"utilising" poems
If not for hellopoetry
I would have given up
The writing was starting to take its toll
Left me emotionally exhausted
I was forced to take a break
For all my energy it had drained
Sleepless nights, endless lines
Trying to switch off my brain
Left me depressed
When sentences formed
A story I'd tell
About my life in hell
Sometimes dramatised to a new level
Sometimes I have seen myself become the devil
All my emotions that stain the page
The blood, sweat and tears
Written into each line
Left me losing moments in time
And for this writing became a crime
Didn't feel like I was utilising my mind
Until recently I realised this was the only legacy
I would leave behind
I've seen this art in a whole new light
Through words on a page, I've shown my fight
I've shown all my emotions, I have been totally open
Gave my all in every line
Sprinkled in a flavour of rhyme
If not for hellopoetry all I'd have is blank pages
A mind full of lines, forgotten in time
Took some time to unwind
And that is when I realised
These writings and I are bound for life
I've learned to embrace this now
Finally proud of all my works,
how has it taken me this long
To fall in love with this art
If not for hellopoetry
An appreciation I would never have tasted
And this whole community I've embraced it
Don't care if you love or hate it
It's made me make some changes
If not for hellopoetry
There are talents I may never have uncovered
Some of us are still so young,
Still, more room left to improve
The elder ones raising us up
Understanding a whole new love for this art
I once said These lyrics were written in blood
Straight from the arteries from my heart
That metaphorically speaking
I spread all I am, all across the page
Bled the led with what I felt
So much heart into every verse
All this time it was never a curse
It was something special I've been gifted
To get all these thoughts out of my system
If not for hellopoetry
I wouldn't be here...caught within this poetic atmosphere
©2018 Written By Benji James
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC
i'm not writing, more or less simply knitting, a jumper -
which is more than just a mere poem.
the comfort allowance, listening to delta goodrem
and i love pop,
more than a rugby
player aged ~20,
mind you,
sometimes labouring over one
selfie with 20 Chinese to match
makes you feel oh so good -
it took those 20 Chinese
the same effort - pretty white girl
and blonde syndrome,
eastern Europe gets a sniff
and simply says: well, that' **** isn't it?
the days that came with
the motto: we need astronauts more than
tourists...
days like these i rather take selfies
of the sleeper than write something...
and i do...
i fiddle on the roof
and cartoon the rest...
because that matters.
pristine Australian and the gimmicks
worthy of South Korean singalongs....
next in line
***** duped Jews...
whenever the gentleman
lost hist top-hat and the confectioner glyph typo -
me and an audience?
as in a day job?
i don't mind...
d'ah la la la...
and the piano....
these days are rare....
having enough words
in-tune with all others...
of such days
i say: sometimes a picture revitalises the lost words....
and when encouraged
a slip-up of beckoning...
readied for an avalanche -
to make writing into
knitting a jumper or a scarf...
equivalent...
in a society that deems Japanese culture
inquiries
as the righteous standards
to avoid the jobs of nursing and dentistry -
well...
we're in sure need of robotics
to ease off stress that our societies have
themselves halving demand...
sure, she's still there,
crazy naked and starving a kaleidoscope hope
of reminiscence
concerning a fear of spiders:
that do not weave webbing...
the size of your palm...
those ones, scary...
that context of x,
between agoraphobia minor
(in an urban setting)
and agoraphobia major
in an countryside setting -
phobia: or the intricate fear
when an antidote is due because of too much rationalism -
agoraphobia minor:
fear of being in an open space with too many people...
agoraphobia major:
fear of being in an open space
anticipating a congregation that never comes...
i'm enthralled by these compounds:
kindred of: lithium salts - or other compounds.
sometimes just a day with a selfie...
