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Diverseman2020 Jun 2010
She was independence
An importance
Born
Mostly from the highland
Her climate exceeds on the equator
Beauty beyond the Amazon Basin
Which no one can resist
A woman whom I loved
In the tropical rain forrest
Arousing so abundantly
Her sources superlative
But largely unexploited
An ethnic mixture
The vitality of her arts
Owes so much
The Samba we showcase
Thriving with crafty influence
Her language craving
To charm my heart
As time expired
A woman with cultural succession
Leaving her
But feeling breathless
My lady Brasilia
As I depart
From the lovely beaches
Of Rio de Janeiro
Her remembrance
Carving our Samba love
Jessica Golich Nov 2014
Welcome to an exhibition showcasing the brilliant hues of rainbow that dance in a mind immersed in an interminable pool of wonder
The price of admission is a supernatural incision from a cosmic magician full of extramundane vision
A spiritual call to arms - a cunningly pleasing provincial alarm stimulating unexploited charms enkindled in the archaic profundity held within your palms.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
between the hours of 10pm and 1am you can see the other london "smog," which isn't really a smog, you see it on the outskirts of suburbia in these hours, during winter, when the earth opens and water vaporises into a thick splodge of thickness that's like burnt coal... it's frost temperatures, you walk the distance, you breathe as if smoking a cigarette, the aura is still there, your hands are turning into skeletal keys with the sight a lock, you reiterate the skeletal hands next to your eyes and liver, you become a locksmith, you put the key in, the lock clicks like virginity... you enter... you become a singularity of life expressed; it's outer-suburbia, and you know it's a walking distance from a village, a forest, pasture lands among cows, slaughter bulls, horses, badgers, deer and hedgehogs; the earth opens in winter and shows you lungs, in summer the desolation of aero, dry moth larvae, clear vision, but only in winter the warmed ****** of smog from cigarette-free cemented in roads is re-fathomed in the outer suburbia, here i touch the pinnacle, here i dress like a pineapple... still in my short sleeve shirt and hooded garment i ache for my fingers to feel less flesh for summer and skin's auburn, and rekindle winter with bone and the arithmetic of drummed clicks of joints of fingers plucked from a quill's silence, cracking from the kraken weight of comparison that was never the ring finger entangled with the index finger like the index with the *******, to the surprise of italians a gesticulation of good luck.*

