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Sanjali Aug 2018
-Supposed To Survive-

I cannot understand
If I am weak or patient,
I cannot understand
What I should think.
Is it okay if I let life play
Or do I fight with all my will?

Wise people would say
'There’s a time for each way',
But how am I, the unwise,
Supposed to decide?
How am I, the fool,
Supposed to survive?
Sometimes my life seems to be wrapped around these lines.
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2017
A poet's breast within me beats
Beats heart and something I call soul that leaps
Charges, races, racing, finds its feet
Drags me, joyful, joy-filled, from my seat!

Elevating common prose
For pleasures sake, each poet knows,
Gains by use of tools as those
He would at length I’m sure disclose

If payment were perhaps an ear
Just for a moment lent to hear
Keenly offered verse— or beer,
Loved by poets too, I fear.

Most often those who are unwise
Negate the poet’s enterprise
Out of their need to criticize
(Perhaps within their misery lies)

Quite certain they must find a fault
Regardless of the somersaults
Some poets do to try and halt
Those who, in the name of help, assault.

Unless you’ve written words as these—  
Verses made and meant to please
With just a little work to tease
Xenia* coaxed from a’s and z’s

Your day lacks all that razzmatazz—as
Zest for verse—and all that jazz.

*Xenia—gifts given to a guest or stranger.
This is an Abecedarian. First letter of each line follows the alphabet. Fun to do.

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.)
Heather Anderson Apr 2015
Ignorance is such a beautiful thing,
But oh how toxic it can be.
You poisoned my mind with words of beauty,
Songs of joy my heart did sing,
But now that I know the truth,
Your reputation has been tainted.
How perfect a picture of deceit you painted.
Your behavior is (for a lack of a better word) uncouth.
Some warned that trusting you would be unwise,
But an underlying dissonant chord grew.
Maybe deep down I always knew,
But you spout such symphonious lies.
You devoured my helplessness in a bite so vicious,
But I wanted to live in my reverie,
I didn’t believe the tales of your devilry.
To my morality I’ve become oblivious.
My rationality has become a hindrance.
How can I be wrong if I did not know?
The only thing now (even as it seems impossible) is to let go,
But never will I forget the beauty of my ignorance.
For D & J
Andrew Sep 2017
We use video games
To make video gains
Until the screen goes black
And reality attacks
We lose all our progress
In the deletion process
As we level up we devolve
Around the TV we revolve
The more experience we gain
The more moments we lose
Our memories forever stained
When this is what we choose
Our life inside a hard drive
Our life becomes a hard lie
We revel in being unwise
Rage quitting life
We enjoy strife
And avoid pesky light
When we live in the dark
With consumerist plights
We are all marks

Video games balance in a zone
Between game and art
The frustration starts
When art is confused for games
And games mistook for art
People take things to heart
And spitefully spew viper venom
If this is where games send them
Then why do we play?
We have no other way
To feel accomplishment
In a society that worships competition
Video games become the second edition
Of a life filled with loss
On our pixelated cross
We are murdered millions of times
Reminiscent of the millions of lies
That make us losers in the real world
Video games become our shiny pearl

The computer displays defeat
When our lives aren't complete
Because we need someone to beat
Not realizing our lives are conquered
By frivolous topics we've pondered
Our meaningless life squandered
And hope comes in the form of new releases
While inside our faulty headset is in pieces
Andrew Jul 2017
This country's being privatized
By politicians using private eyes
Manipulating through public lies
And their hate filled cries
The question becomes a stark why
We ask the dark unwise
Driving us to laced dimes
Or writing ****** rhymes
Love is the answer I surmise
Nobody else buys
Emotions have no value in the marketplace
Unless you're of a certain race
That reminds them of themself
Then they're more likely to share their wealth

We need more than paper *****
To tear down these paper walls
The order becomes too tall
When we apply an objective concept (currency)
To a subjective principle (value)
Our ideas of value get tangled
Our empathy is mangled
Our discourse becomes angled
Discussions turn to wrangles
And cats are bred Bengal
As our domestic lives
Never left the jungle
But there's always a rumble
Regimes always tumble
Humanity continues to stumble
Earth's health starts to fumble
Molesting the planet like a creepy uncle
Until we see our follies unfold
Then will we be so bold
To say we can do it on our own?
Deadwood Jawn Dec 2018
I've been surging with...
                        N E U R O T I C  E N E R G Y
                                                                ­        All day
                                                             ­           at work.

