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Where Shelter May 2018
trigger warning:
Hate long poems?  move on.
Love words?  pleasure your self

<=>

drought and famine of the spirit,
over-staying summer
house guests in an overly sun blanched,
voided, white outed, mental abode.

faculties parched,
overly starched,
compositions lost in transition,
why can't they make it ashore?

It's after 2 AM, and though
ferries have stopped running,
mainland hangover hangerons are
working overtime to prevent
"author"izations, so all I get
when I press send is a whole lot of
"permission to cross," denied!

causes of vexation undisguised,
dual natured and manifold,
luxuriating and drowning in home grown,
city organic insipid,
makes one quick to blame
nobody in particular,
but yourself, repeatedly.

reasons many, the distractions of
rustling contradictions populate,
another life road fork looming,
a track record for choosing badly,
colors the blacktop even blacker and
ramps up desires for a janitorial,
but first do no harm, status quo.

Need a beer.
Need a distraction.
Need a homework assignment,
which I buy at the IGA market:

obey the eleventh commandment
which every writer knows;
you think you're Mr. Bigshot,
so pudding prove it,
write it,
one true sentence,
let it be a constitution for all,
with the lengthy consistency,
of a Hemingwayesque,
one true sentence.

dearth to riches occurs
as fast as a basketball
three second violation,
inspiration dripping like
windshield condensation,
got so many true sentences,
how ya gonna choose,

O sinner man?

sadly you don't hear or feel
my background music,
stringed surf sounds playing
Perlman's Mozart low to
the thunderous, sweltering,
swells of applause of
90+ degree heat
w/o a Crescent Beach breeze
to console the disowned

these superheated thoughts
now focused,
emerges a bill of sight,
lading my heart's many heresies,
staccato thoughts now,
rapid fire rebel,
a pre-discourse insurrection,
voices of words lash out -

pick me - immortalize me,
I wanna be,
a constitution for one,
one true sentence.

The Moment of Ownership.

Hillel did it,
standing on one leg,
a Sanskrit mantra,
not by me,
not for me,
not through me,
even more succinct.

full clarity unobtainable,
begin when fighting thru
the static of each nerve,
knowing that
each thought,
each emotion,
is a constitution
of sorts,
recognizing life is a series of
moments of ownership,
but that are truly ours
only when relinquished.

each one, a true sentence
when writ, spoke,
but only when disabused
of notions of possession
only true, when gifted away.

Lucian Freud painted those whom
he knew best, their portraits,
fully clothed but wholly naked,
a painter of revelation
thru the skin tones of the flesh.

exposeur of skins interior
displayer of old and ungainly,
left us eyesight more true
than an honest mirror,
with poetic brushstrokes overlay,
gained entry to what his
grandfather named id and ego,
artist's superego, his reflections,
a continuous judgment
on a pool of stretched canvas
that makes me despair that:

I will ere succeed
to cross the borderline
that modernity insists upon,
self preservation, neurotic fears,
impositions on my psyche and
that my moments of ownership
will be n'ere be stamped "transferred."

I take back my life,
by giving it away
this alphabetized self portrait,
a wrinkled sketch of me,
my ownings, undertakings
needs taking by you
so I can disown it.

these words are my own,
their conjunction is a
junction to you,
and a constitution for me.

once this expiation
is in your purview by the voted
election of Send,
bonded by a mutual
Moment of Ownership?

so net net,
bottom line,
these are my
one true sentences,
summarized, constitutionalized:
I am yours, for the taking,        
so come by, for and through me,
in many moments of ownership.


p.s. let us shelter together in place, an island growing
lost for many years; for Mary Winslow
Max Neumann Jun 2021
1.) tizzop introduced gangsta poetry february 2021
     no man ever before created a poetry genre alike
     gangsta poetry, robust melting *** of languages
     and ethnicities, as it reflects the united states

2.) the idols of gangsta poetry are rooted in the
      underworld, blacks, hispanics, italo- and irish-
      americans, asians, arabs, germans, kurds,
      yugos, albanians, afghans, northern-africans...

3.) multilingual are the core, heart and soul of
     a gangsta poem: glockz, rubix cubies, 31er
     salam, jebeš igru, habibis, brüder, fo' sho':
     rapid months, frozen silverfruit, whole ones

4.) every letter of gangsta poetry becomes the
     side effects of our brand's real-life greed and fury
      mourning the end of beloved baby mommas
      deaths caused by strayed bullets that vamoose

5.) gangsta poetry aims to be published among
      all ethnic communities of the 50 united states
      deadline 08/16/21 stresses american willpower
      gangsta poetry scandalously hits us's curriculas

6.) each of the 194 remaining countries is urged
     to promote and govern gangsta poetry for
     the neglected, weighted with glacial contempt
     these males and females discover their kind in us

7.) tizzop established a saying: "treat every being  
     with an open mind, but fight back, baby, if anyone
     disrespects you, the gps, or our hangarounds"
     at war, we remember our families before we blast

8.) bar none, each gangsta poet is free to connect
      affiliate and distribute with and for the gp's
      brothas and sistas -- gps create examples of
      social diversity and historical dimensions

9.) female gangsta poets are a quarter of us
      some keep it gal, united sisterhood, astute flow
      in memory of leery leyla, chalondra, kateyy,
      mountainbird, ivanka cociç, ashima abraham

10.) genderfree, gangsta poets are chosen
        undertakings composed by thugs & artists
        the spirit of a few meets strife of hood speech
        gp evolved from a movement to an own identity

11.) restrictions do not apply for written creation
        strategic outgrowth and unshaken cash flow
        gp embraces brainy ones, and our soldiers
        narrators in conspiracy, art nouveau trips

12.) gangsta poetry admires the following people:
        jeezy, killa cam, toni der assi, iron sal, dmx
        anton chigurh, sigmund freud, rashid stoogie
        larry hoover, elliot york hp, kevin of allpoetry