or a poem like this: an exercise in utilising language
to no grand scheme of making a profit:
rather an indentation, and nothing more.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
*i went straight down the hyphenated route, along the winding clay paths of papa simius sapiens **** esse, to see both the western mountains and the eastern seas, yes, straight into the hyphen, watching both the northern infinity (8) and the southern infinity (∞), bypassing scientific equations of the equator by digging to fiji through china.*
i had, and still have two defence mechanism,
a pseudo-impotence within the framework
of the freudian madonna-whore complex
with the everyday girls,
which quickly disappears with prostitutes,
and the fact that, when i was impotent with her
after three attempts and on the fourth wasn’t,
she still didn’t bother to take off the t-shirt i was
wearing when i made love to her,
so all the brass muscle shadow contrasts i was moulding
went to the scrap heap and i returned to the chubby old me
drinking excessively and utilising my lessons in spelling
words using chemical compound complications
of my favoured utilised prospects in the realm of the intellect -
yes, these two defence mechanisms,
because upon engaging with prostitutes in a mirror of pure
functioning objectivity of the ***** and fox
i known a word or two about anti-feminism,
so the t-shirt part during *********** is a shield to prove
the objectivity of the act can progress into the subjectivity of the person,
and because she didn’t take it off, proves my point that
she was nothing more than a ********** or a pole dancer,
which she later became,
even though she was reasonably sane enough to do otherwise.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
i met a mongol once in amsterdam, we exchanged a tearful stare and said a melancholic hello, as if we were to be brother in cement or sandstone of what the sun rememebred and man forgot but nonetheless carved for enshadowed suave of the shadowing hand on hand upon handed down remnant of the handless kanji... the motherless thus tongueless river of sight utilising hand and hand as sophistication of spying thanks to the hands’ shadows: thus no shadow tongue unless that shadow be thought or the abstract off thought: pre-meditation and the subsequent minded courtsey as requested of the blank page or the buddha’s slitted eyes faking intoxication by western standards of that green plant the mongols despise: and western societies fare to tax and thus exploit.
and it would be easiest to withhold making talks
with the slavs
by compensation of the northern-most mosque
being established
as true progression...
but then having insulated the slavs
who are "primarily" plumbers and electricians
to make any dent in the politics of the other monotheists...
where the european excludes the european from europe
there you will see war as encouraging the asian
or the arab...
there you will see war, should a
european exclude european from europe
there you will see war
caucausian againts the rooster against the morn!
TAR TAR! TAR TAR! TAR! TAR!
(in japanese tora tora tora!)
because you did not cherish our shared values
thus become devalued therefore value your integral anti-economic
evaluations that have no place in my land
but concern of keeping brown in the noun and not in the verb
of racism and sun;
i've become a barabbas among you, you messiahs,
you messiah selfies and messiah implants,
what gave you the jews scorned has given
me you as the "jews" scorned in your disorientation
of the fathomed atom bomb already spoken of in
the book of the apocalypse....
but a man ejecting an european from europe
to fantacise a non-invoked colonialism will halve in carving
this world in half for multi-cultarism!
no pole ever spoke of colonialism to see you speak
of post-colonial re-colonialisation of remote areas so ardently cared for:
conquer... and subsequently fall: your sons the additive bullets:
я и pоссия demand: the caucaucus tribes to
fake unity with the danube fools of erected bohemia.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
that bankroll of notes changing
train pistons into traffic cones
and brief loves into marriages
with the motherly continues, but
ended up, just being, a roll of toilet paper
that could buy you **** for ink
or ink for a bestseller that ended up a door stump for a housed breeze.
but she loved it, she took the story of pristine eden
and her the satan like a camcorder with selfies
readied into recycling a pretty face
that everyone wanted to fudge into snorkel in a sea of gag white;
so i took to the monk ape for inspiration for levitation
and i rooted into a child being the: bullied anorexic lexicon,
the all rounded a*
tenner for a teenager housebound into being schooled
for a grey of officiated scrubbing of papers into
business.
i loved it, i had my midlife crisis without a harley
and i faked myself as a dodo fearing man’s fear of death
more than the unexpected extinction of my fellow species,
which i took to be fearless.
so once i experienced caesar’s love of spontaneity and death,
the last two things i feared were homelessness
and a prolonged state of dying utilising morphine
from april till june,
that’s why i never changed surgery,
never wanted to check the cholesterol or blood pressure
acting like a virus i asked to attack my heart
with marginalised debriefings - if i prayed
for the herz blitzkrieg right i also got a heartbeat prior.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
One. The highest truth is determined through a combination of logical and intuitive scrutiny.
Two. The highest beauty is the discernment of the truth and its relationship with falsity.
Three. The highest love is felt with an inexorable beauty and is the path to liberty.
Four. The highest liberty is gained through utilising the truth for the benefit of all and is sustained through peace.
Five. The highest peace is achieved through application of liberty and wisdom.
Six. The highest wisdom is a process of deliberating future actions based on principles.
Seven. The highest principle is respect.
Eight. The highest respect is achievement of altruism.
Nine. The highest altruism is the acceptance of the knowledge of the unity of all things.
Ten. The highest unity is the unfolding eternity within everything.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
He is munching on nuts,
vigorously,
Utilising the muscles he has.
He has wonderful eyes,
Hawk eyes,
Wide set and is,
Now eating a banana with a plastic spoon.
We both have motioned for a waiter.
He is masticating on a blob of Almond paste that he,
Has scooped from the glass jar in the,
Center of the table, by the ash tray
With his middle finger,
Nibbling like a squirrel,
And there is something askew,
As he rushes,
To the aid of a woman carrying,
Four heavy bags.
