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Brent Kincaid Jul 2018
It ain’t like ahm a teacher ner nuthin.
Ahm jess a regular person, nothin spayshul
Ah ain’t no docterr of rocket science
Ahm jess a working guy, and kinda playful.
Ah half tah admit, ah do get things wrong
And sometahms ah can make a big mess
But ah do have minny, minny good points
And ahm a rilly good person, irregardless.

But things like writin’ readin’ and
Readin’ writin’ and sech lack that stuff
Ah stopped carin’ ‘bout at twelve
‘Cause ah found it more than kinda tuff.
Ah mean, it ain’t lack ah ain’t never
Gunna need to know reedickaluss stuff lie cat.
Ahm jess gunna graduate and then
Ah’ll go to work with Dad and drahve a bobcat.

Ain’t nobuddy needs algebra for that
Er fer workin’ at the factory line ever day either.
And it sher ain’t like ahm a teacher ner nuthin.
Ahm jess a regular person, nothin spayshul
Ah ain’t no docterr of rocket science
Ahm jess a working guy, and kinda playful.
Ah half tah admit, ah do get things wrong
And sometahms ah can make a big mess
But ah do have minny, minny good points
And ahm a rilly good person, irregardless.

But things like writin’ readin’ and
Grammer and other sech borin’ stuff
Ah stopped carin’ ‘bout at twelve
‘Cause ah found it more than kinda tuff.
Ah mean, it ain’t lack ah ain’t never
Gunna need to know reedickaluss stuff lie cat.
Ahm jess gunna graduate and then
Ah’ll go to work with Dad and drahve a bobcat.

Ain’t nobuddy needs algebra for that
Er fer workin’ on a factory line ever day either.
Ah sherr don’t need it to work digging
Er runnin’ sewer lahns er plummin’ pipes neither.
So, folks can jess give up on tryin’
To turn me into some kinda egghead scholar.
After all, it was good enough for my dad
To go to work, and work hard to earn a dollar.
Svetoslav Nov 2021
Let the night in, for I'll be writin' the letters of light in the air.
Our bodies pulsate by the notes of gentle symphonies, and we adhere.
Two elements shakin' and mergin' into one.

We are makin' it and cravin' for more of this addictive fun.
The moonlight rays reach the shapes of the furniture, movin' along with the temperature, increasin' with each movement.

Like desert diamonds, we will reflect in the pearly sun.
You will be the meadow that I will prefer and the lover within my arms to cover. Until amusement, let my cries give you inducement.

From the color of sulfate, this night is glowin' with universal sparks.
We both have bewitchin' feels for each other.
I am tastin' honey on the curves of her skin, and we embark on the hill.

The darkness is sailin' on the waves of our unity.
We stomp on a bed full of cherries, and the night stays still.
She feeds me with her tempting body, and I see her lucid thrills.

I climb on her high balconies, and I am one with the moon,
drinkin' from the passion of her milky skin.
Our hearts entwined. I attune from the voice of the raccoon.

Her body is femininity incarnated into a guitar. I play on her strings, listenin' to the music from noon until dawn, bound to our emotional devotion. Our irresistible pleasure is bowing to our connection.
Excerpt from my novel ''Last Occurrence''
Read it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09KF4DYMJ
Nathan Squiers Jul 2014
Look, I was gonna go easy on you not to hurt your feelings, but I’m only going to get this one chance!
Something’s wrong… I can feel it.
Just a feeling I got, like something’s about to happen… but I don’t know what.
If that means what I think it means, we’re in trouble—big trouble—and if he’s as bananas as you say I’m not taking any chances!

(You are just what the doc ordered)

I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They said I write like a monster, so call me scribe-star,
But for me to write like a beast means I’m a demon at least;
I got a devil kept in my pocket,
On my shoulder’s when I rock it.
Talkin’ of killin’ and of thrillin’; won’t stop it!
Write a demon doorway, now knock on it!
Ever since the dark days when I’d just lost it,
Way back when the world would pace and chant “Nutcase!”
I’m a ******, but I’m charming;
Yes, a crude, rude dude, but I’m still disarming.
Using syllables to **** ‘em all with this
empowering empire of powerful vampires.
The writer-type clackin’ back with typewriters, like way back, right?
Clackity-clack!
Rockin’ stack after stack, clackin’ out more attacks,
Ideas tacked out while hacks hack out their crap (but ******* spew **** all the time),
so I perform written parkour tricks so you’re not bored; strike a chord.
Show you Stryker’s tortured life of suicide ‘n strife turnin’
to strength and a fiery passion burnin’ while readers’ guts are churnin’—
teary eyes all burnin’.
Their fears are returnin’ from a story I turned out when I got turned on
to my own life.
Now I drop F-bombs;
exploding real-life scenes—
these ain’t your G-rated dreams, so take your outdated themes—
It’s the **** I’ve seen; don’t make me obscene.
I’m mean, I mean, it’s my means to screen a scene between a matte sheen.