I had to
         try and
               keep it
                     under control.

Control...                                    Control..­
o                                                   o
n                                                   n
t                                                    t
r       ­                                             r
o                 ­                                  o
l                                                    l
.       ­                                             .
.                 ­                                   .
.                                                    .

It's her. It's her.
Come on... Summon it.

I can still
              S E E  H E R
            e             e
          e                   r

E        V        E        R        Y        W       H        E        R        E

S h e ' s
                    a l l
                                    a r o u n d
                                                                ­ m e . . .

Dark, neurotic,
          blackened,                                   ­             - crimson goes here -
                  jet aura

I am
  Terriblyyyyyyyyyy                                       They spent
                                   y                                      more time
                                     y                                    with her
               ­                                  y
                                      s   s s

I should have come...

We argued.
         Arrows shot everywhere.
              It felt good to
                    trade blows
                         with her.

I was                                           (haha!)
     so ****

                                  I­ must say, she
                                      takes a lot -
                                  Resilience? Nah...

                D I S C O R D.
                        ­      e
            ­    e


In love
                                                  ­                               I am not
                                                             ­                    special to
                                                              ­                   you.

                                     Queen of the Nine!

Every time the healer healed me
I think I wanted to hurt again.

When she touched me yesterday...
   It was...
        I just...
           I was...
              I really...
                 I craved it more.

It is unwise to persue her.
Distance yourself, warrior.
You must protect the..

It is in pieces.
You are in pieces.
Look at what you cannot have.

                                      ... I shouldn't have become
                                          vulnerable to you
                                          that very night ...
(Written a day ago in a journal I have) Regarding frustration, guilt, intense anger and also regret. Plus, jealousy. Overall? A bad time. Many conflicting feelings. A long talk is due with an unrelated friend. I must exorcise the negative energy. I will also invest my empathy in others now.
Janna Oct 2018
Though I prayed for wisdom
My choices were unwise
Though I sought understanding
My choices blocked insight
One can ask for this and that
But if one's choices are far from what is being asked
One limits themselves
Anya Apr 5
Do you fall for the hearts of sickly men
Who forsake the words of every pen
Who do not care to seek and wonder
Yet still they fear the friendly thunder
And with the rain that brings the beast
We fear the taste of our deceased
Though every wind that sweeps us by
We sit and pray when serpents fly
The bear broke out the bear trap, and screamed into the air, that the very man that set the trap that had imprisoned him there, had better find a hiding place, somewhere only he can go, to escape the fall of every gaze, every crystal drop of snow, because now he has an enemy who is red behind his eyes, an enemy who will not rest until gazing on his demise...

Kanza caught the biggest fish anyone had ever seen, they say he speared it from the bank when he saw it glinting green, without his artistry and skill the village would be doomed, once their thirst became too much, their last hopes consumed, but everyday there was a banquet, such was his expertise, that anything that took a breath in the forest could be seized, be it bird or beast or wild cat, weasel, fox or hare, Kanza even told the children that one day he'd catch a bear...

The bear withdrew into the darkness, under a canopy of pine, he knew that it was true that if he could just bide his time, eventually a man would come to check that awful snare, then before he could take a breath, his life would end right there, because no living creature from the mountains to the plains, deserves to live out their last in tortured, searing pain. Seconds turned to minutes, turned to hours, turned to days, but the bear, unblinking in the dark, never once broke his gaze, until one misty morning, still glaring at the trap, somewhere through the misty trees, he heard a twig go...SNAP!

Kanza knew all too well how big a mistake he'd made, now upon his back ,a million eyes, he'd meant to evade, but little did he know the kind of danger he was in, because now, flying through the air, was something much bigger than him, a creature so incredibly fast, as to leave nowhere to run, a demon,  a spectre, of ancient past, all his nightmares rolled into one.

The bear broke forth like holy hell, his roar shook the air, his razor sharp teeth and diamond claws ,in flesh, began to tear, Kanza ******* hold in his scream, as all around turned red, he knew he only had a few moments left, before he would be dead. The bear ploughed into the undergrowth, uprooting two small trees, then quickly spun to stare at his foe, who dropped down to his knees.