13.) taktloss, luis fonsi, blockmonsta, all bolivian
        and peruvian farmers, te amamos, our brothers
        187 strassenbande, senion mogilevich, nirvana
        john murphy, dem dudes alpha hotel frankfurt

14.) much love to all global units, poets, thieves
        traffic architects, hackers, true skippos
        german bakeries, all-black betting shops
        jews from brighton beach, hispanic halos

15.) benny da bandit, tony tarantula, gambino, brate
        hamza al-mighty, fat **** frank, jens, das brain
        fred merciless, familia escorpio, ruben and levi
        ali firefists, kimbo slice, scarface, oleksiy, dejan

16.) daim, loomit, dns 1up, **** my **** crew
        berlin kreuzberg 36ers, playboys hannover
        yard bird 1955, taki 183 n.y.c., basquiat, level
        dbl ffm-skychildren, bomber, city mission
    
17.) gangsta poetry overwhelmingly shaped by
       our ancestors who boosted the poetry of ages
       train bombers, rappers, trappers, taggers, cutters
       we descent from them, honor their names

18.) gangsta poets die for poems that struck
        gps, fans and critics in a possessive way
        limits of real talk and boasting are in flux
        trance batters the face of reason, at dusk


                                          *


Once upon a time at March 22nd, 2021
Kreuzberg SO 36, Berlin, Germany...
Dedicated to all Gangsta Poets Worldwide

Heaven and hell yeah, disciples outpace seconds
Greetings from Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic City
***  GANGSTAPOETRY  ***  
                      ***  48 SOULS  *** 
                        

                GANGSTAPOETS:

*  TIZZOP  *  FAMILIA ESCORPIO: SOLDADO ADELITA, ALEJANDRO, THE PROTECTOR & DIEGO, THE TEACHER  *  JEEZY  *  CHALONDRA  *  DMX  *  MOUNTAINBIRD  *  ECCO2K  *  IVANKA COCIÇ  *  KIMBO SLICE  *  LEVY & SOLOMON  *  JORDANOS  *
***  EDEN & NICHOLAS  ***         


               GANGSTAPOETS:


*  TAKTLOSS  *  ASHIMA ABRAHAM  *
*  MERCILESS FREDDY  *  OLEKSIY  *
*  STORMZY  *  LEERY LEYLA  *  ALI
FIREFISTS  *  SIGMUND FREUD  *  FALCO 
*  ANNE CLARK  *  DOMINIQUE NORTHSTAR  *  POOR / THCO  * 
*  1UP CREW  *  CITY MISSION  *  ZORIN  *
*  CHRIS R.



                  GANGSTAPOETS:

*  FREEMAN AND K-RHYME LE ROI  * 
*  FRUMPY  *  ASSI-TONI  **  LUDOVICO EINAUDI  *  HAMZA AL-MIGHTY  *  TONY
TARANTULA  *  KATEYY  *  LOOMIT  * 
*  FAT **** FRANK  **  ANTON CHIGURGH  *  ROSARIO DE LIMA  *  CELLAR FIREFLY  *  LARRY HOOVER  *
*  LUIS FONSI  *  JONATHAN HABESHA OF ALPHAHOTEL WONDALAND  *
Connor Jul 2018
Eternity is closed !
- come back another day with
flower smears for eyes and sincere
passion on your
palms          (weathered)

I need another Russian Doll -
Princess to frequent curtains
fashioned from fire & lead
equaling out to crimson folds
which mysteriously call to
the mystical hierarchies of
imagination

Silent requirements signal beneath the steps
which welcome
one (a stranger/
an Ibis-Beak cane & dark coat
stamped with August rain)

They arrive unexpectedly, as if to play the game
of cliches, they carry promises fashioned in foreign ports
tapping my knee
instead of my shoulder
having only known or recognized
entombment
                               (there is no hyperbole which lacks within
                                Nature's haunted heavens)

My strange visitor leaves / glass umbrella
in hand / to privacy / our brief interaction begins & ends with simple eager undertakings implemented
in the afterword  

What is in another's contemplation of me?
whiling in manifest Theosophy -

- Thought form -
Primal child-rage / whisp of violet smoke &
inksplotches abolished, mutually panting.
Our decorated
four-legged hunter
has arisen and impatiently
craves for the Earth to partner at last with
the Sun

..The Sun a blazing dime
I can smell crispness
in the air
Sa Sa Ra Dec 2012
A Native American Code of Ethics
                                                       ­         *From Shaman Cloud & the FireBear



1.      Rise with the Sun to pray. Pray alone and pray often. The Great Creator Spirit will listen when you speak. Find the peace that comes from being alone.

2.      Be tolerant of those who are lost on their paths. Ignorance, conceit, jealousy, anger and greed stem from lost souls. Pray that they find guidance.

3.      Search for yourself by yourself. Do not allow others to make your path for you. It is your road and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.

4.      Always give your best to others; your company gets the best bed, blanket and food. Treat them with respect and honour.

5.      Do not take anything that is not yours. If something was not earned or given it is not yours.

6.      Respect all of the things that are placed upon this Earth. People, animals, plants and rocks are all children of the Great Creator Spirit. Honour their place in the chain of life. We are all interconnected.

7.      Honour other people’s thoughts wishes and words. Give each person your attention and allow them expression. When you give an idea away, you no longer own it. If someone uses your idea, you take no credit. If someone doesn’t use your idea you take no offense. Your ideas are no longer yours as soon as you give them away.

8.      Practice Optimism. If you put negative energy into the Universe, it will multiply and return to you. All people make mistakes. Mistakes can be forgiven. Bad thoughts cause illness of body, mind and spirit.

9.      Nature is not for us, it is part of our sacred family. Live in balance with all of nature. Tread softly on Mother Earth.

10.  Children are the seeds of our future. Plant love in their hearts and water them with wisdom and life’s lessons. When they are grown, give them space to be themselves.

11.  Be truthful at all times. Honesty is the test of one’s will within the Universe.

12.  Keep yourself balanced. Consider that your mental, physical, spiritual, emotional and volitional selves must work on harmony at all times.