He leaves his own where it is,
Unattended.
I wonder if he’s on drugs, or
Just a tourist,
High on Africa,
A white man free to do as he pleases,
But I am a black man preparing to fly, and
Have been informed about bags,
Left unattended.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
all i want to be in life is a bit of colonel tavington;
i executed loosing my mother
tongue and when i gripped
the new diacritic i earned a famous colonial greed,
even though i was lied to,
because polish diacritic was there in ś
while english was yorkshire nudist blank slacked
so i had to go back to augustus looking over my shoulder
utilising the d but not the ∂ like chiseling a v for a u in marble
to question the existence of parabolas easier.
i mean, i like that arrogant frown and i’ll admit it
unabashed into liking it, i want that ******* twinning
to pop that corn into popcorn for goo awe ah of the cinema goers.
i can be silent throughout the day,
but at night i lose the lazy drunk and soak the soap in carbonated
and bubble the words out: vengeance! thrill the jaw to munch on un-edible edibles! crack the bone **** the marrow!
all i want to be in life is a bit of colonel tavington,
very few sentiments for being loved and loved in private,
loved i can handle but only in the public domain
as prime antagonist.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
When my Grandparents were young, or relatively young,
say, the age I am now, coincidence still had a name;
that is to say, was still rare enough to warrant one.
They had to wait for them - if they did wait at all.
But I am fortunate, am I not? I do not have to wait
at all, never, no way. I use an automatic service,
administered by somebody else whom I do not know,
deployed in ways I do not fully comprehend, utilising
techniques I do not fully comprehend. I have one
function in the algorithm: to press F5, to press
F5, and then - ! - a page appears which seems to know me:
'Lightning over Tucson'. Did I pronounce that right?
When my Grandparents were young, or relatively young,
say, the age I am now, coincidence still had a name:
'coincidence'. Did I pronounce that right? F5. F5.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
then my voice be heard among the night's rains
of sparrows singing the next oxford dictionary,
perhaps, but sooner you will hear
that no unconscious fabric delves so easily into narcissism
for ego-centric exhibitions: learn that dreams are not
ego-centric exhibitions but ego-centric inhibitions,
thus you will walk a mile undo the pluralism of the distance
known as miles free of the dream(s)...
with two bypassing me in the arabic
tongue i ended my search... and took less of freud and more
of intrigue, part come sparing part come searching a depth of:
would fools' words delve into not speaking but utilising spoken
symbols in order to attempt speech?
i think not, for fools speak in pure verb / action
rather than think out a distinction
of nouns between
said hammer and hammering in
without the nail
of prepositioned in
thus missing prepositioned nail:
of the hammer's intention of a non-warring purpose
fulfilled: an utility heard of but not a skull of member
in two planks of wood.
- germania -
TO'H IPHST'A ***
TA SYPHTA HYPHLTA UNA!
and thence it came, in a mountainous overcrowding
like an avalanche of spirit
a hoarse calm of native tongue against the invasion,
it came,
and it came against all former eloquent hoarse screech,
who felt unnecessary to note speech
for a dire need of trust once kept now lost,
they who kept the tongue in the mouth
but not the cranium to be over-invasive
of the complexity of the brain as kept lightning
bolt as rhythm of heart
who didn't invent psychology placebo due
to the over-complication of sponge tissue...
who said trust and honour and have rather died
than politicise into old age...
who then honourable of the conquered?
only virgins peasants and old men of the crippled senate?
of what was said, as much was unsaid.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
Why not death take me soon
To a heaven or hell
Believe being happy there
Rather than being in this world
In need of peace of mind
In a space of different world
Fed up of family and friends
Utilising and criticising
Eyes are dry and no more tears to fill
Aching mouth with a faking smile
No more energy to travel so long
With these bags of burden so strong
Enough is enough of all these wounds
Wish to live without scars
No swelling,bleeding and chopping off
Why not death take me soon ?
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
Beauty is a blessing and a curse
For both you and I
Whenever I see you utilising your curse
I can only sit and comply
I can become so distracted by your blessing
That I can't unfix my eyes
When I see your entire blessing
I feel the need to have you in my life
Beauty is a curse to me
It is my weakness
It takes over everything within me
Then all I see is your evoking bliss
It is a catalyst to my thoughts and actions,
But negatively effects my loyalty
Then my actions lead to insanity
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
Pain! Oh Pain!
What bitter pain,
Or rather what sweet pain.
Needed, I hear it is
Never meant to cease
Grooming me to be
Whatever future I see
Utilising my fears
Despising my tears
Is there no end?