And there they sat, each one staring at the other and each one learning, understanding, what it is to suffer, Kanza knew his wounds would soon have him feeling dazed, the bear had been wounded by the trap, then hadn't eaten or slept in days.

"I'm sorry", Kanza said, the words surprising even him, as a line of crimson blood ran from his ear down to his chin, then he felt the darkness, and the ground around went black, Kanza fell forward to the ground, the eyes in his head rolled back...

When he awoke, he saw his reflection inside two huge black eyes, his instincts whispered for him not to move, something he didn't think too unwise, the bear stared into him as if it was reading his every thought, there was no escape left, no way of not being caught, after what felt like an age of the world had passed, the bear withdrew into the darkness, gazing until the last, Kanza turned to see that beside him was his mangled snare, never again in his life did he try to trap a bear.
Marla Aug 10
The straightforward path
is lined with distractions
meant to **** the unwise
from the wise.

Though entertaining,
their attractions are empty.
Though enchanting,
their wares are cheap.
Though savory,
their food is unfulfilling.

The sage understands
that the fruits of life
follow those who flourish
on and not off of the path.

In knowing this
there is great being,
for life is a game
of accrual and not of
ConnectHook Dec 2017
Children drugged with truthless tales . . .
Unwise men embrace their treasure;
Algorithms urge the sales
In malls devoid of merry measure.

Plastic sparkles in the air;
Automotive ads turn festive . . .
Forced good nature everywhere
Makes the shopping crowds grow restive.

Corporate greed spins altruistic
Hyping goods, suppressing Christ.
Our Yuletide is their big statistic
Oversold and underpriced.

Secular beribboned fluff:
Peace, Goodwill . . .  but don't say God !
And heaven knows you've had enough;
Just download the app—acquire the mod.

Coca-Colaed, Disneyfied
You're wrapping paper for their fire;
Eggnogged, Santa-ed, thrown aside
While Babel's flames roar ever higher.

The godlessness shines right on through
Where Christmas lyrics die, unheard.
The Yule-log and the sparks that flew
Expire in embers long unstirred.

The old usurper carting toys
And Chinese knock-offs in his sled
Sets off a lot of empty noise:
Insanity in green and red.

The lurker leers and hauls his bag
(jolly antichrist distraction)
While flying Bishop Nicholas' flag:
A winter psy-ops covert action.

Only message left: go drink!
And may your cup o'erflow with cheer
Before you risk to start to think
Yourself and God right out of here.

Hallmark haloes, bygone kitsch
enwreaths the memory of the years,
Kindling maudlin sadness which
wells up in melancholy tears

For Christian culture (rest in peace)
Long-corrupted by dollar signs;
For fa la la and fattened geese
And holly midst the ivy vines;

For Dickens' gospel of the season
Anglican angelic ghosts
Pushing us beyond unreason
Toward the future's spectral hosts;

For folklore now reduced to ash
Commercial blow-outs, ***** snow;
For Saturnalian urge to smash
the store-front windows where they show;

For useless manger figurines
Passed down from some more faithful time;
For hallowed and nostalgic scenes
No longer worth a Roman dime.
I still love Christmas but its ongoing commercial secularization by corporate globalists makes me retch (into my mulled wine).

Nonetheless, like Scrooge, I intend to keep Christmas well.
By the way, that's Merry CHRISTmas.
Dr Peter Lim Aug 2018
But the wise
aren't around
the unwise
are here--to confound!
Mark Aug 2018
Conversing lover's tongue - I may neglect
to discourse plainly love, beheld and true
as noted oft; when sultry day's effect
and wine that doused your play could not outdo.

Bereft none, ardent lust transcends accent
if measure need be - time my other speech;
the pash upon your jewel I've descent,
until in tone you've pled for deeper breach.

If still unwise - let know I've curbed cascades
tho' early tidal swells have raised herein
it's flow are liquid signs that love pervades!
That then have gushed to honor you therein.