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They ask me to thaw out these oily blocks called ink-wads, ink-wads.
There’s a body in everybody , but not all bodies have a brain that makes them feel sane.
Like a train—just the same—
Might be runnin’ but we still cast blame,
The loading docks of our thoughts; they’re locked-up in a box,
And they’re stackin’ up like blocks
That turn the stacks to empty tracks (****!)
Trainees blame their brainees when it’s not easy training brains, see?
But the boarding isn’t boring—training brains; not trading pains—
Remember: the station’s self-exploration!
Me? I’m a hodgepodge! From train station to abandoned lodge;
Bully dodgin’, fully locked-in when I freaked out, fattened-up and then I geeked out,
Told “keep it down” but then peaked when I peeked deep down.
Creepin’ up, now, and keepin’ up (WOW!)
I swear it up and tear it up scribbled swords,
And now I wear awards for slingin’ words;
Offered praise; a chance to forget about the craze that once darkened all my days,
But I write that way—say “that’s okay ‘cuz it helps me write this way—each and every day!
And hacks think I act this way just to seem this way, ‘til come the day when the cray-cray takes the doubt away.
Demon obsessed? I’m possessed! Can’t own what you don’t possess!
“Hey, devil-lookin’ boy!”
So ***** for my honey I’m rockin’ horns, look here boy!
A Literary Dark Mass-acre,
Like the devil laid waste to a church on the page, looker boy!
They got a gold star, and a high five,
Felt so alive to see their own scribes make it to Momma’s fridge, ****** boy!
Hey, schnook-ah boy, looky here, looker boy,
I’m held up by The Legion, book-it boy!
Had to push for every word—every page—had to swallow all the rage,
Now you want out of your cage, schnook-ah boy?
I’m legendary—literary—and you’re literally just a *****, little boy!
So sell out while I’m bought out, ******-boy!