But a little twist and a bend
Remind me of my foe
That seeks my goal
I have to endure
For wisdom and time have agreed
"Without Pain, comes no Gain."
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
utilising 1990's Britpop,
you made thinking so *******
illegal, so n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah,
making thinking so illegal
never felt so gooey...
so ** h'ah! the charmless man...
never thought making thinking was
ever so illegal, till now;
sure, please tell me you were
forever considering being attired
with a halo.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
mild no. 8901 i really enjoyed...
difficult no. 8902?
made one mistake... pretended to do
a crossword by filling in two squares
in complete black...
was the mild no. wholly relaxing?
i guess you enjoy something if you take
a long time to keep being
engaged in it...
i just wanted to reveal some sort
of conceptualisation of the tactics...
e.g. III ≠ II = I.
and it can really seem
as an autism doing these puzzles...
akin to understanding symbols
+ // | Γ L;
you're basically belzeebub eyed darting crazy...
thankfully my grandfather proved
the point that he can solve crosswords,
and i can do these.
i'm not competing, i'm no *******
samurai equivalent with these,
i don't have an ideogram capacity
of some asia... i just translate the "complex"
asian ideogram as gypsy: cha chi chong chew;
but it's the concept of sitting on a leather sofa
and doing a mild su doku for half an hour
while drinking *****
but the following symbols used?
that's the level at which i decipher the puzzles;
jokingly 6 9 also helps...
reading into the patterns so does 3 and ʒ...
who the hell reads mirage while
encoding it as /mᵻˈrɑːʒ/, when all you need is
the diacritic ż.... to either write: me-raż... or
akin to yen: mī-rāƶ:
****** wanna play? let's play!
let's play it: daddy **** me long time in thai.
all the bankers that retired from the game
walk these streets with dogs and feel lonely...
yep, and i'm feeling "lonely"
with linguistic alternations;
i'm going to down this ***** sharpshooter,
and probably feel less lonely by turning arrogant
into utilising an empty space / canvas.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC
Passing through my veins
Power like electric current
Reaching my head and
Pricking like sharp nails
Vision of lights twirls
Pulling me deep into it
Black designs of shadows
In front of my eyes
Making my vision so weak
Artists of the main drama
Problems,issues and tensions
Dancing on my head of floor
Stamping so strong and
Utilising the full stage
Of my body till toe
Trying hard to stop them
And pull them out of my head
With the help of a pillow
Turning left and right
Defending them like a
Princess from an evil witch
Lost all my strength within
Surrendering them my
My, sleepless nights !
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
*you only assimilate with what you care to retain, you retain nil, when you assimilate nil... meaning you turn toward white-boy masochism, but white-boy never taught your masochism... me? i know that i assimilate with, as i known what i retain to be worth being upkept... and leveraged toward a "loss". you only assimilate with that you care to lessen but at the same time keep as a "loss"; you retain nil, when you assimilate nil, but more abhorrent in retaining an origin, is very much asiatic, pakistani, the anglo-saxons were once, and never will be, anglo-indians... the most racist sons-of-goats akin to the arab closure on a curse to be worth minding... calls us vermin... no wonder my aversive vocab... ask a camel to spit at a donkey with these ******* some are anglo-eire-indian and think they're speaking einstein english when actually speaking your local rancid john of 'ackney... wankers can't even get a hard-on to **** one off solo. what? it's personal! you want a jerky-chicken-sauce-diablo to "mind the affairs" of a undeliberate "concern"? paki-hackney, sons of ******* are so ******* arrogant you almost wish to apply some sort of aversion to circumcision utilising their **** twist one ****** of flesh out of the enclosure, and then trim the bits... only an anglo-paki would call a pole vermin... so? here comes, the party!*
your attempt
at an "education",
is worth my response;
that's catholicism
minus the paedo paedo 'edo 'edo;
luckily enough;
thanks for not
teaching me any concern
for latin...
rather: the ethics
of being concerned with
abortion, aged 16...
or sniffing glue aged 13...
i'd let you off had you
managed to teach me latin...
but no... you're about as catholic
as, ******* maradona;
you know what's worse
in england than the finicky fake
englishness?
alpha maling celtic...
they actually think
the lowest of the lowest accepted rank
in their societal format is
actually king...
most notable in the region
of the gael, who doesn't possess the
intelligence for bilingualism,
too busy playing video games,
too stupid in attempting to
write a book,
twice the handyman
in attempts to learn his native
labhair -
his caint -
****** don't
teach me a "proper" within
the domains of a language:
that isn't either yours, as it isn't mine!
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC