...
                it's not like they'd cut you off...
they'll keep on *******...
god forbid... vampirism... and the romance of...
a bit like a h.i.v. epidemic...
     illness of the blood...
   vampires are a romance...
      time to get on the bicycle and practice
a run through the village on a whim
of ****** hunger... about to be tested...
a single currency...
well... the germans always loved the idea
of a unified Europe...
              unlucky for them... they weren't
supposed to gain access to Charlemagne...
        but even Nietzsche cites this ambition...
too bad... there was no... scandinavian model
of teaching: an omni-present bilingualism...
or a switzerland model of at least three languages...
hardly... possible... when dealing on the outskirts
with: hissy-fit proponents of culture...
when the ottomans came, the mongols...
a list of the EU expansion:
the baltic states would cower and...
some if not all... do have the shared currency...
just out of the blue...
the tri-colour... why is the german football team
attired in teutonic knight colours?
oh i can just see it...
   a black shirt... red shorts... and yellow socks...
as emblematic as the fwench...
    unlike the Italians in blue...
oddly enough i don't associate rome with blue...
more... purple and red...
even the irish don't exactly show off their
terrible orange...
        schwarz und weiß:
                  arbeit macht frei... it's all a very german
"thing": this unification of europe...
why call it the EU at all...
   why not call it...       the vierte *****?!
         well... however long it lasted... it outlasted
the dream of Barbarossa invested in through
heat-leer...
                          i won't deny that i live
in england... but... it's sometimes worrying
too...
           never mind that... the currency...
well... i know of: the czechs with their koruna
the hungarians have their forint
  the polacks have their złoty
    and the invested amour of the germans...
for the swedes... the swedes still have
their krona... how many is, that? i count...
                               4...
                   the new... "european" enclave
into russia... whatever the **** and unnatural
was... the vicinity around Kaliningrad...
the same ****: different cover with...
estonia, latvia... lithuania all in the euro single
currency... the good old days of the teutonic
knights waging their northern crusades...

the slovakians were duped too...
               the romanians still have their leu...
the bulgarians still have their lev...
            oh mein gott! what of the projected...
sleeping beuaty entry... of the former yugoslavia
territory? was that... planned for...
2004... 2007... what the hell happened in... 2010?!
what happened in 2010 that didn't connect
Greece to... Italy via a shortcut across the Adriatic?!

but they enlarged... the... cartoon post-"soviets"
came out flinging **** and rusty spare parts...
some would catch a nail some a *****...
to pick vegetables, do the roofing... the plumbing for...
very important and riddled western:
"chauvinists" and... "neanderthal" journos of the great
snooze...

can it really be... deemed... "journalism" as
it mere partakes in... the chihuahua and lackeys
of the editorial? of the opinion pieces?
are they the ones to soften the blow of a harsh...
editorial... ahem... re-a(h)-lee-tea?

what was all this hype and envy for attention
when Brexit happened...
relentless... one trough of dog **** and canines
and minced maggot flesh for the lap dogs
to slurp... another baron of: for those idle hands...
work! the crown... or in terms of terms...
kabbalah: the keter... ehyeh asher ehyeh...

today i asked myself...
what does make h. p. lovecraft original...
in the ocotpus riddled godhead...
i asked myself that question when looking
at very finely sculpted from tree figures
of elephants... and...
an octopus godhead...
            well... and there's... Ganesha...
  which... is a bit like the russian name: Nikita...
you have one Nikita in that video of Elton
John... but then... you know it's not the Nikita
of teenage boy wetdreams...
but some Khrushchev...

      anything from the seas... perhaps...
except for seeing a whale... a fish that... needs
to snorkel... and it's BoB or bOb with gills
plucking out Os from bubbles...
                        in that: -xygen...
                             what can be so... possibly...
horrid and original within the confines
of h. p. lovecraft's imagination beside...
the descriptive allure...
                        as man i couldn't conjure up...
nothing as spectacular,
imaginative and yet... somehow... sensible...
as an elephant's head...
                     i bring the hindu head of an elephant
to compete with the anglo-saxon priest
of the depths of existential angst...
     i bring my elephants head before the octopus
attached to a body...
                 i can imagine much worse...
              but i'll use the fear of the octopus
and the leftover ink...
                             the EU was dead in 2004...
perhaps these isles wouldn't be throwing such
a hissy fit of self-congratulatory gluttony
of gloating over the defeated...
       it wouldn't have happened if there was:
currency of one's own...
               the rest will happen... naturally...
of the countries that still have their currency...
they still have their sovreignity...
i'm not into bull-crap stipends of talking
politico and sharpening pencils and folding
pieces of paper...
                       it was dead when...
                              the labour market opened...
and "our" best postcards... "our" best people decided
to leave the nest...
             2004 was a siesmic shift...
back in 1994 i was a token slav...
       hell... back in 2002 i was a token slav...
                 after 2004... i was no longer a token slav...
and because, after all... the british people
are omni-good... glutten-free eating
dickens reading cricket lovers...
        there is absolutely nothing criminal to be
associated with...
                     well... imagine a st. peter of mongolia!

