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Persephone Oct 2018
Where did my feelings flutter too?
The ones that make my body sparkle
And pound my chest with joy
The ones that spew anger and shout rage
The ones that throw tears at my eyes
And sooth relief into my veins
The ones that turn my thoughts into dreams
And my dreams into life
The ones that left me ohh so unlonely
Why did they go?
Astral Jan 11
Sometimes feelings can be hard to interpret.
Its you, but you still can't tell what it means.
Maybe thats part of being human,
That we must be unknowing,
In almost all aspects of life,
Even our own.

I just wish,
That I could figure it out.
Figure out why I pushed you away,

But seem to miss you more everyday.
Unrelated to the poem, but I'm hecka stressed because of my history class.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Sitting in Circular Quay in a bistro on a warm winters day
dreaming while watching the tourists and ships sail by.
As I eat oysters and drink the day in with my wine,
past memories wash over me.

Morning teas, chats, and paper bark trees,
hikes through the bush and walks along the beach.
Watching dolphins play at dawn
and fishing the waters on New South Wales shores.

The Harbor Bridge alight with Bicentennial Fireworks;
a surreal beginning to this adventure.
Wringing every drop from days spent,
finding a new world with each step.

Discovering myself through the wisdom and eyes of you,
maturing, becoming my own.
Like family, you’ve been both mentor and friend,
carrying me through fire and back.

My life was undone as I first saw your shore.
Feeling my heart would break
with our first goodbyes,
unknowing that an permanent bond had been forged.

Tracing back over the years since we met,
I’ve been given more than my share.
Making me ponder how I have been blessed,
to count you as a true friend.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
AestheticAbi May 6
I shared with you
what made me so blue
the feelings that seep
from my heart and make me weep

sharing
(your feelings)
is caring
and because I care
I share
the fact
that

I Love You

(sorta ig but tbh idek what love is)
for some reason this is by far my favorite poem
cait-cait Aug 2018
imagine —
you are the last of your species,

an angel, who dances on
ice.

like
a
film that protects
this earth ,
your wings are broken ,
and these are the pieces of you that cannot go
home .
.

so on
tiptoes, this cracked marble
does not shatter,
and
everyone gets to watch you perform ,
unknowing of the cold truth that you are shackled
to ,

like
a ballerina in a box
that hums a sweet tune —

you still dance ,
even as the last of your species,
even though
you are all that you have left.

and
even though
you have decided that love is a form of
betrayal.
.
i didn’t know what to title this but my comedy lit class was assigned plato’s the allegory of the cave and i loved it.... this is somewhat a different style (or concept) for me but i hope you still enjoy. this was another poem where I wrote the ending lines before the beginning ha ha. Meaning Is up for interpretation
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2018
Rise! Rise! from this body
of prosody ex auctoritatis
whence, unknowing, each
cell, sine arbitror, marches here,
there, just so— Confusing
comet ice, constellations,
Van Allen skies, abandoned
seas. So again, a song may end.

Rise! Sing instead, embodiment
of purpose, ardent, godslike,
unhidden— Release your sounds.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
Tawana Sep 2018
She was just five when it happened
Small fragile and unknowing.
They used this and used her,
They abused her and bruised her.
She was five when it happened
Small, soft and innocent.
They cursed her and misused her, and this confused her.
She was five when it happened
They pursued her and accused her,
They bemused her and this amused them.
And worst of all they were excused.
everyone has once loved a dandelion
unknowing that it’s a ****.
Helena Aug 2018
Crisp leaves fall down her spine
Shedding the youthful look
Of her once
Tangerine-tainted shine

Her body shreds but trunk keeps growing
Her hungry hands, unwilled, unknowing
look for the tang, the sweetness
She once held between her thighs


Amidst the cruel winter
Thoughts invaded her spine
But she grew and grew till she
Outgrew her mind

What a wonderful thing
Time.
Corey Apr 2017
Religion has such power. It guides in a
certain direction while allowing the followers
to take on their own life. They are submissive
despite its controlling ways.

I worship you, and you worship the moon.

It has such control over you. It allows
your tides to rise and to fall. Yet, you are
not forced, you prefer to adhere
to it's gentle push and pull.

I have no religion but you.

Perhaps the moon is as unknowing of
its control over you, as you are unknowing
of your control over me. It is pleasant
to allow you control.

For you, I am tidal.
Philosophy involves feeling
like an unknowing child
most of the time, brief
revelation and then
unknowingness
returns again.
How long I've been alive
yet how old I feel inside.
At the end of the road lies a haven of peace
A place to rest .A sanctuary
Hoping one day this war will cease
With a hope and possibilities.

No more sound of bombs and guns
And that dreadful feeling of fear
The saddened times will be over and done
As the end of this nightmare draws near.

The future is looking hopeful
A new horizon it lies ahead
But somehow things look doughtful
With all the blood that's been shed.

There are tents food and clothing
Waiting at the end end of the line
But it's the fear of the unknowing
That is disterbing  to the mind.

Then it's the same the whole world over
When a calamity it does strike
Nations get stronger and bolder
So people can sleep at night.

Now listen to what they are saying
To the the plight of the refugee
Keep on and carry on hoping
And one day you will be free.
A sad reality that many displaced people
Are faced with.
We stepped, unknowing, into the shadows
cast
by social media; postmodern realities emerged,
Crafted
from big data. We're caught in the world wide web,
Caught between
"the electron and the switch".
Cambridge Analytica,
Data Propira;
Technocracy,
Algocracy.

Enticed
by a promise
of what could be,
"Trust your technolust"
was the advice those hopefuls gave me.
Their optimism, innocent naivety, glitched history.
I can't sign out
of my social media account.
Anxiety's got me in her grip.