13.  Make conscious decisions as to who you will be and how you will react to life. Accept the consequences of your own actions.

14.  Always respect the privacy and personal space of others. Never touch the personal property of others, especially sacred items.

15.  Be true to yourself. You can not nurture and help others until you can nurture and help yourself. Live your truth/

16.  Respect the religious beliefs of others. Never force your beliefs on anyone else.

17.  Share your good fortune with others. Tithe and participate in charity.
Always give back to others, that they too may have a good life.

18.  Always walk your thoughts before you make important decisions. Find your place of inner peace and operate from there. Walk in peace that others may do the same.

http://motherpeace.net/A%20Native%20American%20Code%20of%20Ethics%20by%20Firebear.htm

­This originally appeared in the "Inter-Tribal Times," October, 1994
http://www.nativevillage.org/Inspiration-/nativeamericancodeofethics__.htm


The Afu-Ra-Kans, (Africans),
were always happy to teach the human family that which was beneficial to all.
The following is a portion of the first constitution.
You can find the full version in aforementioned book by Scholar Chancellor Williams.


1. The right to equal protection under the law.
2. The right to a home.
3. The right to land sufficient for earning livelihood for one€™'s self and family.
4. The right to aid in time of trouble.
5. The right to petition for redress of grievances.
6. The right to criticize and condemn any acts by the authorities or proposed new laws. A. Opposition groups were recognized by law.
7. The right to reject the community'€™s final decision on any matter and the right to withdraw from the community unmolested; the right to rebellion and withdrawal.
8. The right to a fair trial. A. There must be no punishment greater than the offense or fines beyond the ability to pay. B. Fines are determined by the income status of the individual and family of that individual.
9. The right to indemnity for injuries or loss caused by others.
10. The right to family or community care in case of sickness or accidents.
11. The right to special aid from the Chief in circumstances beyond a family'€™s ability.
12. The right to a general education covering morals and good manners, family rights and responsibilities, kinship groups and social organization, neighborhoods and boundaries, farming and marketing, rapid mental calculation and family, ****, tribal and state histories.
13. The right to apprentice training for a useful vocation.
14. The right to an inheritance as defined by custom.
15. The right to develop one'€™s ability and exercise any developed skills.
16. The right to protect one€™s family and kinsmen, even by violent means if such becomes necessary and can be justified.
17. The right to protection of moral law in respect to wife and children, a right which not even the King can violate.
18. The right of a man, even a servant, to rise to occupy the highest positions in the state, if he has the requisite ability and character.
19. The right to protection and treatment as a guest in enemy territory, once one is in the gates of the enemy's village, town or city.
20. The right to an equal share in all of the benefits from common community undertakings, if one has contributed to the fullest extent of his ability, no matter who or how many were able to contribute more.

The Afu-Ra-Kan, (African),
constitution teaches the world that the human being is endowed with fundamental, inalienable,
God given rights.
Every human being is entitled to these rights.
In this original society, in Afu-Ra-Ka, (Africa), women were equally endowed with these rights.
The King could not violate the constitution and deny any human being his or her God-given rights.
The King could not violate any human being, because of the belief that every human being is the house for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator.

This is the philosophy of the Afu-Ra-Kan, (African):
Every human being, whether male or female, is the house for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator.
It is time now for the Black man and woman to become Afu-Ra-Kan, (African), again.
It is time for the Black man and woman to teach, once again, that all human beings, Black, Brown, Red, Yellow and White, have the potential to become the house for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator.

This philosophy must be taught to all people, regardless of race, class, color or creed.
It is up to the Afu-Ra-Kan, (African), to stand up for the fundamental rights of every human being, regardless of race, class, color or creed.
The prophets taught this philosophy.
Jesus taught this philosophy.

Let us all strive to be Afu-Ra-Kan, (African):
Male and female houses for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator.
*

Thank you for reading these words.*
http://www.thankaboutit.org/gpage3.html
Indeed; 'It is time now for' All Men and Women 'to become Afu-Ra-Kan, (African), again.'
"Male and female houses for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator"

The Heavenly Spirit with this Our Earthly Existence!!
UNITE WITHIN
Star Dust, R

Afu Ra Ka
Which reminds me...Sa Sa!!!
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/in-lakech-ala-kin/

Been a while sorry I am behind on reads,
overly buzzed busier reading these;
~Hearts Of All~~
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/my-needs-deep-of-all/
~Sa Sa LOVE!!!
..R~~

Visual Reinforcement;
Facebook pics here only!!

~Spirit of the Divine Creator,
Inwardly Received...~~
~Without is as Within,
Inwardly Reflected~~
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=449340938461153&set;=a.422381444490436.98406.100001557525105&type;=1&theater;

Time To Unite
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=449341261794454&set;=a.422381444490436.98406.100001557525105&type;=1&theater;

Earth Will Be Reborn
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=449341148461132&set;=a.422381444490436.98406.100001557525105&type;=1&theater
Don Bouchard May 2012
Sun's going down...

Around my miniature height,
Gloom is gathering itself
To usher in the night.

Beside the darkening feet
Of towering trees,
Shade-cooled and looking up,
I see sunlight climb
The upward reaches
Of tall pines.

Leaving shadows far below,
Green needled branches
****** new growth:
Yellow-candled greening flames,
To see the sun,
Greeting and adieu-ing
Steady moving days.

Light and life,
Ageless quests:
Upward reaching light
Downward breaching water,
Insatiable thrusting,
Splitting stone,
Spewing oxygen.

Monstrous undertakings
Glorious oversights.
Fitting past times for giants,
Mountain dwellers,
Living at a pace too slow
For careless passers-by to see.

Silent pines
Contemplate endless days,
Moving or un-moving,
Resolute certainty,
Imperceptible sojourners
Dominating vertical empires;

Joyous, silent soldiers march
Up and down these mountain sides,
While I, mere mortal, pass
Ant-like,
Scurrying in wonder,
Aware the urgency
Of ephemeral routine,
Mortal emergency...