what became apparent after 2004...
returning to those friendships prior... in school...
i somehow had a reputation of a patriarch...
the mood suddenly changed...
i was... the good exponent...
then the bad exponent... then all the bad exponents...
compared the beatles': i am the walrus
with... killing joke's: i am the virus...
as a side-note...

                  there wouldn't be a Brexit...
without the pound...
                       the pound predetermined the success
of the referendum...
it's almost as easy as frying pancakes...
not... if Britain was buying toothpaste
or shoelaces in euros...
for me it's still the most obvious... cheap victory...

the call for self-determination and
sovreignity... well that's all nice and Pickwican...
but the money already had the loudest
voice... and it was in the minoty of
a single pound...

it still feels like a cheap victory...
              a load of bureaucratic papers -
hardly a signature of **** on should they be worth
that of toilet paper and a wipe:
no nation's sovreignity is ever questioned:
when its currency is the ultimate authority -
unshaken...
and in europe? there are still a few left...
with the same integrity of currency...
4...

      whatever happened to the spaniards'
colonial past? where did the money go to?
               doesn't matter...
the satellite hounds of the former soviet empire:
having to integrate into the german-lands...
was always going to be a bad idea...
a sore denial of leaving a dozen plums
"wandering" from chin to cheek and elsewhere...
it's hard to imagine...
that a people would somehow come from
under one handlers...
and readily agree to new handlers...
and a "capital"... in Brussels?!
of all places... Brussels?!

        geographically speaking... where
is the centre of Europe? at best Dresden...
Toruń... Prague... at worst... Brussels... Dublin...

or coming from a town that once could
boast about... a cohort 30,000 metallurgy workers
in its metallurgy plants...
diminished... to... 3,000...
what's 30,000 roughly multiplied by:
a wife and two children? 100,000 circa...
move to elsewhere in Poland...
or move elsewhere in general...
ah... the love of obstacles... a language to acquire...
well... here's the prior-mentioned
acquisition...

       looks like i haven't been such a bad
host... after all...
clearly it - the host and "parasite" can
relate to a song in quasi-finnish:
täppmarschen!
                
          of the people "supposed" to be...
none and all were not... supposed to be...
even with the dreams of german
19th century recluses akin to nietzsche...
who... if being put under the scrutiny of
Mr. Dickens...
would be found as being bound
to the style of stenography of a... mr. alfred jingle...

nothing more! nothing more of this
already questionable affair of sods
and sorts!
               didn't... just a little bit... couldn't
nietzsche be... put on trial for
writing in stenography? high-brow and
brows indeed raised: should any more
sycoiphancy relating to the style...
be found upon this "trial of errs and errors"...
the englishman... if not the most...
trialed by witness...
    the most... sympathy sodden sobrerity...
as with requiring him to be drunk...
he starts to play the rascal
with a ******* slingshot... and never:
the poached egg in a barrel of whiskey...
never that... pensive: brood quote...

i only wished that i had lived
about / among the pobl Gymraeg...
well... who can wish otherwise...
                   Cymry... when there's me
attempting to sharpen the chisel of my oyster's
worth of tongue in speech and none
of it reserved to the dog oyster's worth
of performing the suitable, otherwise...
personages of oral found in the gutter
or in the ***** of Venus... should her floral
womb open for: vaccanies:
only onomatopoeias and vowel catching
brothers H and H of the tetragrammaton
allowed in!

just because it's Cornwall...
doesn't imply i will not come with...
                                                      Çymru!
no point a base in Loon'don if York is left
intact and with only two left hands
to govern it...
     even now...
                lepiej dmuchać na zimne:
better safe than sorry...
eh... pity that proverb...
since there's no connotation
of the joke... it is better to blow on the cold...
tea...

      and what of my time among
the Picts... well... that truly is a sort of...
muslim man mentality toward a woman
wearing a niqab...
            it's one of those: for your eyes only...
shady strings... perhaps the lute is involved...
t-shirt madmen...
in the middle of February...
on... the north bridge... and just below:
waverley station...