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
The way I’m burnin’ through these pages, call me Dark Lord, Dark Lord!
But they’d rather burn my books, so start a fire war, fire war!
Can’t get it through your head? Words are more than Edward! He’s dead! WORD!
Let me drag you off to meet Dracula; take you back to the dawn of the dark lord, yea?
Fast forward to the foreword where the F-word’s “fangs” (you’re welcome);
This is my Hell, come! Be free!
Part Morningstar; part Morpheus! I throw up a kiss and jot down the kills like they’re red-apple pills.
Go ask Alice back at my palace what you should read to feed your head.
Sentence structure so smooth they call me FE-line, and my cat’s got better plot lines,
That the hacks will all call “sublime” (it’s “sub-fine”)
But me?
My **** scenes are brutal,
And my romance? Not frugal. I don’t saturate—I arrogate—
But I don’t condemn my characters to *******!
I wanna make readers care—if readers dare—
To connect and feel and follow where they can find some hope and power there.
While also giving them a place somewhere that isn’t here—though filled with fear—
A place where they don’t feel jeered or feel weird.
Horror ain’t just movie monsters, or gore-****** scopin’ sponsors!
You speak French? C’est de la merde, monsieur!
You look unsure! But I have the cure in the written word!
And though you once were achin’ for a rockstar author cravin’ bacon,
The role has since been taken by your man, Squiers.
And like a pair of pliers, I can reach into readers’ brains and cross all sorts of wires!
I’m settin’ cranial fires behind the eyes of all my buyers!
And while I’m growing Ghost Riders—ridin’ shotgun on the bullet-train ‘tween the pages—
There’s a horde of haters harboring growing rages
With a narrow gaze of who scribes pages.
They say I can’t write ‘cuz of my tattoos or my gauges
So allow me to assuage this: y’all can’t cage this!
If you don’t like it, let me show you where the grave is!
You’re well-aged, but I’m ageless!
Like the undead through the ages!
And like Shakespeare took to stages you can find me where the page is:
I’m hip to a script, I’m at home with a poem and feeling groovy writin’ movies; and I’ll be EZ on your TV.
You write normal? **** being normal!
What a novel theory! So very dreary!
Why the **** are they so leery, they say “Writing fear? We don’t want to hurt no feelings.”
Feelings? Setting up ceilings! Just more limits! It’s life! Live it!
Set the roof on fire!
Plot is getting hotter than a 24/7 squatter on a ***** channel!
So what if some **** gets a hair up ‘er ****? Don’t make it ****!
They wanna say “Hey you, we’re here to stifle!”
‘Cuz I mentioned rifles? Do they really want to trifle?
So I say:
“Better bring a sweater ‘cuz this thriller’s gonna chill ya—sure hope it doesn’t **** ya—and ya gonna get’a fill o’ all the ***** that I don’t give, ‘cuz I don’t live to let ******* quip or give me lip about my lit.
I’m entertaining and elating and also demonstrating how devastating a stream of escalating scenes can be so penetrating—although frustrating—to a mind that’s celebrating what it means to be vacationing between the pages; wading through the stages of a war that forever wages; meditating through the escalations now that they know what TRUE rage is!
“Oh, he’s too ******!”
That’s right! Ain’t right. That’s life: not nice; it’s strife.
It’s not just me; it’s we.
I just found a better way to show it:
Monsters that aren’t monsters;
Abuse put to good use; bred virtues!
“I don’t know how to plot plots like that;
I don’t know what words to use.”
Did it really never occur to them that to read a book—just to take a look—and THEN take up the pen?
You read King if you want to be king, strictly speaking.
A writing mind that isn’t a reading mind is a weakling; a weak link.
I’m a scholar—not a bawler—so I’m a flyer where there’s fallers;
Raised on Goosebumps and Creepy Crawlers so I’d Stine while others whined.
Got a dark side, but that’s The Dark Side on my side; counter haters with my Vader:
“I would be your father… but your dog beat me over the fence.”
No offense. Pretense: incorporate comedy and film; common sense.
Suicide pushed aside, though I still burn inside. **** myself on
the page each day so my readers can feel what it’s like to be alive.
It’s okay to hide.
Only your own devil knows what’s inside.
I own mine; he’s my co-pilot when I write. My demonic side; my demonic scribe.
Flipping my words to the birds—‘cuz, you see, that’s how I wing it—and flipping the bird while I throw down and sing it:
“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
My words are my roar and tonight I write!”
The fights are in your sights like you were seated inside a movie theater;
You’d see Xander and Estella—wouldn’t you want to meet her—
Have a front row to the creatures in a feature presentation…
But ‘til then
Eat some Rice An’ read a piece by a man who
Had an “Interview with a Vampire”—
I’m a fiction author, why would I lie to ya?
Prince of lies? I ain’t Satan!
Close friends, but I’m Nathan.
Judged for appraisal—I’m priceless—I’m  nice: no; charming: yes.
Got a razor-sharp and Shining wit like a crown left
on a King… but not.
Why be a left king, when I’m a write god.
So I did a lyrical re-write of Eminem's "Just Lose It" that wound up being pretty popular, so when I heard "Rap God" for the first time I knew I had to do the same. While I hope it's entertaining on its own, I think those who have heard the song will enjoy that I remained true to the source material in terms of flow, rhythm, and syllable count (Marshall Mathers is really quite an astounding wordsmith in his lyrical writings).

Hope you enjoy ^_^
jeffrey robin Sep 2010
walkin on water

walkin on air

LAND WILL DO

walkin down streets
the mouths of alleys
spittin up ex-soldiers
and children

i

arm in arm with
the *******
--
-

we are such "commodity"

comic book characters
in ridiculous stories
we accept as truth

walkin in quick sand

on oily gulf coast beaches

WHEN ONLY THE TRUTH
WILL DO
-
--

take the dirt from your mouths
the chains from your legs

the "lover" from your side

forget the
"lame excuse"

walk down streets
enter the alleyways

where the ex-soldiers
are dyin

children are starvin

prostitutes are cryin

and i

sittin there

writin poetry

--
-

walkin on water

walkin on air

LAND WILL DO
WILL DO

will certainly
do

many a thing i have on my mind
when writin' the moment decides
the floatin' words there are to find

driven by main 'n' carried besides
a flowin' of all feelings expressed
for it the occassion itself provides

tho might it seem as dispossessed
consciousness to which it depends
'n' to whatever it may be addressed

the more it takes the more it bends
tho no block delays on to the move
thereby thinkin' too much extends

rather it's not 'till i myself approve
forever perfectin' tryin' to improve


*..love always...


