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LexiSully Apr 2016
Do you see me, staring, holding my heart in my outstretched hands?

Do you hear me, whispering, voicing my feelings into your covered ears?

Do you feel me, grazing, brushing my fingertips across your fist?

Do you realize that I'm falling, whirling, tumbling head over heals, or are you immune to love's blindness?
I put myself out there, now just don't leave me hanging.
Eroshu Homaj Feb 2018
What is the sound of disquiet?
Is not the sea, an Ocean of Man?
What so is Sight that it keeps an Eye lit?
How must it be, that Omen, and so seen, I've wept?

What is a wave but a grave state of being?
What is it's ebb, but so the short sight of seeing?
What is a wave but a voicing Turmoil of the Sea?
And is not the Sea but an Ocean of Man?
Michael Mar 8
The Christmas before my sixteenth birthday at Arbofriend, and being herded into the rafters to sing Good King Wenceslas for the entertainment of the senior division. I am not at all bitter about my memories, however:

Come, Christmas day rejoicing
We're in the rafters voicing
The words that children love to hear
While down below they laugh then jeer
And memory says that no one cared
No one cared at all.
Iskra Aug 2018
As silence settles, and a kingdom of faint bronze on haunting ebony appears,
A scrawny lion spins a broken record in my ringing ear.

Weighted walnuts, or perhaps slow bullets, strike just below the spot where my ribs meet:
Mental hiccups.
Sentencing the calm to its defeat.

Then they come,
Crashing over my skin in icy waves,
Like ghostly spiders, leave raised footprints in their hurried wake.

Imagined strings lifting my hand towards the pin or blade,
Weightless ropes pulling my steps closer to the precipice.
The lazy, stilling terror in my stomach providing just enough weight
To keep me frozen in place.

They wrench open the doors protecting peace,
Obliterate the floodgates of my internal screams,
Marching in with their roiling hellhounds, uninvited,
Chanting horrid songs, voicing their desires, unrequited.

Over and over, their wretched requests bring horrific imagery about,
When they finally subside, taking with them prowling demons and low growls,
They neglect to close the door on their way out.
Philipp K J Mar 20
Rapt with flowing sunlight glow
That sink my heart through eyes and ears
Lives thrive around and overflow
That throb my heart with red hot tears

Butterflies move in bouncing dance
By grassland, trees and floral beds
Air is filled with voicing glance
Of warblers chirps of humming birds

The distance fades the traffic noise
Baniyan trees too absorb it
Guardian trees watch photo shoot
Of laughing plants in bridal  poise

I stop my walk at this corner
Keeping pace with mirth in heart
Look around for the saint author
Who pens and performs this live art.

Thou art the art invisible
Thou art the voicing decibel
Thou art the soothing tangible
Thou art unimaginable!
Yenson Sep 2018
Let me write of simply nothing
Like nothing is simply something
What presents uncouth bargain conceit
Nothing but simply nothing for something
A frolic in pretense dancing a tango with deceit
Hoping the veil covers a waiting twin never far away
for the ego is fragile and the two-steps lays paths uneasy

In for a twirl not in for a pound
Skipping from a hot post to the pillar
Pleasure no pleasure just a dance of chances
Attention to fill empty parades and voices to share
Fulfillment not in the count but numbers will tell tales
In shallowness emptiness is filled by many cups atimes
yet something troubles for nothing is nothing for something

Be still the rages of nothing
Unheard yet loudly voicing  something
Felt deeper in sane paths a call to find a home
The weary traveler know the nomad walk still yearns
But the faces of past just a past of something here and gone
A virtuoso without the the armor to rise and take a low bow
lacking the grace of a curtsy or something akin to I'm truly sorry
Rei Coman Dec 2018
December 12th, 2018: For K B D

I remember the exact instant I knew
that I had surrendered my heart;
when your eyes drifted towards the floor
and off to the side,
shyly voicing your love for me.

I remember every sensation:
the dim sounds of a party
two doors down, the light from the hall
timidly peaking in under the doorway,
the zippers of your sweatshirt
a rough contrast with the soft warmth
of your bewitching body.

I remember our joyous union
as you pressed your mouth into mine
for the first time, as if our souls
embraced and kissed with our bodies.
Never before had I felt
so close to another human being,
never before had I felt such bliss,
such rapture, as I did
that night in your arms.