i never got the hang of it, i liked it,
i was young enough after all,
cartoon network still preserved scubidoo,
and he-man, then cow & chicken came
along and i lost it...
i didn't relate to the a.d.h.d. of the cartoons,
it was still sugar coloured, but just
too much rush, so i left it...
my favourite game on that old grey man
of consoles that was playstation 1 like a v.c.r.
for compact disks was tenchu: stealth assassin,
the fifth mission sexism, a merchant
is being ignoble, you're sent to assassinate him,
play as man, you get an automation
for hara kiri video sequence,
play as girl, he's too noble, you have to **** him
manually with his bow & arrow...
lovely snow flakes against nearing spring blossom...
finished it, oh yeah, it was a great game...
i played sim city 3000 because of the cool
jazz music...
the sims though? i freaked out when i moved my pawn
avatar to play computer games rather than
encapsulate a need for medieval armoury to stand
on my mahogany flooring altars of pixel fakes...
played the sim. into playing computer games
all the time and found the wormhole into reality
and thus freaked... stopped playing the game...
fun for a bit, but in terms of mozart & backstreet boys
chess still remains the game equivalent to music
compared classical: very abstract, very much no representative
of reality.
then i completed final fantasy vii with a guide book:
homework was more important, i craved the spoilers,
although i loved the aesthetics...
a three dimensional body walking about in a lavish
two dimensional canvas...
but tonight i remembered the pythagorean *******
of lara croft, all triangular...
years later i heard tomb raider 1 had a dinosaur in it...
never reached that bit...
i got to the part where i killed the pack of foxes
at the beginning and started to look at a two dimensional
fern in a three dimensional landscape...
the ****** fern rotated when i started eyeing it!
weird...
weirder still when i took the game from the computer
and put it against the night sky...
the night sky is like a fern, two dimensional,
but since i'm in an atmosphere of a three dimensional object
i simply can't see 2d;
even while i did a dervish drinking beer
at a memorial of those befallen in world wars, 1 and 2,
i couldn't prove that what day is said to be:
light refracted into blue from oceans...
the night didn't enforce: street lamps give out
such light pollution as to populate the void with stars...
so why the constellations of zodiac disappearing?
how many volts in the sun that you started to care about
energy-saving non-fluorescent piccadilly dead end of neon?
the way i see it, it madonna ice-cream cone bras...
is that the night sky is as 2d as the night sky...
it's so ******* big and wide you might think
an elephant stuck its truck into the **** duct of either ***
and trumpeted a sneeze for an extra expansion...
it's 2d to me... i in dervish couldn't prove i was 2d...
the universe couldn't prove my theory either,
for then i would see it rotate... but i did...
and i did see the background rotate, canvas was big enough
(after all), to allow a 3d stability, but given the 3d stability
also rotated on a ***** (winter in australia, summer in england)
if was all a bit like saying:
you shall not eat from the tree of knowledge -
but we did, and if we didn't,
there would be no excavation of potential,
no evolutionary ingenuity,
we would be beaks and wigs and tails rest assured
unexploited, not ready to delve into a depth that
assured us forks, knives, bridges, microscopes,
we'd be left with a consciousness for the likes of caves...
goo and veil have nothing to do with the case
proposed, god made man in satan's imagine,
and since satan warred with himself, man warred
with man serving a superiority over all things deemed lesser
by him.
which said says as much as:
the exponential evolution of technology
makes 30 year olds seem like grandparents
to the teenagers... which is odd and frankly, a bit funny.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 28
the waters of the Sound, churning,
make my hands a five-in-hand knotted,
full of writhing wriggling writing poem
lines with an go<hesitant~go  slow, knowing that,inspiration is daring me, just as the  whitecaps are, troubled trolling so nearby,
gone can hear them mocking me with their
17knot  ‘breeze,’ your lyrics are but
blowing in the wind, soon enough will
shift to someone else, leavening your
deflation with a non~riser sour-dough mix
of unfinished sadness

in advance, knowings that every poem
more like a Monarch butterfly, here but
for a momentary traversal travesty,
gone faster than the eye blink, and this
infilling fleeing fleet urgency more
likely to die on the pyre of unfinished
rejected draftees, unselected for service

nonetheless ~ “follow” lyrics refuse me
to let~leave a poor tribute to vine~die, the
fingers speak in unison, urging me on,
not wanting to escape from this fantasizing
moment, urging me to tap tap tap
evermore!

“ Come taste and smell the waters of our time,”
Richie invites us all to find our own water,
let it work its magic upon our
nerve endings, but,
mine full of sendings, how?

can one sit seated in the Poet’s Nook,
same vista, no visa required ~
just to see it each time
differently, only the truly creative can love it
so much, that they tip into unexplored unexploited
veins of fresh blood and words
and eyes that discern and earn the ability
to write of the old with new inside insights

those! they are the ones you need to follow!
creators! with a small C, see them feel, see them divine with rod, their original water,
from which they emerged, and drink once more, for the water follows them like nutrients, raw materials that nourishes
and they in turn, return to their watery
birth site, their emotional placentae,
drawing from, returning to it new creations

for all of us to follow, fire our senses,
make us!
make art in all our hearts,
and don’t mind me, just

”close your eyes, child, and look at what I'll show you;
Let your mind go reeling out and let the breezes blow you,
And maybe when we meet then suddenly I will know you.
If all the things you see ain't
Quite what they seem,
Then don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream .
‘cos


We
ain’t nothing but a dream,
our disguised muses visiting,
pleading to be
usefully used…
A recurring line from “Follow” lyrics by Richard Merrick, sung most famously by Richie Havens, who made it his marquee signature song, and a standard, immediately ’ recognizable by anyone who listened to music in the Sixities (20th century)