                     only last night i had a dream
of inspecting sketches of me...
with a 6-pack... long hair...
and the hands that scratched my love-handles
when they had their torso pinned
to a trojan thumping in a *******...
she's still a ghost of mine...
every time i want to forget her...
she resurfaces...
  it's like... kissing a frog...
                       i am the ******* frog...
and she is... the sitting, poised...
always less alarmed than usual: Akhmatova...
one of those women that i could:
actually... i still do... **** of on a regular basis...
she was my Aria Giovanni...
she became my Eve Angel...
                in between she's a compliment
of cubism is (you read that right...
of cubism is and not of cubism in)...
   her bagel of a nose... and she is myopic and
she's a troll short...
                she'd find a kippah on her head
under my chin... then again...
when she had short hair she was the only
tom-boy in edinburgh to steal...
              looks like the hopes for a... an engagement
afresh... well... she morphed into
the grant Tsarina and i am...
the next *******-master of a Потёмкин...
                               i am also delusional about:
my currency of metaphors...
god... mother... nation...
                      what are these...
when you have made it... and are a citizen of...
Monte ******* Carlo?!
when i think of father... eh...
well there could be an outlet of metaphors...
but then... there's that quote that mentions
Elijah... and i'm all knees and pearly gates please...
primo et pronto!

point proven... i can't exactly love another
woman... i can **** anything that moves...
etc.,
        but it's not exactly love to begin with...
it's that genius of reciprocated nihilim...
i began to live for the promise of:
and i will spend a tenner with charles III
***** on a banknote...
before the next pope does a kicker in one
of death's lamborghinis: feet first out
of the church congregation of:
              i didn't come here to praise caesar...

         but here a coffin... and an abudance
of toothpicks! sometimes... it would seem...
one doesn't have the necessary wealth...
as there simply can't be "too many" teeth
when the economy and ergonomics of toothpick
application is concerned...

oh that victorian laissez-faire of applied
language... it's not short... it's Pickwican...
it's... insinuating an extension of the bracket of
inclusion of informality...
a commonality of staging a cordiality
with a dwarf... strapped to... a song...
no less... rotes harr... i can see these devilish
imps chained to a carousel of this infernal
dance... and there is no greek-god
of the german-romance myth in sight...
for that... sort of sell-by-date nostalgia...
a rotten apple... a a Helga for a lover...
and a Helmut for a luvvy-dubby-shy-bud
of a limp whittle 'ichard!

- she's like a burning splinter in my mind...
of a body... that's all but cemented into
the hands of a sculptor that only works
with copper, brass, marble or... custard for brains...
and this burning...
again to Sophia with all the baggage of
a priori...
or Medussa with all that comes with shadows
of... frozen suitors to fashion
****** from...
her entourage of suitors... three coronations
of engagements down...
however many lovers...
me and my brothel sand-pitting to the best
kept secret of:
a leverage of two bodies embracing
for minor pundit approval...
the man of supposed lies...
the deceiving harrower...
                      
god and this leeching telepathic embrace...
"god", this telepathic embrace...
and the subsequent telekinesis of me
writing these words...
last time i had this murmur...
i came to aid as she was cutting her hands
down the Nile...
and... not exactly at the crux of...
the Hoover Dam... shame... a great shame really...

so be it... as it has always been...
whispers and grains of sand
passed toward the post-office of the wind.
Asuzx Jun 2019
You will be born each day
And you will die at least
three times the same day.
Your mind will be trialed
and your soul, much more.
Everything that you will remember
you will forget,
And everything that you will know,
will not matter anymore;
Not because you died already,
but because it never
mattered.

Your cry will die also
and will be born again.
Nothing new you will live,
your life will repeat itself – the same day:
you will die at least
three times.

And every night – the same thought,
You, as everyone else,
all together:
Is there any point in living
if we die at least
three times
each day?
Anya Jun 2019
“He always walked with sinners”
          They lie
“He never walked with saints”
    Ever turning to the sky
His righteousness not faint
    He had but one sin to his name
And one it had remained
    His sin of love for a sailor man
Though they saw it just the same
And with that sin they trialed him
     With murders and thieves
With no relief from sturdy gin
     But the restraint of iron keys
Izaak El Amado Sep 2020
I look at you and see eternity
you look at me and it confirms me.
burdened by the enviromental adversary
you'll never be a curse to me.
we come from nothing
had nothing
birthed too be trialed by trauma
we never thought this **** was fair
so i guess in the end
i just really want us to share.
Sorry
i was with mj
;)
Michelle A Ford Mar 2021
The body count piled and the bad was in the win
She muscled her ambition to throw her hat in for the sake of a win

Knowing quite well what she was up against
Scoffing and peoples deliberate ignorance
Knowing what they saw as they always watched her life
Thinking she would never ever try and make it rite

She speaks to angel demons and the dead
Silly fools its not just in her head

The Blood of a God
23 and me

She

Hoped for the best it would not come to blows
That she was most abhorred from as you know

Maliciously molested by many an eye
This time she vowed and with not even a joke but to be the why

Spines will break and souls will cower
For this time she is working for her Father

Lighting crashed and it imploded at her feet
No entrance of exit wound could be seen how reet

The thing that she heard that now is sticking fast.....
If she ever figures out who she is each day ....***.....could be our last!!