Now, every time we kiss under the stars,
every time you look up into my eyes
and tell me that you love me,
that moment reoccurs:
As if somewhere,
beyond time,
beyond space,
beyond forgetting
and beyond remembering,
our souls remain
locked in an eternal first kiss,
joined together in a passion unbroken
and untouched by our humanity.
Terry O'Leary Jan 19
.             <Well, ShallowMan’s ne’er at a loss>
              <for voicing shallow thoughts that gloss.>
              <With trenchant wit he reaps the dross>
              <when seeking sense in applesauce.>

              <But to his aid flies FactoidMan>
              <who always has a Fact at hand;>
              <with him, who needs a whether-man>
              <to answer “if?” or “but?” or “and?”?>

“Oh ShallowMan, let me explain
the Facts of life to you, so plain,
yet flush with truthful thoughts arcane.
When understood, you won’t maintain
that callowness you think urbane.”

                              “Oh FactoidMan, give benedictions,
                              save me from all contradictions
                              with your knowledge, no restrictions
                              finding Facts, avoiding fictions.”

“Well, when in doubt, you always may
request my help to find your way
through shades of black and white and gray,
and from the Facts you’ll never stray.
Yes, ShallowMan, I’ll make your day.”

                              “Since yesteryear I’ve wondered why
                              I’m served a piece of humble pie
                              whene’er attempting to descry
                              just what’s a Fact, and what’s a lie,
                              and which be Facts one can’t deny.
                              With candor, can you edify
                              me with some recondite reply?”

“Well, as you know, my Facts are Facts
which naught nor nothing counteracts
and things that do, mere artifacts
in dim myopic cataracts.”

“A lie’s a thing which disagrees
with Facts I utter, if you please,
and hides the forest from the trees
ignoring all my verities.”

“And this reminds me of my youth,
with axioms defined as truth
which I selected as a sleuth
(abetted by a sweet vermouth);
I being now so long of tooth,
to contradict me’s hardly couth.”

                              “That certainly helps me clarify
                              whom I can trust: yeah, you’re the guy!  
                              Now, furthermore I’ve wondered why
                              the moon can’t fall and clouds can fly.  
                              What’s called that law those facts defy?
                              And mightn’t I just give a try
                              to make a guess to verify?”

“If you link your facts to law
(ah, please excuse a gruff guffaw)
you’ll certainly flaunt a flimsy flaw
that strains belief and breaks the straw
of what you’ve heard and thought you saw.
(I‘ll leave you with some bones to gnaw
that leave you holding me in awe
when once you’ve grasped and gasped ‘aha’).
So tell me now your ideas, raw,
but keep it short, your blah, blah, blah.”

                              “Umm, could it be just gravity
                              (well, something like a theory
                              that some call Relativity)
                              which pulls the apple from the tree
                              and puts a strain upon my knee;
                              or is that fact absurdity?”

“Ahem, a theory’s just a theory,
not a Fact, it’s all so eerie,
something which should make you leery
as explained until I’m weary.”

                              “If Relativity’s a theory,
                              and a theory’s not a Fact,
                              is it a fiction I can query
                              when I’m falling, ere I’m whacked?”

“Though theories might be based on Fact,
a theory is, in fact, not backed
by any cause, effect or act
which might be salvaged when attacked.
For you, this Fact may seem abstract,
plumb depths where shallow thoughts distract.”

“Yes, what goes up must soon come down
is quite a Fact of world renown.
But theory’s just a heathen gown
to deck the naked King in town,
and when he falls, he breaks his crown
which leaves him wearing but a frown.”

“It surely should be obvious,
the property of Heaviness
(like Godliness and Heaven-ness)
defines the cosmic edifice,
refuting Newton’s flakiness
and Einstein’s spooky emphasis  
on space-time’s 4-D flimsiness.
Yes, Facts like these are copious
(I count them with my abacus);
to argue would be blasphemous
displaying mental barrenness
about the push and pulling stress
when bouncing ***** rebound, unless
one views elastic laziness
as evil Satan’s stubbornness.”

                              “Well now I think I understand,
                              that gravity seems somewhat grand,
                              but’s just, in fact, a rubber band
                              that stretches through our earth-bound-land
                              constricting us when we expand.”

“Yes, ShallowMan, you finally got it,
just as I’ve long preached and taught it.
I’m so happy that you’ve bought it.
(Not a question nor an audit -
you’re so shallow, who’d have thought it?)”

              <Once ShallowMan dipped into science>
              <seeking FactoidMan’s alliance>
              <gaining, hence, a strong reliance>
              <on the Facts and their appliance,>
              <justifying strong compliance,>
              <turning down those in defiance.>

                              “Hey, FactoidMan, another topic
                              leaves me reeling, gyroscopic,
                              dealing with the microscopic
                              in a world kaleidoscopic.”

