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Emeka Mokeme Nov 2018
He said its
complicated.
Uncomplicate it,
I told him.
Is it really
possible to get
beyond this complex
and difficult confusion.
It's all like
an amateur playing
the Cubic game.
As easy as it
seems to dance and
not forget the steps,
even so it is
to have a face
and still not well known.
The Excellence of the
Soul is Understanding,
for the Man
who Understands is
Conscious, devoted,
and already godlike.
Understanding the
complicated is not
that simple.
You need the mind
of a poet who
understands and interpret
what the mind sees
in the unconscious.
He will with ease
bring to the
conscious world all
the complicated complexities
for others to understand.
A poet dreams while awake,
and still awakens
within the dream to
uncomplicate the complicated.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
covert for: bandana, with a touch of marquis de sade's discretion, i.e.: gentlemen! let's make it clear, we're not here for the candy, for the thrill of chasing three ****-naked piglets... we're here for the oysters, for the tartar steaks... for everything that deserves the definition of: decadent! and its oozing pus filled porous rivers of, thrill: take it as you make - there will always be people, who toy with words; but at least these people are not the rigid ******* of lawmakers, who see lawmaking, who deem jurisprudence, law itself, as nothing short of a thesaurus, which is, evidently, their sacred text.

with the verse i write -
upon inspecting the "efforts"
of others -
   seems to translate into: a hospital
for anemics,
and that's very much
irritable -
    given that people take more
effort into disliking complicated
phrasing of a lack of effort
to match a deed -
      than people taking the least
amount of effort of disliking
the most complicated turn of events,
say, a ******, or a robbery...
      the perpetuated history of
the individual has always been
the dumbfounding "awe" at
the masses - without a theological zoo
to keep them less investigated
by the individual -
        i dare not turn to investigating
the universe,
     what's feeding my apprehension
is more on the plateau,
on the summary of man -
less the trigonometric tangent graph,
and more the sine / cosine variations,
and this beyond good & evil?
both graphs retain an indistinguishable
optical illusion, beginning
at the coordinate centrism of 0,
i.e. denial... most of human history
has been written upon the face of
grimacing denial, while telling a bad joke;
i still can't believe that i'm trapped
in egypt, whereby i now live in the times
where the pyramids are no longer
3 dimensional, but 2 dimensional!
pyramids unto trinities,
   the 3 posits of origin - always with the 3s!
if *daesh
could do anything useful,
they'd blow up the pyramids...
rather than buddhist monuments,
or any other babylonian feat of culture;
i still can't believe that the supposed
  "evolution" of man has stopped at
the triangle, the pyramid,
                            the, whatever.
Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
I’m worried for you.

I’m worried about what I’ve done with you.

I’ve buried you in the sand, grazed your skin with fingernail cuts;

half moons pattern your arms and back like wallpaper.


I shouldn’t succumb to this.

I’ve dragged you into a pit and stored you in a hollow.

I shouldn’t need to pick a random lover, I shouldn’t need them now,

urgently.

I shouldn’t crave the physical I know you yearn from me behind the

silence

that snakes around the room.

Behind the intensity and firmness of your face.

I wish I didn’t see it all so keenly, a sensory power I dredge up

from secluded stores and hidden vaults.


I shouldn’t have fallen into my own snare every single time you

pull closer, warm breath and lips and teeth,

and I push your chest away.


I don’t understand why I have to do this.

Puppet pulled on strings to do strange and filthy acts;

gaining strength and poise not necessary but pleasurable,

lying with you knowing I’m with company but feeling so alone,

so cold and dusty and ***** on the inside.


I lose myself in a moment, spending all the time

thinking in the moment.

I’m so wrapped up, I don’t hear you mutter to relax.

I will not do this with you, because it means

ultimately hurting one another, in particular you.

I will not try to encourage you, because me lying next to you

knowing you will hand yourself over, is like slipping on ice.


I taste blood in my mouth.

I think it’s yours.

I bled out years ago, over the bedroom and into the bathroom;

showering off filth and wetness and ****** handprints.

That lingering, thick smell of sweat and fluid and nothing.


I’m so sorry I can’t be strong enough to resist my shadows,

my faded lights and creeping tongues;

I’m so sorry I set them on you, like vultures given

the scent of already culled meat.

I am your predator, hunting amongst the heaving animals,

long into the stillness of the empty dawn.

I’m so sorry, sweet, that I will reach around and take something from you.

I’m so sorry I tried to protect you and betrayed myself.


I wanted to embrace you and welcome how you felt in my arms,

I’m sorry I just couldn’t express it.

I wanted to make sure to uncomplicate us; secure that safety you felt

with me guiding you too all those vulnerable places to touch together,

I’m sorry I just couldn’t express it.


I still long to try again.

Will you let me try again?
Emeka Mokeme Nov 2018
Hold onto your pen,
you the keeper of
the flame and never
let go.
You are the salt
of the earth.
You decipher and
Uncomplicate the
complicated and twisted
combination and complex
things and situations
with ease.
You explain the
unexplainable as it is.
You are a poet,
the master of the game.
With your simplicity,
you made breathing easier.
Subtly with effortless
effort with your pen
you delve deeply into
the profound and
the mysterious to make
known of the essence.
Armed only with
the sword of the spirit
and your pen,
you boldly in a
quiet way sauntered
into the depth of
the soul and spirit
and safely awakened the
sleeping giant to answer
you because you know
your way into the
heart of the spirit.
With fire in your heart
you ignite and rekindle
the power of divine love
in the darkness of
our hearts to heal
the afflicted and the
wounded of the aches
and hurts in their heart.
You bring home hope
to the down world,
and let them know
that it is okay.
You are the poet,
you may not be
the perfect but you
are perfect.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Rachel Giudici Feb 2014
MOVED TO EXPRESS
by:Rachel Giudici
1/16/12

im looking for something that i can't find
dealing with something that i can't hide
and i wish sometimes that it was enough to just cry
that that was enough to take my pain inside
i realize
i realize that you don't deserve me
but as punishment i deserve you
punishment? that's what you do to me
but is that your fault if its not for fault
i wish i could uncomplicate the mess
to sit a top your perfectness
but by honesty i must confess
that you will never be my best
MOVED TO EXPRESS
by:Rachel Giudici
1/16/12
Cheryl Aug 2018
I remember that night
mouth dry, my stomach a lava lamp
the words bubbling up to my mouth
I asked you to marry me
and you said yes
but on further reflection
it turned into no

I reach for your hand first
Said I love you first
But I always do
Life is complicated
and we're not 22

so I keep coming by
complicate me to uncomplicate you
hoping you'll finally see what I do
feels like it's ending, which may be for the best? time will tell I guess...

— The End —