Beneath Tall Pines.
Sa Sa Ra Nov 2012
finally its a glacial melting
of cold stark undertakings took standing
falling failing wounded kicked down beaten
while the beast was surely overcome beyond all
mercy; the soul sold by whatever devils bargaining
body beaten by voodooed ***** till worth extracted yet
worthless made mad into madness itself devils not so friendly
now; but time and time again possibility can be and is reborn then
still many mountains many spills many failings pains accusations pills
there a heart warms beats again here a bit and there what rhyme and reason
if not ones own can one wounded heartless warrior predict; mercy here sweetness
there one day you can feel once in a while you think you may be able to care; you love
you lay out all compassion, careful without flattery and thee endearing; one is so suspecting
the other heart ache clear dearly, you think you may too be human and a warm heart and hands
tender may mercy touching all creation but there is no witness alone; but ever closer ever looser losing
all senseless and of all reality; then they play ya...they play you player; hate the game that is their life; where
things we want are more than things we need and they are not each other; and they do not come from the earth; and we are all so 21 forever......better take from other and I've been like 3 and 99 more forever and take trips so like 30 trillions of light years this life alone.... and it's excruciatingly beautiful alone together, and the pain is so beautiful here for it is given between the here All beautiful place and way but for our chosen willingness, it's quite simple again again,
i long for one warm heart again someday where we can be afire again across this universe, for this body wills as much as this heart mind soul understands believes accepts and knows just one thing; so it's alright one will do i sense many yet somehow it seems what ya get is the proverbial of instead
nine cold shoulders!!!
Animal’s vigor increased
Remaining as the chief companion
Legends of wrecked havoc to a costly treat
No vitality as great the beast

Furred consistency pieced
Shining cylinder eyes, intuition and love
A collectively heartfelt living bundle of fleece
No consistence as great the beast

Faithful affection released
Glistening socket filled up of lively torso
Balanced ***** of warmth and vibrational elite
No fidelity as great the beast

Wildly flippant priest
Adventuring nature’s airy crusade
Marks each day with undertakings to police
No journey as great the beast

Fruitfully sincere beliefs
Flapping the soul of tail and flexing ears  
Man need emulate comrade of hellish defeats
No profit as great the beast

Once utterly deceased
Wallowing the fallen with lathered guilt
Sorrow units form a structure colorfully greased
No replacement as difficult as replacing the beast
Oleander May 2014
She took my hand,
that lonely little child.
Her eyes asked me a question
for which I had no answer.
I could count her young fingers
without looking for
she gripped so tight.
What could I possibly say?

The taller she got,
the more frequently
she let go and
disregarded me.
I can't blame her
for those latent
hateful tendencies.
Still, she would come back,
and every time her hand
was just a little bigger,
just a little stronger.

It was inevitable and utterly
unavoidable,
but it still surprised me.
The sky fell apart
and showered her with
woeful cries and broken dreams.
The tragic beauty of
shattering reality
took my breath away.
She let go of me,
but this time,
she shoved me hard
into the black shadows
of her nightmares,
a permanent enemy
of her innocent undertakings.

I watched her from the
corners of her subconscious,
waiting for her to look at me.
She ran like the devil
was hot on her heels,
but she was never afraid.
She burned like fire,
a bright star scorching
the night and she was
beautiful.

The longer she burned,
the more I feared
she would sputter and
die.
I waited for her,
ready to share my tears
with only her.

Then she fell,
and she is still there,
there before me.

She is an unconscious huddle,
a pile of glowing flesh and bone.
I notice how she is more
like a woman
than any other woman
I've ever seen.

The ashes begin to fall,
gray snowflakes
drifting over her,
the drab attempt
to bring her back to earth.
And she has fallen --
quite literally --
for the dusty act.
She does not say anything.
I weep as the inevitable engulfs her,
that once child,
still lonely.

I wait for the darkness.
Soon, there will be
no light peeking through
her soft confinement.

But it's only getting
brighter.

I look carefully,
and I am overwhelmed --
overjoyed--
as she burns like stars
buried in the ash
of the universe's shortcomings.
Laura Aug 2013
My days are engulfed by ennui
that I cannot eradicate.
As though I were buried alive
and the undertakings of my
past,
my vices
my sins
my failures
enervate me.
Smother me. Weigh down on
me
like so much dirt.
David Barr Dec 2013
Norway maintains a Viking history, where longboats travelled to the Scottish island of Iona.
Torch the abbey in the name of paganism, and you will be exposed to galactic prohibitions which have a flavour of eternal questionability.  Can I please urge you, oh Norseman of ceremonial undertakings: If you ensure that you ride the sonar waves of superiority, then you will find beauty in those haunting chants of the Celtic glens.
Forgive me for being uncertain of my footings. I believe in classical symphonies.
Billy Gray May 2013
Only fires burning bright,
will glimmer in the dim of night.
On the edge of the forest where the river is red,
where faith and reason both are dead.
In ecstasy the invalids run astray,
into the circles where the shadows play.
Of silhouettes dancing in the earthly mist,
raving naked with sanity dismissed.
Running wild in ceremonial haze,
with eyes made of ***** and hearts of clay.