<>
Let the river rock you like a cradle
Climb to the treetops, child, if you're able
Let your hands tie a knot across the table.
Come and touch the things you cannot feel.
And close your fingertips and fly where I can't hold you
Let the sun-rain fall and let the dewy clouds enfold you
And maybe you can sing to me the words I just told you,
If all the things you feel ain't what they seem.
And don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream.
The mocking bird sings each different song
Each song has wings - they won't stay long.
Do those who hear think he's doing wrong?
While the church bell tolls its one-note song
And the school bell is tinkling to the throng.
Come here where your ears cannot hear.
And close your eyes, child, and listen to what I'll tell you
Follow in the darkest night the sounds that may impel you
And the song that I am singing may disturb or serve to quell you
If all the sounds you hear ain't what they seem,
Then don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream
The rising smell of fresh-cut grass
Smothered cities choke and yell with fuming gas
I hold some grapes up to the sun
And their flavour breaks upon my tongue.
With eager tongues we taste our strife
And fill our lungs with seas of life.
Come taste and smell the waters of our time.
And close your lips, child, so softly I might kiss you,
Let your flower perfume out and let the winds caress you.
As I walk on through the garden, I am hoping I don't miss you
If all the things you taste ain't what they seem,
Then don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream .
The sun and moon both arise
And we'll see them soon through days and nights
But now silver leaves are mirrors, bring delights.
And the colours of your eyes are fiery bright,
While darkness blinds the skies with all its light.
Come see where your eyes cannot see.
And close your eyes, child, and look at what I'll show you;
Let your mind go reeling out and let the breezes blow you,
And maybe when we meet then suddenly I will know you.
If all the things you see ain't
Quite what they seem,
Then don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream .
And you can follow; And you can follow; follow...
Source: Musixmatch
andrew juma Jan 2016
In the lands yonder
Beyond the thrones of Europe
and the bustle of the West

There is a land
It is quiet and peaceful
The sun shines everyday
The people are black

In the lands yonder
Beyond the industrial buzz and dense smoke
There are a peaceful people in a land

Its rivers traverse the lands
From one end to the other
Its waterfalls are wondrous
Its caves adventurous

There is the land
Whose people dont worry
Their simplicity is baffling
They never hurry

There is the land
Whose people sit on gold mines and diamonds unexploited
There is more to life for these people

From days of old
They understood the balance of nature
Before Carl's nomenclature

In the lands yonder
Snow caps mountain tops
Elephants and Buffalloes run the Savannahs
Wildebeests migrate in wonder
In the lands yonder

The birds sing in hapiness
The lions roar in jungles
The lands are rich
The peoples cultures are rich too

They were once thought dunders
Plans were made to invade and plunder
Those were the worst blunders

They fought for equality
They fought for their rights
Adowa 1896
Apartheid 1994
MauMau 1954, and more
They died for their land

This is the land of peace
This is the land of wealth
And nature's bounty
This is Africa
Proud to be an African
Orion Hernandez Dec 2012
Drenched fabled tales
Consuming this fall of ideals
A lonesome morbid sea I have yet to set sail
These unexploited comprehensions

Leeching parasites that simply rely on our fears
The worry on faceless projections

There's so much more for the world to know
The hidden truths of this demesion and the unknowns the next
Amelia Petrini Mar 2011
The thought of you sends shivers
Coursing down my spine.
You are my muse, the source
Of all the unexploited energy in my world.

You’re the kind of man
I’ve always needed in my life.
Your iridescent spirit shines
From deep within honest eyes.

It’s getting late now, early morning
And I still can’t seem to fool my mind
Into forgetting the idea of you.

You resonated somewhere deep inside me,
In a place I thought I’d locked away
And hidden from a curious world
In the deepest recesses of time.

But all these words are meaningless to me;
The way you make me feel is a song;
A melody unattainable by poetry alone--
The rhythm of my words is not enough.
Dakota J Dawson Dec 2020
Regress
Try to strengthen
Find a core

Unsettled by past
Toward future
Unexploited

Pure
Full for life
Alive
Life, hate, love, goals, expectations, hurt, suicide, live, happiness, life, death

— The End —