                              “Within the realm of vacuum loops
                              Dark Energy in quantum soups
                              of anti-matter sometimes swoops
                              across inflation’s Big Bang stoops
                              where space-time ends and matter droops.
                              Do you believe, or just the dupes?

“It’s nothing but a passing phase,
(a theory that in fact betrays
obscure occult communiqués
that fevered fantasy conveys)
of those who thump creation days.
Just check! The vacuum state portrays
perfection in your shallow ways
reflected in that vacant gaze
you cast upon the dossiers
of all my Facts that so amaze.”

                              “And what about the quantum theory?
                              Particles not hard but smeary,
                              just like waves? It’s kinda eerie!
                              Facts could not be quite so bleary
                              leaving Bohr, well, sad and teary.
                              FactoidMan, just tell me, dearie,
                              what the Facts are, bright or dreary.”

                              “And then again what are those holes
                              (as black as ravens bathed in coals)
                              wherein the past and future strolls
                              exploiting fields that Higgs controls
                              beneath the shady shallow shoals
                              between magnetic monopoles.”

“The science lab’s a ‘fact’ory
concocting stuff that cannot be
(like unknown realms and notably
those tiny things NoMan can see
with naked eye on bended knee
neath microscopic scrutiny)
and claim they’ve found reality;
they call their god a ‘Theo’ry
(a fig-ment of the Yum-Yum tree)
that leads them to hyperbole
about the singularity
that’s dipped in dazed duplicity
denying all eternity.”

“Here’s my advice that seems to work:
ignore the ones with ‘facts’ that lurk
behind their ‘proofs’ (which always irk),
and being challenged have the quirk
of stepping back within the murk
(indulged, I chuckle, smile or smirk).”

              <Now ShallowMan is quite content>
              <receiving FactoidMan’s consent>
              <to quibble and express dissent>
              <as long as keeping covenant>
              <with fingers crossed and belfry bent>
              <when viewing Facts in sealed cement:>

                               “The Facts you give me circumvent
                               those ‘truths’ your chuckles supplement;
                               although they might disorient
                               they can’t be wrong, I won’t dissent,
                               just using ones which you invent.“
“(No need of source in that event).”

                               “Your wise advice is simply sound
                               in cases where a game is bound
                               to parcel points out round by round
                               or else on verbal battleground
                              where know-it-alls are duly crowned.”

              <Though ShallowMan is kinda slow>
              <he still takes time to learn and throw>
              <his facts and theories to and fro,>
              <amazing facts which seem to show>
              <that theories sometimes come and go,>
              <returning strengthened with the glow>
              <of new found facts (for which to crow)>
              <that fill the gaps of long ago.>

                               “Oh FactoidMan, just tip your cap!
                               I’ve found a piece to fill the gap
                               that simplifies a mouse’s trap:
                               if triggerless, it still will clap
                               to give the mouse a mighty zap
                               that makes its tiny back bone snap.”

                               “With mousetrap type simplexity,
                               reducible complexity
                               helps arguments’ duplexity
                               with twists of crude convexity.”

“Ha-ha! That serves to prove my case:
for each gap filled, two in its place,
each growing at the doubled pace;
for unfilled gaps, I’m saying grace
(they help, indeed, for saving face)
Trying to get out of neutral....
don't know whether I'm in first or reverse...
OnwardFlame Jan 19
There was a little dollhaus

I entered into it with no perception of what stood within.

A girl I never really met lived there, she tried to live there with you
But I think her bags were always partially packed
Because you told her to.

I entered in
My doll limbs not doll-like at all
I quickly took up all the space
My lean arms and legs
Filling and pulling
Piling out of the windows
The staircase
The doors.

Neither of you acknowledged that you had little room
To still attempt to live
But yet you had me stay
Even in all my voicing
Of uncomfortability
You always tried to bring me pillows
Little ways to make me keep taking up space
So that I'd stay.

Those half packed bags became fully packed
I made myself an enemy without even knowing it
I made myself an enemy while doing nothing
But unknowingly
Taking up space
Because I felt I deserved to.

You threw her out of the house
It was then just you and me
At first it seemed things might be better now
It seemed like at long last
Maybe this was where it was always supposed to lead.

Over night
You decided that I was too similar in vibe
To the girl with her bags half packed
Not because of who I am, where I am
The maturity and self-possession I have
But just because I took up space in the dollhaus
And now must too, be banished.