So swim my words of love within your womb
and find that home, so say my love in bloom.
oh, the damage to be done to this soul
should the smile be evasive
why so unwilling to risk
if the smile not be immediate and sure
and without doubt
i have lost so many
to doubt
i am unwise in the ways of love
convinced that the connection i feel
is a false sign
that you are just being kind
to a lonely soul
what can i do when i fear my words will push you away
rather than pull you in
short of a whispered  'i love you' from your lips
i remain as lost as a glance in the dark
Freedom is your legacy,
Paid for with your precious life,
Far from home and family,
In wars both wise and unwise.

I walk in light thanks to you,
Teach, write, speak, think without fear,
And our flag flies proud and true,
Beacon of hope through the years.

I stand proudly for our flag,
Hand over heart as I sing,
Our Anthem whene’r it plays,
As my voice cracks and eyes tear.

Emotions run high for me,
Not from empty foolish pride,
But because in her I see,
Your most poignant sacrifice.

Freedom comes not from its wish,
Nor peace from prayers on their own,
They come from soldiers like you,
Who selflessly gave their all.

I carry you in my heart,
Every day of every year,
The debt I owe you cannot,
Be repaid in words or tears.

Rest in peace, beloved dead,
May God grant you honors due,
Today I will fly our flag,
And in it always see you.
Shona Dec 2018
If I let myself slip, I’ll never make it back out of that state.
I’ll never wake up and perhaps that’s what my subconscious mind desires, but my forefront thoughts don’t want my time to die,
At least, not just yet.
I am self destructive and lonesome and prone to sadness,
Yet I bring this all to myself.
I gamble and win but instead of engulfing the money in my arms, I wrap my hands around burning sobriety chips and self destruction
Comes knocking back on my door and I let him in like he always had a right to come back.
Like he hadn’t crept up on me in my most vulnerable state,
Like he cared about me.
My mind unwise and my life unfair and my thoughts tangled into spaghetti string before I cut it up
Before I make it easier for me to swallow
What is wrong in my life.
What is wrong with me?
I tend to whisper to myself before my eyes close and the tears fall out the edges onto my pillow, leaving a residue in the morning to remind me that I am not as mentally stable as I want to be.
Ylzm May 3
If blessedness is a choice,
who chooses to be accursed?

What need for God,
since we bless ourselves;
by the strength of our arms,
and the cunning of our wits;
but that they remain
strong and sharp even with age,
and that our store houses,
are not burned down or robbed,
and that Evil be kept far from us.

Job was blessed of God.
Evil touched him to his bones,
His storehouses burnt down,
His sons and daughters massacred.
Wishing death rather than life,
but enough life and fear remain,
to know torment, pain and suffering,
and to question agonizingly without answers;
accused falsely by unwise friends,
who spoke the wind as if its wisdom;
and to live days without end in sight.

We bless ourselves
as we count blessings:
Beholden to the flesh,
its desires and fears.
As the blind,
content not to fall,
but destined to fly
and see the unseen
and be the unimaginable.
Love does not die of just a single blow,
Its life flows out quite slowly over years,
One drop follows another as love flows,
From thousands of unfatal cuts and tears.

A thousand little stings from tongue or eye,
A thousand unkind words from me and you,
A thousand "I told you so’s" piled on high,
A thousand battles lost, refought anew.

Each wound a scab that grows harder with time,
Covering festering hurts that won't heal,
An unwise word morphs to betrayal sublime,
Suppurating reminders all too real.

Simple kindness is lost from lack of use,
And what remains just a facade in truth.
H Aubrey Nov 2018
Almost nonchalantly she places her paws across the tops of the pointed cedar pickets.

   the fence divides two realities:
   on one side rests the chained beast of detection,
   on the other inevitable separation

Why stray on this treacherous path?
Still she treads lightly.

Just when she approaches safety
   a door opens
   both our faults really
   gravity works
   the beast released
   falling together, joined in pain
Blake Sep 3
Play your lyre for me once more
down by the great river just as it
was in older days when we were
unwise and smooth skinned.

When the transcended sound
of it never failed to comfort
my mourning soul.
Its heroic breath, without fail or
weakness, dispelled the thick
pungent smoke of my distress
that clung to me.

Pleasantly, I recall those days when
nature sat still and shut its mouth
and opened its ears to listen to the
beauty you produced with the sharp
skill of your fingers and the creative
wit of your mind.

These were the common happenings
and not of the strange or unnatural.
The blissful days when we were free
from the molesting hands of hardship
and evil.