عرفان بن يوسف © AH 25/03/1437


'a (freestyle meter) Sonnet'

don't we all look up the skies as we start to wonder
aren't all of them writers up at night just to ponder
might be out of many a thing bein' stumbled upon
or like breezes of winds that are blowin' into mind

tho most of those times feelings bein' put asunder
by emotions as much as the rain, storm 'n' thunder
although aswell as the sun, moon 'n' stars beyond
just seems as if many don't manage nor get to find

so ye can contemplate but never thyselves deprive
to define these nature's bonds 'n' the beauties of life
for be it lessons by foremost the hard ways learned
or of one of those lovers onto which ye have burned

thus whether ye're writin' accordin' rules to follow
acknowledge thy messagin' by thy heart's wavin' flow


*..love always...


عرفان بن يوسف © AH 22/04/1437

'a (freestyle meter) Sonnet'
princessninann Jun 2015
I don't feel like doin' anything
I don't feel like writin' a poem
I miss my bed, I want to go home
I don't want to move, I can't lift my bone.

I'm too lazy to think of words
My fingers cannot even write this verse
Not moving an inch would be worse
Oh I want to eat something, where's my purse?

I don't feel like goin' outside
I don't want to eat my meal tonight
I don't want to think and decode this byte
I'll sleep, watch movies, eat popcorn... bye.
I really feel lazy while listening to Bruno Mars' lazy song.

as i do not rhyme in metrics any more
i do not care as i used to write jambes
all i want is just to express the words
in ways by tellin' ye how i exactly feel

waves might be there aswell a melody
tho to ponder upon ye'll have to dive in
the stanzas may seem made purposely
if love is the drive the answer is within

a heart ever rhythmic as its beat plays
to emerge a writin' of a sonnet kind of
by the inner burnin' that never decays

tho no words known ever to be enough
witness me sayin' as forever 'n' always
lo my love is for love 'n' love is my love


*..love always...


عرفان بن يوسف © AH 27/06/1436
'a (freestyle meter) Sonnet'
TyRon Straughter Oct 2010
You put your pencil down when I thought you were writin
Well that must mean you wanna get a little more exciting
Put that pad down make feel a little more invited
If you make me put away this phone I'll get a more enlightened
I see your eyes must mean you serious bout this metaphor
Well we can exchange verbs until we leave the pages letters torn
You always find a way to make it known that you feelin me
You said you had a new trick with your pen.I always like a new soliloquy
And as the page turns like our sheets the composition gets deeper
I can tell by the introduction that this one is a keeper.
Extreme with the pen but I keep it in the lining
This work of art is worth fallin asleep during writing
I want this to be so great that you tell your friends about my writing
Even though your friends tell me that you always tell about my writing
But I kno you got a bad girls mouth
Now come and let me see what them adverbs bout
We pressed for time but I'm sure we can handle it
And you kno I never need help with my adjectives
By the way..will you perform my favorite adjective
Even though last time I could barely handle it
You are my pens favorite tablet
So now my pen is happy and my pen wants you to have it
The way your notebook looks I just want to grab it
So I can rip the cover and we can write some majic
Now put the paper to the pen like a nail to a hammer
Until we reach the writing ****** cuz that's my favorite stanza
Our subject-verb agreement gets tired of fighting
So let's just write until we tired of writing
We crossin T's and dotting I's no mistakes are being made
We should publish our craft it would leave others basically amazed
And after placing my last period you couldn't be more close to me
Girl you the best I'm happy that you helped me create this poetry!
Nathan Squiers Dec 2014
Let's break all the tension with the pretense of my presence.
Yes, I'm insensitive--but there's no other incentive others can give--
And while I'm not sure I could prevent it, I swear to no god I'm inventive!

