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Bus Poet Stop Jun 2018
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-Job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
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
ethan gaskill Jan 25
everybody worships something
and i'm slowly gaining faith
without you everything'd be nothing
i'll hold your hands like a rosary
and someday we'll meet at the end of an aisle
while the air rings with the sound of bells
i go to heaven every time that i see you smile
so i'm okay with walking right through hell

some people call them 'imperfections'
but i they're the things i love the most
because they're the things that make you different
the border between stone and gold
Julian Sep 2016
webbdoodle: decline of kinesiology because of technology
twatterclap: frustration with writing
grangull: witty yet naïve
dormitage: finding the best AirBnB and roommate
wayspaying: reckless neutering of men by feminism
wartle: a slow war by a pathetic guerilla enemy
tranception: communication of souls in eternity
rittle: a mind-teaser for dumb people
Minkumpf: a book on animal genocide
pregromanging: predictive programming about cool fashions in the future
Shilluminatus: a fake illuminati person
Ralphiesque: Someone on the wrong side of history
cognoscenti: real illumination
whasper: Ghostly contact with ghouls
frimple: folding your clothese every day
Treecheese: money to be made in preserving rainforests
tattermedalion: pretended poor person that lives in poverty to disguise his wealth
flocksturr: focuses on avionics of top secret craft
panejectifron: time-travelers exiting their cars
pancledes: time travlers that can be identified
covertthow: an attempt by spies to gain more power
martle: someone too slow to survive on mars
marstion: foothold on habitable planet
wibble-wabble: tergiversation in high pressure situations
flipsquire:99th percentile IQ
frankquibber: 98th percentile IQ
cloveryield: the earnings of luck on aleatory circumstance
actsequlade: quaint TV sitcoms
gimply: with a great gait
fourteenfive:genius level intelligence
qwence: the place for elite people to congregate
Bilderberg: the crownpiece of kapstone paper that selects comfort lazily based on nepotism that worships enough owls until the decided date and that foists roosters to meet with clement (exceptionally) and inclement fate
frohemian: black hipsters
Effrogallant: Bold non-linear flirtation
Sart: coffin for poor people
Ralsk: secret underground subway system
riniguss: landlocked prosperity
tryme: corruption in court for poor people
whyern: beginning of stardom
marzarratea: Ghoulish time-travelers who talk too often
Awgrudge: underwhelming emotional reaction
Virtualasis: long-distance non-physical romance
wikken: genocide of sentient but stupid humans
qwask: infiltrate the untouchables
rijuice: A preordained outcome of an important game
Lagonagria: The uncertainty of scores even with prophetic insight
wopper: someone who is permanently oppressed
axile: carefully being cut or carved
pruke: ***** that comes from nausea that is forced
pluke: excessive absorption of new knowledge
ghallitosis: Fear of the unknown in time-travel
jimpster: a contactee by liaison with time travelers
sessomotto: rocketship
whilded: anticipation of death (thanatopsis)
praken: Aeolian winds of mythical divinity
mustreacle: expectations that are unrealistic that ruins lives
klangquant: making enemies of the aristocracy
pyer: effigy of a dead person bearing no blood
crabwhisker: when two people have such different associations they have no emotional propinquity and therefore can't relate to each other
prull it: implode a building
wetringle: droplets of vaginal fluid
cravvel: people with VD that pretend celibacy
revdection: the art of inventing new words to gain an advantage
New English Words
ryn Jul 2014
The dreamer is breathless as he clutches his chest
These feelings amuck inexplicable at its best
Managing a gasp and finally drawing his air
Never thought it possible, these feelings he'd share.

It's been long since he'd last uttered the deal breaker
Expecting hate and regret, yet receiving love so tender
It softens him so, lifting him way up high
It blinded him so, fighting it he never did try.

On swift magical wings, down to him she had swooped
With kind loving hands, his time-worn body she adoringly scooped
Into her warm comforting chest, the dreamer would retreat
He finds comfort in a sound; the rhythm of her heart beat.

Chest to chest, soul to soul, their hearts beat as one
He looks up teary eyed, he looks up at his sun
She gazes upon him like she's known him forever
He stares up at her and says, "There can be no other".

Together they took flight to destinations unknown
Their love they would want, to carve immortal into stone
They had cared not for the whims of the universe
Submerged themselves deep in love's sweet murmurs.

This thing in his chest badly wants to sing
Of words so sweet, of melodies so endearing
It wants to say true words of praise
Whisper promises of an Eden-like place.

The dreamer worships his sun as he'd found his dream
Dreams of rolling meadows and night's silvery moonbeam
He whispered of feelings that he believed to be his
He presented them to her as she's the only one he sees.