Their lonely fires burning bright,
cast smoke rings off into the night.
Whilst the ancient forest is oblivious to their undertakings.
And watches the smoke pass out of sight.
"I should"
a solemn
voice in the head
is all grumble,
dutiful with condemnation,
a heavy
oppression.

desirous flight
is persuaded
to stay
afoot
by what
it

should:
a culturally defined, mental-
artifact, of what one supposedly
must,
oft devoid
of one can-
will, but won't,
out of fear.

doubt, like chains on dreams,
easily persuades
the mind into mundane
plains of
guilt ridden sorrows,
cut out by knives of shame,
choking the present tense
of what shall,
strapped in and unfulfilled,
hollow
and holding,
like an anchor
in a reservoir
of regretful
undertakings,
sticky with ought,
fierce like flagellation
lashing,
imprisoning visions:
victimized
      by expectations,
                negations of choice:
                             stomping on the souls good will,
                             starving the free heart,
                             shackling the mind.

operations from a place
complacent with
banality and viciousness
in some quiet take over

         some woe
of status-quo
      waging with
shaky scaffolding
   and the numbing
   dumb
        timber of nothing

a
dull aching
noise

.

enough.


  turn off:    the over beaten
      dead skull
            thumping
  with outside pressure
  

             be silent
              to hear
                            
  
there is an inner music
more in tune with life
than anything you've been told
by the force
of should
or should not.
Unmasked the shameful thoughts
Uncovered the cosmetics shades

Before it happens, all is true
Yet, some of the ****** hands
Do some ******* rhymes, for their sake

No innocent can  be found
Land lost its seasons at sometimes
Only until the music found!

Let all those lost, rest in peace
To  find solemnity for their soul.
And for  some living who play their own tune
For you to have, golds of the dead!


Shame on you!
You may hide, but you can't run!


And for us who are awakes
Who been true  to our undertakings
To helps the  lost glory of the kingdom we loved
We can't borrows others time.


It was not  the king, who call for change
Make a great mistakes, It was whom that played with it!
Like vampires who ***** bloods, for ~
~ That Golds of the dead!


Neither, this can be true.
But you can't says,  it was wrong!
For those good lost souls' at peace...
One day, it will sings  with us, for you ~
This, Golds of the dead.!
LIFE IS SACRED, DON'T PLAY IT FOOLS!
James M Vines May 2017
The metal bars and concrete that surround me are not what confines me. It is the legacy of pain and misery that I left behind me. A place to sleep is all the same from one day to the next. Life and death come to all who exist. The streets were my school house, but the education did little to prepare me. I never could have imagined the reality of what would haunt me. Images of friends lying in their own blood, children who have no parents because of the drugs I sold. All of this is my prison, I take it everywhere with me. The ghost of my past life always haunt me. They surround me more than any guard or steel bars could you see. These are shackles of my own making. They are the result of my grim undertakings. All for a few dollars and a life I thought I wanted. Now the cost is too high for me to pay and by the broken lives I am taunted. I sit here every night and listen to the echoes of silence. In my head it is a continual song of violence. I can't shake the chains of my own making. I built my own prison with in myself by the path that I have taken.
Tammy M Darby Feb 2019
Scholars of the script
The notably odd ones out
Greedily clutching our paper
Wooden pencil in hand
Remaining silent when we want to shout

Aspiring to write perfect stanza
That is always just beyond our grasp
Bearing the sidelong glances and whispers
That our undertakings often bring about

We are the Misfits
The Manic
The Loners
The Strange
Rife with depression

While declining to be mundane

We are the poets
The writers
Artists of letters
Courageous and valiant
Carefully treading through the veil of reality
Trying not to lose our balance

We are the poets
The writers
Singular and unique
Each having a story to tell
As we live our lives
A precarious existence at best
Between the promise of Heaven
And the fear of Hell

All Rights Reserved. Tammy M. Darby Feb. 1, 2019
All Material Stored in Author Base
Travis Green Aug 2021
There was a breathtaking
New adventure taking place
In my turn of mind
Seeing beyond
The lines of time
To find my sense of self
In a horizon of divine sights
Taking off into a galaxy
Of unimaginable undertakings
HVNTĘR GRAY Aug 2014
When negative things happen to people, they do one of two things; they’ll either choose to bow to their misfortune willingly permitting the consumption of themselves by it, or they’ll see these affairs as opportunities to acquire new knowledge. During a child’s development, it’s so crucial that they be nurtured and cared for properly. A child deprived of affection is just another statistic waiting to happen. Very rarely does an individual with a traumatic childhood rise above to overcome. It’s a shame really, because most people know the universal codes of ethic, they simply don’t have the will power to apply them to their life. Too many feel sorry for themselves and forfeit the race with the mentality that they weren’t given an equal chance to succeed, so failure is okay.
            I see signs clear as day and most really are nice as may, but some tell of trials that lay ahead. A man is tried his whole life by forces. Newton’s third law of motion states that, “For every action, there is an equal or opposite reaction.” To me this not only applies to science, but everyday life in general. For every action you make inadvertently effects so many other things. If ever there were a time in my childhood that I strayed from that line of ethic, my mother was always there to redirect me. She often spoke in terms that a child couldn’t possibly understand, here I am now all these years later still trying to decipher the meaning in her words. I have frequent flashbacks of our conversations. It seems so surreal that I can remember her words even after all this time. I don’t think we ever really forget the lessons that we’ve learned, we’re just comfortable refraining from exploring the archives in which they’re stored.
             Early on in high school I was overly embraced by the upper class-men; out of this came many new friends. I became acquainted with a group of kids that hardly set a good example for me, let alone anyone. Long story short, I experienced so many grown things very early on. I wonder sometimes if I could go back and wait until I was older to experience these things, if I would choose to do so. Although being a witness and participant in these crude teenage undertakings, I feel as though I wouldn’t be who I am without having experienced those things like, relationships, partying, and all sorts of mischief; I won’t go into detail for reasons of national security.
             I started down a path that led to no future for success. Ironically, I’m in the SUCCESS program now and I’ve never been more successful at doing the things I’m passionate about. Once I got suspended from school, I had to make a choice which path I was going to take. The universe gave me a chance to leave behind the sinful things I was becoming a part of and I’m proud to say that I took that chance and ran with it, never looking back. This has been such a great adventure with so many ups and downs, thankfully there were enough positives to balance out the negatives. Most people in my situation would say that they hated high school, but I don’t see it that way at all. Any negative things that happened to me were simply a result of my own doing. I had to sleep in the bed I made, so I can’t really resent or blame anyone else but myself for any bad experiences I encountered.
How
[Amy Wright: Here too there are tears for things]