Yes,
My hatred is incessant--ever present--and it's what I hold most sacred.
I'm a naughty narcissist with a nasty list of wasted kisses,
And I won't say that I'll miss 'em, 'cuz I'm the type who never misses.

I'm a hopeless romantic with a new sense of Tantric hope,
It's the antics of a frantic mind, but I'm too calm to cope.
They say I'm a raving, violent--rarely silent--tyrant with a craving
for the obscene,
Though, while I'm mean, I'm rarely seen within a mob or in a scene.

I'll admit I've got a streak, but--if you'd stop to take a peek--
You'd see a Buddhist, not a nudist, who's less a demon than a geek.
I'm oblique and I'm obtuse (do these math puns work for you?) yet I'm rarely never right;
Get my angle? Catch my drift? I might thrash, but, man, I'm thrift!
Hold on shift: I'M SCREAMING NOW!!
Don't know why; don't have a cow!
Remember that? That 90's rap? Look at me then; that piece of crap!
Shot down! Torn up! Shut in! Turned out!
Lips are sealed; inside I'd shout,
'Bout just how bad I wanted out!
Enraged and crazed; cravin' razors; a victim hiding from all saviors!
Turned to the pen to brace for the knife,
Started writin' and saved my life.
It's funny to say my life got better the day I started a suicide letter...

But letters turned to words and those words became whole worlds,
And before my very eyes a whole legacy unfurled!
I was GOD--not just a slob--but a shaper of all things,
And the schemes that I'd been dreaming shifted into scribing,
And I never stopped since then; it's why I'm still alive!

So my insanity became vanity as calamity turned to amity.
Sheer pessimism became untamed narcissism,
But if the mind's a prison then consider me jail broken.
Outspoken, re-awoken; take a moment to let that soak in.
That a boy doubtful of tomorrow could ditch the sorrow,
And become an immortal--though immoral, not totally amoral.

So yea, I've got my faults; I'm a sensory assault,
And while I don't mean to offend I'm just a product of the ends.
Played with fire; I got burned.
Dared to aspire; I was turned.
So I inquire to you sires as I march out of the fires:
You've seen my darkness and know my story--beginning, middle, end--
My name is Nathan Squiers, do you wanna be my friend?
Jeremy Betts May 2022
(too long version)

Life indeed pushed me to the edge of the cliffs end but the jump was my decision, no one there could ever be bothered to care enough to even explore the simplest question much less begin thinkin' about askin' what I was thinkin' when I settled on the option I ultimately, on more than one occasion, failed at miserably while attemptin', like the byproduct of rabbits ******' my faults are multiplyin' as my spark goes dark at the same time my shine went dim, not worth restorin' this vessel that sits as decoration in a white trash front lawn deterioratin', startin' from the back end then devourin' the engine

One step forward, two giant leaps back pedalin', that was the general motion of regression, lookin' like I'm plagiarizin' Michael Jackson when he's on stage performin', masterin' that classic moon walkin' he's known for doin', never as smooth as him but you get the picture I'm paintin', losing track of my destination as it began droppin' out of sight behind the horizon, followin' the trail the sun was blazin'

Can't see the forest for the trees and vegetation, could have heard the pre-lumber fallin' if you would only humor me and at least pretend to listen, but that there is somethin' you have zero interest in which is interestin' cause if the past has taught me anythin' about what you find pleasure in it's that you're lovin', above everythin', the chance to keep pointin' out and highlightin' how I'm a terrible human bein', a garbage person but not a man and no CDL license, I'm not pickin' up the trash I'm metaphorically dwellin' in only then to have it pile back up again times ten, ultimately creatin' my own land fill location within, wilfully lettin' recycled misfortune to continue hittin' me on the chin, it's due to inadequate trainin', not for the lack of tryin' to defend

No direction just a lie practiced to perfection too keep 'em from noticin' my state of depression, leave 'em guessin'. But to keep the honesty rollin' in I have a confession, I'd loan you the money to pay attention but you'd never take that good for nothin' offerin' and I ain't even placin' blame, just sayin', I know my position, I'm fully aware I'm on the losin' end of this game of tug-a-war life and I are playin', though I think it's cheatin', countin' cards to ensure a win, gamblin' that I'll give in and fold before noticin' I'm the mark bein' taken, the journey of life is a rigged expedition