I am the dreamer who never truly wants to wake
Hopeful of a life that this dream could possibly make
I still am the dreamer who believes it'll all come true
I am the silly little dreamer who's madly in love with you.
Deborah Downes Sep 2016
Fever-flushed children and
Broken bodies
Litter hospital halls like so much
Human refuse
….Wondering why
their need for care is treated so tepidly by a
Society which worships
Profits
Power and
Prestige
….Waiting while
they wallow in anguish as
Privacy
Paperwork and
Payment are
Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles
….Wanting to be refreshed and
restored to some measure of usefulness
….But
Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for  
Silence
Acceptance and
Despair

Huddling for warmth and in
Fear of discovery
they assemble in rag-tag formation
having scaled formidable fences
Seeking freedom from
Poverty and oppression
Searching for work of any sort
….No matter how
Humiliating or
Hard
….No matter the
Cost or
Conditions
Disparaged and despised they labor
in hope that their children will have a chance for success
instead of suffering a similar fate
…..But
Free to Pursue Liberty
in a land where their presence is
Ignored if not Denied

Unkempt in camouflage
One-legged and
Vacant-eyed
he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort
displaying cardboard sign
childishly scripted
in one weather-worn and gnarled hand
while clutching a decapitated jug in the other
Forgotten
Forlorn, and
Discarded veteran
Victimized far more by country than foe
….But
Free to Pursue Happiness while
Begging on street corners as
Upright citizens dispense
Unwelcome opinions or
Pocket change with equal
Self-righteousness


Life
Liberty and the
Pursuit of happiness….
Ideals that slowly incinerate on the
Altar of Capitalism
….Songs forever lost in the
Cacophony now
Played on the
Instrument of Politics
Advent Aug 25
what are love letters for if permanent ink
doesn't entail candor
nor draws sight of the future?
but only the mere fleeting moment
of when the letter was composed?

what are love letters for if
metaphors don't suffice
and mind you,
words aren't her weakness,
despite

what are love letters for if
timely are feelings
flickery and
always changing
but never ices an ending

it's nothing but a sonata of promises
vows, and oaths
of I love yous
and gorgeous penmanship

of lads desperate
for love
that worships

―a.t.
Eryri Mar 6
A child assumes adults' superiority
Hero worships older members of the family
Absorbs opinions overheard over teas and coffees
And tries them on for size at school
Just as he might sneakily try on an Uncle's cool leather jacket
- comforting, macho and confidence-giving -
But he eventually outgrows the jacket
Casts aside those learnt opinions;
Tough, stubborn opinions
With rugged exteriors
And lined with silken narratives
That, thankfully, perished over time.
Daniel Ruiz Oct 2018
one night i went to sleep thinking of you,
my body became a church,
your thought the holy spirit,
me sleeping was just,
finding new ways to hold your hips,
and smell your hair,

But it all just disperse in thin air
as i wake up,
and find out it was just a dream.
maybe a nightmare,
a blessing, sometimes a curse

i let out a small sigh,
as i step up from my bed,
and fall to the ground,
wishing i fell from a ten story building,

I'm bleeding now,
I've tried to destroy this temple,
that worships you,
but no matter how hard i hit,
no matter how fast i try to run and escape.

the only way to forget you,
it's to letting go of the keys
that open to those memories,
that the thought of you bring.
guy scutellaro Aug 2018
(Bob O'Malley's wedding  reception part two)


She has make up on and her face looks pretty. Kathleen blows out the match and looks up.

"Hello Kate," Jack says and sits down.

"My name isn't Kate. It's Kathleen." The bourbon makes Kathleen feel confident. "Hello, Dell," She says mockingly. "You know Sue worships your ***. She just loves to call you, Dell. She thinks Dell is such a **** name." Kathleen takes a last drag on her cigarette and rubs it out in the ash tray. What should I call you?"

"How about, Darling?"

She looks up from the whiskey glass she is fondling in her slim hands. "Hello, Jack, Darling." Her soft, deep voice whispers accenting his name and the word, Darlin.

Kathleen crosses her legs and the black dress rides up to the middle of her thigh.

Jack glances at the milky white flesh between the blue ***** hose and the hem of her dress. She is drunk, but Dell does not care. He leans forward. "Do you wanna dance?"

"But no one else is dancing."

"Well, we could go to the beach and walk along the sand."

"It's 20 degrees out there." She takes the the glass and swallows the last of the whiskey. "We'll freeze."

"I'll keep you warm."

In the other room the kitchen door swings open as Paul Keater and Bob O'Malley come rushing out, talking, laughing and rubbing their noses.

"Come let's dance." says Kathleen.

Jack stands up and takes her hand. She rises and as he draws her close her ******* flatten out against his chest. Jack feels her heart thumping.

Across the smoke filled crowded room, the bride is cutting the wedding cake. "That's a beautiful wedding gown." Kathleen tells Jack as he moves her around the ***** floor in and out of the circles of light cast by the overhead lamps. " Theresa looks beautiful."

"So do you." Jack holds her tighter.

"Do you really think so?" Kathleen is flattered. She is perpetually surprised if some one thinks she is pretty.

"I do," He says with sincerity.

She rests her head on Delleto's shoulder. The man with the bruised face disturbs Kathleen.

Most men like to talk about themselves. They have a need to tell what they own or what they can do well. They need to impress and when Kathleen is with one of her men he genuinely awes her.