When asked how to be of use, clenched when the hand
yearns for consumption – nothing was happening and when
you look within the azure you will see the multitude
of sun’s tireless handkerchiefs bleating in the distance.
   Today is Saturday, and nothing else was happening.
   I used to lament over the cities you have turned over,
and within the same day, found they were susceptible
to consummate within a name – an arena for collision,
of all the crisscrosses and the winds that mark our places,
to all ships making their way, traversing into the lateral voyage,
the undertakings our sure fear: we do not know how to be involved.
alan Jun 2012
life is a cycle
of existence and non-existence
life is a battle
between obeissance and defiance.
death is natural
all beginning has to come to end.
life is a struggle
where complete victory's uncertain.
my life is a joke
people never tried to understand.
all words that I wrote
were just mere antics by a foolish man.
i have tried to love
but ever as in my endeavors
I utterly failed
tis' the destiny of a stupid.
the world must be purged
of men just as useless and worthless.
that the way be paved
for all humanity's happiness.
good bye world and love
I will be heading to the nine springs.
sorry world and love
for all of my failed undertakings.
Unblinking reflexive opinions lean
     indubitably, favorably and certifiably
     with minimal pandering soliciting
     uber voodoo yawping woos

socially quintessentially obviously markedly
     consciousness brakes alignment
     defining mine political views
loosely yet not strictly, jerry-rigged,

     hidebound Democratic
     fealty haltingly pledged ones and twos
to roster of candidates
     slated to challenge incumbent Republicans

     all to quickly accused,
     sans participating sinister ruse
this active voter puzzled at controversial
     eyeopening ex post facto

     fractiousgovernmental
     harmfully injuriously jaw-dropping
     suppression within top secret queues
during nasty donkey kong braying p's and q's
(case in point) scurrilous, opprobrious,

     and malodorous Clinton administration,
where (based upon my recent perusing
     "The Peoples History” –
     me strongly endorses

     (authored by Howard Zinn news
worthy revelation, (whose recounting
     atrocious, calumnious, egregious
     glaring ignominious knowledge

     jackbooted, mandated, predicated
     on blind trust, essentially billeted
     charade, facade, inlaid faux Hope loose
bandied cutthroat gratuity legislation

     favoring pandering "pork" via
     pretentiousness to wealthy gentiles Jews
abandoning average civilians snuffing out
     sputtering, grousing, and hoo's

flick erring tapering fuse
whereat this news worthy informed citizen
     totally tubularly unaware of any clues
pertaining to antithetical maneuvers,

     (loo win ski) shenanigans, and undertakings
     today yields genuine boo's
toward Clinton, where I despondently feel
     he renegged promises

     made to electorate (except top 1 %) got souled
     (sold) to remaining 99% cheapest bidders
     as-sized thirteen duff heated no nothing
     sneezing Schnorrers
     spluttering phelgm at me at-chews.
Chad Young Jan 2021
Wisdom has always ruled the cosmos.
No sword is sharper than wisdom.
Good intentions cannot simply come forward,
Or progress sideways,
But must be placed with correct x,y, & z coordinates.
Not only that, but it must be met with a receptive person
for wisdom's fruit is sincerity, kindness, and tact.
What comes forward otherwise is met by fools.
All undertakings depend not on "wise-dumb" but wisdom.
How many a silence left a seed unnourished and how much has speaking killed the seed.
How many an act has made me a fool.
How many an act has made me a child of God.
How few an act has made me seem wise beyond my years.
Artifact
The raw me that dwells within the I Am that is Me is not of this world, yet exists in this realm just the same.

Dreams are for me temporary respites, a sojourn in relief from the dense material yet hallow Frames of this world; and to be in it, not fully understanding yet accepting, seems to be the biggest of undertakings.

What becomes of the soul that encounters mirrors along the way? Mirrors in the form of dense shapes filled with diverse spectrum's of light. The light in the me comes to know, that alone the light is not in this corporal world.

What happens when the light meets with fate and encounters beings in the shape of other life forms? Intertwined in this vast web of mystery of the unknowable yet deeply felt within? Seems Conspiratorial.

The truth remains, and even more so a reminder of the me that dwells within the I Am that is forever Me; ever connected, ever intertwined in the journey of life longing for itself. Longing to be asleep, for to sleep is to dream, to dream is to be free from the bonds of this body that seem like such a prison to the soul.

A light seeming so far from the home I truly know as real, where the me and the I Am are truly One and indeed free from the constructs of this separated world which contrast exists.

W.M. Smith III
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
part of the artificial intelligence
test is to make all poetry predictable,
such as it is, but still more over-laden
with praise for technique,
and people fall for this entrapment,
i don't know why uncoupling
the ego from cogito could ever
produce so much theoretical acrobatics,
i know that the ego can be easily
pronounced, the easiest affirmative,
the automated sound, a yes,
but thought is harder to affirm,
it's not as easily pronounced,
and psychology is a logic of such feats,
it's a study that speaks about the
dis-correlation of the affirmation of
existence, and the basis of existence
that's correlated in whatever
tragic circumstance we are found to be
concerned with: yet how many
times i wished for the life of a skilled
labourer?! psychology disunited
us from thinking in order to provide
a syringe entry of many behaviourisms
to un-think thinking -
a sort of atheism -
theories, theories in so many numbers
that thinking became a theory per se,
an in-itself concealed suggestion -
because thinking is hard to comprehend
among verbs as an extension of tendons
exerting force on the ivory,
should anything come along
as a disparity of Olympian undertakings
as blowing oneself up
for a deity with an encounter upon
such a meeting: thanks for the hand!
here's a sock puppet! now tell me how
to depict a chandelier's shadow!
it's hard to believe either god or thought
actually existed...
i mean, if god doesn't exist
why do people think they possess
a will over others...
and if god exists...
why do people think they don't possess
a will over others... enter Zeno
(re-read that and claim the correct
statement in the reversal).
personally i would have wished to not have
written the 6 lines preceding these...
but paradoxes are best explained by poets,
who tend to brush them aside, and even accept
them, by way of rhymes:
oh it's all one and the same, duo duo blah blah fluoride!
*****.
Wk kortas May 2018
i. “…THE SAME FORCE AND EFFECT AS AN ORDER OF FILIATION…”