Stephen King wrote it and Nostradamus did proclaim
Many a trials would encompass through my soul someday

I am not boasting and braggart I am just stating the facts
So when you approach you better know how to act

I have made this vow on a cold March night
To kick *** of the evil and make well by the right

Check check and 1 2 1 2
I know your eye mic is on he can see you!!

Insanity you wish I was not who I am
I will not throw into a ward for the sake of mad man

My heart was trialed left dead many on repeat now the reaper you see
Come right or beat feet

A  prediction you ask have you not looked to the sky...the milky way and things that are just passing way... the storms in space a warning you know ... better look out here down below


I will tell you this in 20 days or so you will see the lesson of what i type you will know!!  I do speak to the Heavens and they are Universally ****** you stalagtites of wanna be power  oh you have to go.........
ogdiddynash Nov 16
“Remember when we used to pour our own milk in Starbucks? I miss those days,” one patron wrote nostalgically on X earlier this month... Now in the process of  getting reinstatement…
<>
oddity sujet for a poeme. and it begs with
hidden overtones even, for an overture, please,
even the babes&big babies among us with barely a decade to call their own,
long for the un~
complicated places, days, even the moments
momentous that will resonate evermore,

even the most favored nation of that stuffed
animal, that cannot be dismissed, discarded,
who will join them in their no loco parenting of a
snug single of  a freshman doormroom,
with no shame, when the hungry boys are
permitted entry to the chamber, blushing from the hopefulness's of potency of
getting first  lucky,
foolishly sarcastic remarking on
this sad sacred animal presence, and being subsequently serviley, quick dismissed,
with a stupid,wry twisty, puzzled squared landing on their mouth, where the just sensed
passionate kisses  will  ow/now
never arrive


yes, nostalgic
commences amidst the multiple in ~ puts
from early days, ever on,
sorted, filed, systematically,
in a system greater than the
dewey decimal of our libraries

and we experimented with
numerous pours of variable quantities
of
various “milks”
lesson taught when the station is unbusy,
and cute yong men offer helpful hints,
calorically, nutrient-wise, taste varietals,
and leaving a phone number
on the wax container of the
trialed oat milk
which is so a
thing
hard to miss, hard to lose


perhaps this instant of rapture rappore
will lead to a long life,
maybe till spring semester when
you,
a saturated years older
slightly more cautious,
*and yet^
after a hundred nyets,
in a San Fran Starbucks,
near the first job,
it happens, and memories are
rejiggered, restoring priorities
andy
don’t tell nobody
that stuffed animal
is resting comfortably
on her bedroom
in an apt.
Shared with two others,

To all entering, holy of holies,
as a prescreening no~tech
stuffed, well hugged
animal device will
assign a
pass/fail grade
LannaEvolved Jan 2021
To You,

I was the page
So no one could put me together

No one could read me
like nobody could read you

I felt like a duplicate script

My life on a dime
with spiral

If I could survive
I think I'd drink my shot at life
in a glass of moscato filled with ice and savor

We have limited moments here on earth
Can you give me a sign from heaven?

Would it be safe to say
that you'll be on my side
In the end?

Is heaven such a thing that truly exists? Because I see sanction and the fruits of life in its eyes.

Only God knows how this life lies in times of trialed errors, mischievous days, in my many moments of masked disguise.
nyant Jul 2019
They'd be debating over the msg, kjv, niv, etc,
while he drowned in *******,
tormented as he trialed his conversion,
vice city no longer a mere game,
but the vicinity of his brain,
conscious corrupted in chains,
marveled at unfruitful doctrines strange,
left sick on the verge of deranged,
eyes laying sight on the vile,
called out but took the bait of the Nile,
stiff-necked afraid to plough the furrow,
skin-deep till it got to the marrow,
no shield when struck by the arrow,
backslid and strayed from the narrow.
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2020
You couldn't grant them
But at least you smiled

Susan Meek
Beauty mild

My son Calyx
Maybe a wild child

St. Therese
Tested, Trialed

The Little Way
Not the Niled

— The End —