Lifting her head off of his shoulder, "Does your face hurt?"

"Only when I laugh or cry," he says as he moves Kathleen in and out of the circles of light.

"Jack Delleto has anyone ever told you, your a strange man?"

"Just my mother."

"Did you win?"

"What does it matter? Sometimes tryin is more important. Not giving up. "

"you lost."

"Yeah."

" Kate, what's important to you?"

Kathleen raises her head off of his shoulder to look up at him. "I don't want to depend on welfare and other people and I want to send my son to college. But most of all I want a home." She rests her cheek against his. I lived in foster homes all my life and I always knew one day I'd have to leave.

"Do you know the difference between a house and a home."

Jack thinks for a moment, "No, I' don't."

And her voice is a roaring whisper in his ear.

"LOVE."

The song comes to an end. Kathleen takes a cigarette from the pack on the table and puts it to her lips.

Jack strikes a match and the light flickers in her eyes. "Maybe, sometimes you'll tell me about your home."

"Do you want me too?" She leans forward and puts the cigarette to the flame.

"Yeah." Jack shakes out the match.

(to be continued)
Jacob Ciciora Apr 22
I cite the whiskey in my glass;
It be the only witness I'll allow.

I shield my actions from God and devil alike;
May it be a double, or a line of white.

For this sinner does not want pitty;
Nor would I beg for redemption.

I drown any notion of salvation;
With burning spirits at my lips.

This sinner worships only his shortcomings;
For this sinner knows the truth.
Eloisa Jul 5
She bathes in the sun’s blazing rays,
still confused of what she is
She glides passionately as the moon goddess guides her shadow
She is intense, powerful, and radiant as the sun, yet playful, delicate, and precious as the moon
She adores her sun as it makes her ready to face her exciting days
Yet she worships her moon as it makes her strong to battle her cold,  lonesome, and lengthy nights
She is soft yet she has strength,
she’s fragile yet she’s tough
Her sun is her compass but her moon is her light
She has her sun, she has her moon
She then remembers, she is a bud ready to bloom
Saraphina Dec 2018
You'd be shocked to know that I call my nightmares dreams
Because to me, the nightmares are all I see
The fire and brimstone is to me, my hearth
and when I was handed that pomegranate there was no hesitation in that first bite
The cold souls huddle on the shore pressing close
I, the mother of these ghosts, stand with arms extended to hold them in my icy embrace
Did you hear of how Hades took me and made me his own?
Homer would never tell of how I went looking for the shadows, and how the King of the Underworld spurned me at first
until he learned to fear me,
then love me
Earth was dull and soft, when all I craved was edges and a sharpness only matched by my wit
It is no mistake that my name means to destroy, and my blade wields judgement
So those demons you fear, the ones named Hades and Cerberus?
Do not fear them, for men are predictable and they were cast into darkness with no choice.  
Fear the Queen of the dead, fear the one who craved the darkness. The one who chose claws over flowers and ice over sage.
The demons are mine,
and the Lord of the Dead, he worships the havoc I create.
Apdoul Baron Apr 4
I'm a creep and I'm a ******
they all say so

because I always have a book in my face
because my thoughts aren't controlled by second head
because I'm black so can I be a metalhead

I'm a creep and I'm a ******
they all say so

because my humor is dark
because I let my natural hair grow free
because I don't fit in their little box

But honestly,
I think they're the creeps

They are the ones afraid to be themselves
They are the ones who worships corporate Machines
They are the ones who life is controlled by what others think

But whatever,
Yeah I an creep and I'm a ******
all the other weirdos say so
I wrote in a very teuvvling time in my life, I was still trying discover and find myself, I've had time to grown and fully embraced this part if myself, and I just wanted to share it
Micheal Jan 3
Unity seems so far away.
For one reason or another we choose to remain at odds with each other.
Hatred a scar that can seemingly not be healed.
A cancer with so many different causes a cure is impossible.

The race into which one is born has long been a cause for disdain.
Why can something uncontrollable cause a person so much pain?
Generations raised to bear prejudice.
To this day it is for that cause that many still die.

Next to, or rather above lies higher power.
The god or gods one worships has led to many a war.
All believing the others are wrong, none choosing the path of acceptance.
Destined for hell are we all if this pattern continues.

Ironic is hating someone because of who they choose to love.
Yet this reason for hatred is more prevalent than ever.
Even if we all loved the same way it would still be subjective.
Futile as it is, we still choose to squabble over it.

These vices keep us from harmony.
Until we can get past these, division shall persist.
Ylzm Apr 2
Small nations? Who cares!
Unless you're Israel. Who else?

Why spy and steal
Just slam the steel
Gift in hand, suggests
Your daughter - or son - or else?

Small nations
petty thieves
spy, steal from
small nations.

Big Boys see and laugh
All of mine is yours
If you worship us
You'll be one of us.

But Big Boy wannabe
China, will never be;
Splurged fake money by the ton
But none worships Dragon's son.

— The End —