She’d said she wasn’t expecting or demanding a ******* thing
(It’s probably your kid, she said, But I wouldn’t swear to it)
And his buddies swore he was crazier than a ******* rat
To even think about going along with the whole idea
After she all but given him a Get Out Of Jail Free card,
But he’d gone ahead and signed all the paperwork
Which, in the eyes of the state and the child-support folks,
Made him the one true father of this baby-to-be.  
He couldn’t begin to explain
Why he hadn’t fought the notion tooth-and-nail,
Save for the occasional muttered Baby oughtta have a father,
But there was more to it that; he had a vague notion
That knowing half of who you were was worse
Than having no knowledge at all, your whole reason for being
Becoming the exploration of odd hunches and unrealized fears,
The study of every man that crossed your mother’s path
In the hope (or, more likely, the absolute and utter dread)
That you were glimpsing a part of your genetic destiny,
Though such a line of thought was probably just *******,
A product of Genesee Cream Ale philosophizing.
When the time came, he’d agreed
(An idea which reduced his friends
To mute amazement and slow, sad head shaking)
To be present at the birth,
And, after certain undertakings
He’d just as soon not have seen were complete,
The nurse (saying It’s a boy.  A big, beautiful healthy boy.)
Handed him a black-mouthed, screaming little mass,
Fists clenched tightly, entire body tensed
As if it realized just how inadvisable the whole situation was.
Faced with this tangible evidence of his ostensible patrimony,
He found himself unable to say anything except
*******.  **-lee ****.

ii. As The Old Joke Goes, “In The Morning?  
*****, I Don’t Respect You Now.”

He had, of course, forgotten her name,
Assuming he’d ever known it,
And so it had been chica and hija and amada all night,
Though, to be fair, she couldn’t remember
If he was Juan or Jhonny or Jesus;
She simply remembered that he was Colombian,
All dark hair and bright smiles and quite tall
Although that could have just been a trick of the eye,
As his friends were all compact squatness,
Which she had pointed out  while they were dancing,
To which he’d subsequently horse-laughed out loud.
Chica, he’d fairly shouted over the music,
The best way to be good looking is to have ugly friends.
He’d come to Batavia to hunker down for winter
After the wineries had buttoned things up for the season,
Spending his time catching odd jobs here and there;
Anything to get by, he’d said with the most outrageous of winks.  
She’d had no intention, none whatsoever, of taking him home,
But anything to get by takes in any multitude of sins,
Venal and otherwise.
She woke up about two-thirty or so, all damp with sweat
And the remnants of *******,
To see him awake and getting dressed.
Before she could say a thing, he put a finger to her lips.
Shhh chica, he said softly and soothingly,
Like he was trying to hush an infant,
I got some stuff I really need to take care of;
Look, we’ll get breakfast, OK?
You know the Bob Evans out by the highway? Six o’ clock, eh?

And with that, it was a quick, almost brotherly, peck on the cheek,
Then he was gone, so stealthily that she was briefly unsure
That he’d ever indeed been there at all.
Breakfast, can you imagine she thought
As she rolled over to get some sleep,
Like I’m even awake at such an hour.

iii. We Don’t Ask For Directions, And We Sure As Hell Don’t Make Lists

There had been no blowup, no volcanic incidents of infidelity
No grotesque financial stupidity;  
The china and glasses had remained unbroken,
The plaster-and-lath not displaced
By the seismic slamming of doors.
It had been slow, subtle,
Like the slow unraveling of a thread here in there
Opening up a gaping hole in a old comfortable sweater,
Or how the unhurried seeping of water
Would occasionally cause an outcropping of rock
To tumble into the gorges over at Letchworth.  
Oh, there had probably been the proverbial last straw:
Maybe the new refrigerator that didn’t fit through a single door
In the entire house (and who in hell bought something like that
Without taking measurements anyway)
Or the foolhardy extended warranty on the Volvo,
Which had **** near a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it
And had no more trade-in value
Than a Matchbox miniature of the model,
But it any case, the immediate cause
Was probably more symptom than disease, anyway.
He’d packed a couple of bags with the basics
To ****, shave, shower and dress,
And jumped into the ancient but well-protected wagon,
Heading to God only knows where:
His brother in York, maybe,
Or his mom’s place way the hell up in Tupper Lake,
(Not that he had the stomach for the questions and sidelong looks That particular destination entailed)
But about ten miles out he realized
He’d forgotten his ******* bike.
****, ****, stupid **** he said,
Pounding the steering wheel in rhythm;
The notion of going back like some dumb-*** eight-year-old,
All hang-dog look and tail between his legs
Was not particularly appealing,
But the notion of having to **** time
Without the prospect of a bike ride
(Wind in what was left of his hair,
The barking in his calves as he climbed an incline,
The whole **** freedom of the thing)
Was simply too much to consider,
So he swung the car around and headed back.
She was, as he knew she would be,
Waiting in the doorway with the bike
(**** near sharing a brain after all this time, to be sure),
Her face hung with a look not really a smile or frown
Or anything that fit a definition,
But endearing all the same, and he heard a voice not quite his ask
Well, is it OK if I come in for a few minutes?

iv. The Bob Evans Out By The Highway

…the **** am I doing here anyway, she thought,
Staring down at the table, chunky taupe-ish coffee mugs
And logo plates, fine china for everyone and no one,
Set for two (she hadn’t ordered, she was waiting for someone)
The restaurant more or less empty,
Only the odd trucker or  some senior citizen
Who was still on rat-race time.
The clock had hit six-fifteen when she,
Eyes cloudy and threatening to ambush hastily applied mascara,
Was ready to flag down the waitress to let her know
That she was just a coffee, thanks, when he walked in,
No, burst in, like a madness of chrysanthemum
Where there had only been undifferentiated greenery
Mere moments before.
I’m sorry, chica, he said, bending over to kiss her cheek,
This whole life thing gets in the way sometimes, eh?
He sat down, slapping the table with both hands
Man, he said, all but snorting, I could eat a horse,
And what better place than this, mmm
?
Arlene Corwin Nov 2017
I’m Writing For The Universe



I’m writing for the universe;

No man or woman, special group.