How do we fight the power,
Will privacy prevail?
Data rights
would promise us
a patch for this great hack,
But
there'll always be shadows
as long as there's light,
Those who declare
anonymity is
their right.
Cyberpunks, cypherpunks, crypto-anarchism
won't be enough.
As is, potentials' -liberalism and -libertarianism
duke it out.
The electron remains, but one wonders
as 'the switch' gives way
to something all the more quantum.
Recommended watching:
The Great Hack (2019)

Quotes:
Line Seven from The Hacker Manifesto by +++The Mentor+++ (January 8, 1986)
Line Fifteen seen in Hackers (1995)
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2018
How tenuous this grip we have, how slight our hold remains
When all around  loud braggards boast that power now pertains,
We see the banner headlines splashed across our daily rags
And redneck demonstrations cleans the streets of Spics and ****
When blood runs in the gutter as the battons rise and fall
And whilst taking tea in style the filthy rich ignore it all.
The blonde leader of our nation struts, postulates and brags
While the rest of us skive off around the corner smoking ****
Our  kids ingest confusion as they loiter on the street
Unknowing  our delusions make illusions held, replete.
How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our hold remains
As our allies shower cold distrust convinced our fault inflames.
What chance of clear redemption, what remedies revive
When truth is lost to darkness can our honesty survive?
Reputation cut to shards, confidences ******
That leaders of community no longer hold our trust
When white is caste as black and then to green and then to grey
And sanity refuses pontification one more day.
How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our holds remain
As twilight turns to darkness caste against a larks’ refrain.

M.
The White House
HAMILTON, New Zealand
25 July 2018
Despair across the nation, good people sitting quietly in their kitchens not quite believing the chaos and disunity sown by the White House amidst their communities, not knowing which way to turn to seek reason, to seek an element of promise for the morrow.

Who would have thought this possible in what was once, the greatest nation on Earth?

M.
Morgan Mercury Jul 2014
Feel the tide.
I am the ship.
I am the captain.
The ocean is a savage
the way it pulls my body,
slinging me around like i'm weightless.
I will not surrender to this beast.
The waves mean nothing to me.
I've been fighting this savage ocean for a century.
100 years of getting carried away across these waters.
Isolation is my home.
It's all I know.
I brought this on myself.
I ran away from land and into the water,
unknowing of the horror it holds.
But I will not surrender
I am the ship.
I will not kiss the ocean goodnight.
I will not fight.
I will float on until the day comes I greet the sea.
My lungs will sting and my head will rush.
Leave my body in isolation.
Let it be a peace offering.
So the ocean wouldn't have to carry away another ship that day.
Phil Riles Nov 2018
The sun shines on us all, as well as the rain

Torrential downpours of pain, we lose and we gain

We veer into cliched territory to verbalize our response to more tragedies that a lost world continues to offer

The signs of the times the Holy Text forewarned becomes ever more visible...except to the blind and the Scoffer

Why does the blood of the innocent and unknowing continue to shed for the next man’s awakening of his own imminent flatline?

At times I, picture myself in someone else’s fate, how would I have handled myself in that same place?

How would I have responded with bullets suddenly flying around me as potential dead bodies surround me, in that unexpected moment of truth...which characteristic would have ultimately found me? cowardice...or courage?

I find myself at times discouraged by my struggle with self-assurance in knowing that my demonstrating answer would have been in the latter rather than the former

How many times have we entered into a school, mall, concert venue only to have a passing or pressing thought enter into our conscience only to ask “what if I’m not supposed to make it back out alive”?

I often wonder if Rachel Scott struggled with these internal inquiries in the years, months, days, hours, final seconds before she stepped foot on that columbine soil destined to receive her call to became a maytr for the Gospel she lived...and died for.

What exactly are we dying for? Are we dying to self? Or because of it?

Whether our final earthly breath is due to a natural cause or one unsuspecting...what are we dying for?

Many people will not be able to answer that question…until it is forever too late...
Hillary Magee Jul 2017
How fair and lovely  
This woman must be  
Adorned in the sea  
Of an ivory truth.  
She lends her hand  
To the most powerful man  
She will ever know.  
  
She denies him, however,  
With attention at her feet,  
Yet  
His eyes are set  
Regardless of where  
Hers linger.  
He longs to know,  
What is encased inside such a  
Fair, young and beautiful mind.  
So, he stares  
Intently.  
He stares,  
Desperately
In search of affirmation of her
Truth.  
In need of the possibility  
Of her potential  
To be everything he has  
Envisioned.  
Such a promising, vibrant,
Youthful maiden  
Aware of her power,  
Aware of her persuasion,  
Aware of his weakness,  
Looks away.  
Aware of her plans and her  
Secrets,  
She looks away.  
Yet his eyes stay upon her,  
Set like the fires of hell that  
Await her.  
A man so noble  
With a kingdom so mighty  
Lives with the unknowing  
Unsettling,  
Frightening possibility of  
Betrayal.  
He is the poorest man  
In the world.
My soul what you will is lost
In obscurity.  If the means
That are best belong to the
Strong you know I am weak
But not yet can I be still. I
Am ignorant yet I speak:
Because I cannot escape nor
Embrace this unknowing.
I would know better but  I
Am not patient.  I stumble
In the dark. I curse;  I can
Not find the candle quickly
Enough.  But there is this:
In the darkness I know there
Is one greater than I am who
Knows what I need that in
His acceptance of me is my
Salvation-that the present
Darkness and distress shall
Not prevent His making of
It all the promised grace of
Love-making right my soul.
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