So you
You packed your bags this time
With no warning
Zipping up your jacket
The sound of it repeating over and over in my mind
You were so conflicted
We'd spent much time
In this dollhaus.

Eventually you too,
Were gone.

I was left in the dollhaus alone
My arms, my legs, my insides
Piling up and out
Through the windows
Through the doors
With nothing left but wondering why?

Why me?

I'm still in the dollhaus
But I'm in here alone.

The emptiness is settling in
I knew when I moved in
And took up all this space
I kept my eyes, my ears, my lips
All of it clear.

So now that it's just me here
In the dollhaus
I think I'll just have to surrender.
Postal Leo Jan 31
Tries to disappear, to a world of drama. Shocks real people far to much, end that **** with a comma. Confused by reality, diluted by hate. Wasn't given a real chance, no no, just told he could be ******* great. And he talks big ****, and acts real hard, cause he's afraid of dying. But I'll bet you twenty-five and a subway ticket he spent all last night crying. You don't gotta talk mad, for me to believe that you can punch my lights out. If you talk big game, what can you really be all about. Nothing, and let me tell, there’s nothing to make me angrier, so thank Saint Peter, that your protected by the power’s that be, is, isn't, and forever will sing!

As the world ends, and the chess board clears, fat man sings, then chugs a few beers, I’ll still exist, left behind by the rapture. No heaven for me, God’s light will never be captured. Yet I look around, and still see all of you. Even his people, have no clue what to do. Because all of us are with fault, unworthy of his plan. So he’s remaking the flood, just to deal with man. No rainbow to stop him now, he’s to go all out. And in heaven he’ll stay alone, his personal hideout. For he threw the souls back down to earth, he grew tired of them, but ghosts aren't real, cause I've never seen one man. Just saw a vision of the woman, who was meant to be my wife, hung upside down, taken her own life.  

So, as we waste away my dear, let us promise to never leave the other's side. For I refuse to be responsible, for your acts of mass homicide. In a kiss we bind our tongues together, now able to determine truth from lie. And now, just like late Sir Montague, I drink the poison, die. And then reach for the sky, see a man in blue, don't want to die. So scared of getting shot, it makes some grown men cry. Am I part of the system, of “systematic oppression”? I hope that it doesn't exist, and my kids learn the lesson. For it’s to late for me, i'm all out of ideas, and hope, and love, and anything to keep the world moving.

Tell my father, I'm sorry, I was disappointing. But let him know, he has a soul, worthy of voicing. Tell my brothers i'm sorry for being a bully. Making them backed in a corner, make em tumble down a gully. Dear sister, im sorry, i never understood our fights. Two top dogs always trying to say their right. If i, could turn back the clock i would. Because together, we could have owned the block, the entire neighborhood. And mom, we have had many a word. But i feel pride to call you mother, the same a gnat would a bird. And I all hope that you accept the one i choose. But I think still lose.

The world becomes unfamiliar, and i become filled with doubt. Not knowing who i truly am, something you know nothing about. When it all becomes against you, and your completely filled with fear, you begin to lose hold of everyone you hold dear. Then maybe you'll have an inkingling of what it’s like to be me, alone, afraid, all hope is lost, and you would make it better, at any cost. It’s just called emotional distress, and i'm under complete emotional duress.How can you find me this way? Acting like i got drunk, without a party underway. If I’m so lost without you, what's the point of sobering up? I think have nightmares of you, because your the reason i end up at the bottom, of a red solo cup. But in my nightmare’s there's a light that begins to destroy the darkness. Does it have a name? Is it coming for my carcas? Am i even of importance, to it’s omnipotence?

How does one even discern the inconceivable mass that is knowing all, being all knowing, rather, not being free, and never again having the chance to learn anything. It’s a, sad state of affairs that we’re in, when you have nothing else to live for expect living itself. Breathe. What does it mean? H20, science terms, and a few other things. But if you bridge away from your omnipotence, and look into the human mind, you’ll find, breath, means to live, live fast, strong, hard, and quickly. And that’s something omnipotence would never get you. Human emotion is far too complex to ever truly understand. Therapists, they make what we call, educated guesses, and listen to you speak to find the root of your problem, but beyond that….
I got a bit heated with this one, i suppose. Please suggest tags. Feel like this is one i want to update, so, look out for that.
Leeroj05 Feb 15
Some words are meant to be unsaid
Rather than say it and have some regrets.
Some words are meant to be forgotten,
than voicing it out and leave one's heart broken.