When we spoke of cloud shapes that
glided across the mighty blue plain
that hung over our heads on a clear
day rather than intellect and the
poetic nature of love and disease.

Will you then, once more, open
the gates of your soul and meet
me there at the entrance?
May I enter through the threshold
of your heart?

Grant me entrance to that heaven
I once knew and let your spirit shine
in my presence, brother! And with a
great hope I’ll hope that perhaps
it may blind me and make
me unfit for the likes of reality.
kirk Oct 2018
Who owns Jack Jones, is he part of your clan?
Does Mr Jones actually exist, is he a real live man
Why does he resemble Boyd, is this part of his plan
Jack is such a manly name, but so is Phil and Stan

Don't use "Boy" within your name, you'll impose an adult ban
Boyish names are not much good, there not like John or Dan
You wouldn't call grandfathers boys, or say girl to your nan
Stop abusing ol' Jack Jones, and avoid Boyd if you can

Boyd is easy to avoid, its easier than we thought
An alteration has took place, but that's what Boyd has sought
Elusiveness is not too smart, because already you've been caught
We've worked out who Jack Jones is, and it accounts to nought

Your lacking iron clad alibis, nothing is set in wrought
It's criminal to own Jack Jones, so please would you abort
No rights to use another name, your being a bad sport
Is Boyd considered as a name, or is it "boy" for short

Intellect is not too strong, that's only what you think
Using an alias is unwise, if you show a photo link
Why bother changing to Jack Jones, how low you gonna sink
Your mother's been kept in the dark, about releasing your white ink

Is Jack Jones the one, who's been sinking in the pink?
Wasn't it Boyd's low ***** count, that went inside the mink?
You are skating on thin ice, when there's cracks in the rink
Just who owns Jack Jones, when Boyd's back from the brink

Identities are broken, just what did you think you'd gain
Your just a ******* imbecile, to think you'd relieve the strain
You can't hide yourself away, you must be quite insane
It's not as though your mother lives, in germany or Spain

Everyone knows who you are, it's in your face and plain
It is just pathetic to make Jack Jones the main
Jack Jones is just too common, you should try a name like shane
Just don't **** about with names, or Jack Jones will be jocks Jane

Your ashamed of what you've done, you try to skulk and hide
You didn't mind the ******, or having your fun ride
Be a man and not a "Boyd", it's time to turn the tide
Come on Boyd you did not avoid, legs that were astride

Morality is in pursuit, but you have no sense of pride
Who's Jack Jones supposed to be, now  sperms slid down the slide
Other aliases may exist, do you have bits on the side
Or are you only interested, when things are open wide

Is Jack Jones the father, or is he born from rubber clones
Boyd is the spitting image, he's been seen on mobile phones
Hostile namesake takeovers, do you have *** slaves and drones
There's no sense in your deception, because this isn't Game of Thrones

We don't want identities stolen, you borrow names like loans
Jack's already being used, it's a name that someone owns
Maybe names can hurt you, as well as sticks and stones
So cease in your activities , you don't know who owns Jack Jones
This poem is dedicated to Mandy who influenced its writing
Brent Kincaid Apr 23
President Comb-Over,
Quite the despicable guy
Got himself elected
But the wise folk wonder why.
Obama wore a tan suit
Conservatives went insane,
But this Wimpy lookalike butterball
Sports a totally artificial mane.

If ****** predation were a soccer game
This **** would win The World Cup.
If you ignored the news and his tweets
You’d think someone made this horror show up.
He’s lied and cheated and swindled his way
In to more lucrative deals than he deserved
Then a large minority of certifiable idiots
Elected him so he could to pretend to serve.

He took the Oath of Office, quite smugly
But that’s where his integrity would end.
He set about making deals for himself
His trophy wives, his offspring and friends.
He made few attempts to cover his tracks,
Mostly just shouted blatantly obvious lies
By which he was fooling no one intelligent.
Just the moronic, the foolish and unwise.

He relied on the vagaries of human nature
That voters are among the laziest humans
And would rather vote for a rascal it seems
Than take a chance on an honest new man
Or woman, or *** or an experienced soul
That could take over the Presidential reins
Instead of driving our country straight to hell
And making huge profits off the remains.

Brent Kincaid

— The End —