I’d hope you understand this,

Aim, a statement/thought

Encompassing the concrete and abstract.



The philosophic reaching out

To turn into endeavors

Which depend on character

Which finds itself in x conditions,

In you, out you;

Efforts too,

All undertakings the result

Of birth and genes and chance surroundings.

(is this dance really just chance?)



Special needs abound within the needs of all:

The ego, vanities, the strengths, the skills;

Bad, good, dark, light,

Mediocre and the bright –

A sameness sewn in rich arrays

Of hims and hers,

A one which covers,

Pierces through the universe.



I’m writing for it all, the All, the Goal.

In short, the whole,

Myself included.



I’m Writing For The Universe 11.10.2017

Nature Of & In Reality; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; I Is Always You Is We;

Arlene Corwin
A little bit for everyone.
Giving golden mics to dope writes see me excite
Catch a smile from the stars shining bright polite
Only to the mean my clips equipped with magazines
Broke out the stereo portfolio slow my dough
See the heats bakes make the biggest cake no fakes
Allowed on my elite team supreme shatter dreams
Like Hakeem see things ain't what it really seems
Draw more guns than Yosemite Sam bro
Calico matching the pistols sippin' champagne
Outta crystals breaking verses like cathedrals
Bringing capitol punishment imperial establishment
Law breaking beats shaking favor of undertakings
Money exchanges draws more ranges show down
Guns packed down looking for these clowns
Barely above the ground catch these pounds
From the flip my wrist my ice crisp purple electro disc
Tesla plated dated from day i was created mated
To space time families of the hidden Galaxy
So come battle from the fifth dimension legacy
Throw ya bets up only to get set up light ya up
Like a Christmas tree beautiful deaths tragedy your majesty
I'm standing in the divine line pushed St Peters out of the way say
What I wanna say then invoke the doomsday
It's stroke of the cut that left em open like a gut
Fish out we cleared out the sentences
Periods we run more trades than fragments
Detect like Dragnet draws ears to the sounds of the mental magnets
Bhill Aug 2019
Is it understood that time is of no value
It's wasted
It passes
It creates aged elements

What if time ceased
Think hard about this
Hard, I mean think heavy

What if time sped up
This needs to be considered
In all quirks of the natural world

Time is unexplained
Time possesses numerous undertakings
Time, is it on our side?

Brian Hill - # 223
Is time on your side?
Mischievous souls laid upon the dead scrolls
Unravelled hell from unleveled gravels
See the words travel fear provoking thoughts
I was brought by paying attention lynching
Clearing the judges to lawyers *******
On my name **** shame crime flames
Dames makes for the worst claims independent
But use you as a dependent say they innocent
Conscious glancing money chancing dancing
Around the stripper topics flashing optics
Microphone prophet watch me lock it drop it
Like a rocket blast off then back at the loft
Mansion style living still giving sins wind
I invoke pain harder than migraines stains
The medulla see me run right through ya
Mack truck chickens deluxe cobra clutch
Ya losing breath fams got damns my jams
Spread all over the thorough heads read
On the front of your streets sweep creeps
Mix Hendricks Gin and Schweppes
Smoke mean green with Swisher sweets
Lace grape to cherry rary strawberries
Yo I'm tryna miss the cemetery
My thoughts tried to bury enemies hurry
Tied me into a guns flurry scurry no worries
Im use to the threats watch spinnin' bagguettes
Turn flesh into maggots detect the Dragnet
And watch the haters get bit cold glitch itch
If ya want ta fuanta pop ya cells shells
Making body swells fans thoughts carousel
Wondering why I shoot more darts
Than Sam Cassell pours fools gimme yours


Yo i Shook from the world's Cinna swirls but herls
All the Boys and girls mind curls earls pearls
Shining off the neck of my favorite girl
Fifth plus thou how art thou take a bow
See the eyes of a foul owl night stalks
None could walk a pitch out the park
Set a spark causin' a wild fire disaster
Master def plaster soul elastics
Stretch it wider than mr fantastic
You feelin' drastic that's just my magic
Working fools mad cuz I'm hurting flirting
With the goetias through pen and papers
Pentagrams photograph a telegram
Watch my enemies from a birds eyes
view try to slam exposing their shams
Eagles nest buries of treasure laid it to rest divine manifest
Picking suckas off like Lawrence Taylor
Thats how a defense raider degrades ya originator
Playa from birth laid out my perks see the girth
For what it's worth I'm catching mirth
From the demons tryna scheme triple beams
Miss my head cuz I'm brain dead all thoughts shed
Tears the afterlife
Instead pain sticking like a knife said
****** was the case escape the ****
Of life's ******* that scrapes crumbs dumbs
Succumbs by the hallowed numbs media drum
I cut off the melody and choose a new switch
Broke the computer glitch shootouts like Mitch
Richmond hit man
The henchmen fools can't comprehend
While I'm breaking shaking hands never faking
Raw undertakings raking money like dough the biggest baking
Pillsbury industry but no tickling me
I'm just tryna keep a legacy like romes papacy
LaFayette Aug 2020
I am just another weary, stymied Sisyphus
Slowly climbing the eternal hill of existence
Finding no rest or crest of contentment
Only the familiar face of failed endeavors

I am so sick of unrewarded undertakings
Give all of yourself to meet stolid silence
Before the boundless boulder recedes again
Dead on my feet, I retreat to the doldrums

— The End —