Being silent doesn't mean that there's none left to say.
But sometimes words aren't enough to make somebody stay.
There are countless of reasons why people chose to mum.
But it did'nt mean that their hearts have turned numb.

If only words have no meaning
Or the heart is just deaf
Then maybe, just maybe
No more tears will be shed
But the words could cut deep
And leave a wound open
So better keep it inside
And let it unspoken...
Ormond Jan 12


Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”
Bryce May 13
Standing upon these novel halls
The man, waiting
Seeks temperance and a kindness from God

He says,

"Give to me the gift of your knowledge and I will smite your enemy--rebuild the garden and replace those fruits long lost"

And his request echoes impotent through a voiceless hall

He cries, wails, churns and smashes
his dirtied knuckles on the walls

He yells, buckles, whines and sputters
Choked and lost in miserable,

The flanking rooms locked and dark
With constant voicing, gently call

"Who upon ye has the gall,
to name me Father"

And he is quiet.


In Moscow the Siberian fall grips the air
A wandering Dostoyevsky speaks in exhalations to the crack of gunshot in the dawn

A brief tightening of callous rope around his dry poetic throat

And at once his words sought to cull
the exquisite embers of furious retort

And he is silent.


The kindness of a failing city-state
Conveyed on the precipice of a bay
Jack teethed his frantic dharmas
And said to Them,

"What terminus of road
Would ever serve my unwinding soul?"

And as his gut trembled a final thought,
His eyes turned skyward, above the clouds

Where it was silent.


Dorigen, repenting the patient shores of tranquil sea
Accusing the chalk of its blackened soul
Traces the subtle dance of gulls
As their drowning feathers face these ageless things
whysper'd deep upon the winds

And she is Silent.


Basho, with a wanderer's grin
In solumn steps between the grains
Shades the path of unfamiliar road
And every poem steeped within

Where clouds are soft, where crickets sing
Past warbling stream with cadence grim
The Dao, leading ever onward

Says to him,

"Like water, do I rain."


Milton, his misted eyes
No light to guide their failed sight
Trace an ancient knowing glance
To Crown, his subtle circumstance

No soul in life
could see the might
Who gave this man his funeral rites

And when his words fall deaf at last
On his forgotten time and wishful past

He will stare deep into an inky void
And see
The stars for what they are:

Light, dispersed between the dark.


In the waning tide of Cresent lune
Twilight casts a gentle hue
Below the hill the city glows
The Palatine, gold and new

The ides, with consequence they come
And with them carry the will be done
Augustus' silent retinue of one
Notes a sky of draining sun

For Rome claws at all of Gaia's *******
And from sea to mount and desert dune
Ancient Africa, nascent Gaul
To Rome, will they forever fall

In darkness, the Palatine shadow loomed
Over web of flame-lit avenue

For the roads all led to Rome that night
For one small moment God guessed right

Cesar's legions on the fields of Mars
Clashed swords and drank to their Centurions
As an Era waited to see the dawn
And new blood to baptize the marbled Columns

And in the farms
beyond Rome,
The shepherds walked their sheep to rest
Where families returned to their homes
With stories of the day's parades and jests

And in the time
Between the days
When Rome slept and the crickets mated
The world was cast in velvet night
Lighted solely by constellation

And in that moment
God became
Valsa George Dec 2018
Winter draws closer day by day,
Autumn leaves are around my feet
From far, is heard
The screeching of a lone bird,
Voicing its dismay aloud
Over the advancing fall

Here the moss scrawls
**** pictures on the bark of trees
Where black spiders weave their gossamer
Moving, sig sag across the trees’ leprous trunks
I see the yellowing leaves
Torn down from their sturdy limbs
Sliding down noiselessly one by one
And landing on the ground
With a mournful sound

Acorns from the pine trees drop
And swell the ground and fall to sleep

Life too takes a downward spiral
I feel the autumn seeping into me
And my heart feels a languid grief
The days of my youth
Seem to fly away in a flurry
Like autumn leaves whirling in the gale
Reminding us, that we are not here to stay

The withered leaves
Which shriek and screech under my feet
Recall to me the cry of martyred youth
And all tenacity overthrown
Like them, we too will fall and be dead to the world
Wrapped in frozen silence, forgotten by all
And ****** back into primal void!
i see elephants in your tone
honorary delegates to the symphony’s throne
violins voicing interludes that are attuned
to the watery worlds of young mermaids
who create splashing inversions upon musical modes
your composition sheets hold my soul in throes of solitude
resplendent hues on the emptiness of nocturnes, etudes and poems

— The End —