What am I doin' besides losin'? Why am I here became the daily question, how do I get out this mess of confusion that's drownin' me to the point of extinction? It's an impossible equation even for a mathematician with years of education, so you know for certain I'm lyin' when, for no good reason, I have a go at answerin'. The slipknot is workin' just as I was expectin', slippin', goin' taunt, slidin' into its final position

I should mention, if you're thinkin' this has taken place solely for attention you're sorely mistaken, you never come to that realization, dodgin' conversation in an attempt to avoid confrontation, leavin' me noticin' there's no one standin' by and extendin' a hand to help and lookin' back there's never been. No one attendin' my lonely execution by decapitation in an effort to stop the spreadin' of harmful misfortune I feed myself, bad for my mental health, a deadly addiction that's become somewhat of a tradition through repetition, turnin' a weapon on myself, worsenin' my condition, that's a fact based observation not an opinion

No resolution in the hard hitting revelation that there's no salvation for someone who's gone and done what I've done and gone on livin' in a web of fear that I first spun for protection but couldn't stop the infestation from gainin' the traction it was needin' for the completion of my complete elimination

Cravin' anythin' real to place my faith in, I'm bein' told the hate and pain I'm bathin' in is of my own creation, I can see the connection as I sit broken down in the intersection of real life and fiction, I've lost control again and once again there's no mulligan. Am I seein' the glass half full or half empty or maybe it's all an illusion regardless of perception? Lost my vision, can't see through the pollution and corruption runnin' rampant with no solution comin', I'm a simpleton so this ***** gettin' confusin', a complete brain malfunction

I've awoken the beast within and just as I was predictin' we instantly began battlin' to the death, fightin' for position and a quicker end to the situation I'm always findin' myself in then findin' out for myself that it's always been my own reflection startin' back in my direction, the ugly inside is finally outwardly projectin', can't even pretend to be my own friend, enough is enough, I'm saying when

Its lurkin' just under the skin, waitin' for the moment to strike and beat me down to nothin'. When will it end? Never I'm guessin'. I'm gonna have to try to put an end to it all myself again, tirin' of the repetition to the point I usually take no action, sometimes due to exhaustion but still just lettin' it all happen like that's what I was plannin' from the beginnin' but that makes about as much sense as quittin' ****** right after the needles insertion or waitin' till after overdosin'

Frustration givin' way to aggravation and aggression leavin' little satisfaction even if I could squeak out a win, but I'm no longer wastin' time waitin' for that to happen so I'll probably most likely be caught sleepin', dreamin' about what could've been had I listened to my gut feelin' and put in the same amount of stock I place in what my treasonous mind and heart are always sayin'
and not let doubt creep in and claim top billin' as it's permanent position, knocking out compassion and reason, replacin' both with the hate and weight of a nation

It's a fools mission, I WILL be beaten' into submission, the last thing I'll hear as my energy gives up on existin' is the mortician statin' then time stampin' my expiration, that and the body bag zippin', family left pickin' out a coffin from the bargain bin, not worth payin' a fortune, only payin' little respect to the fallen then quickly forgotten at the drop of a pin

You're sayin' I have a purpose but I'm witnessin' me wastin' every minute of the earths rotation and never reachin' the conclusion that I was slackin', far to laxed in the preparation for a home invasion of this mental prison I'm caged in where I'm servin' a life sentence and I'm mentally and emotionally starvin' while my vision of any kind of future begins to darken

No open invitation, but that's not stoppin' my personal demon from just walkin' right in and startin' the killin' spree up once again, focusin' first on positive motivation just for existin', of course that's just my imagination, but could you imagine? A horrible vision to the average pedestrian, I know, but I still crack a grin at the thought of it happenin', the devil on my shoulder is at it again

My light fractured through a prism and some went missin' and I never got around to lookin' so no chance of gettin' it back into my possession, there's no raignin' it in, goin' from a fools errand to a search and rescue mission seemingly overnight but for what reason, just to teach me a lesson? I don't test well, I won't make it to graduation

Choices made out of desperation got me lookin' and feelin' like a felon, to survive I had to become the villain of the biography I'm narratin', this isn't livin', at best it's just barely holdin' on for dear life and weakenin', a measly attempt at survivin', forced into an intimate relation with the unforgivable, each of the sinful deadly seven

The line not to cross was paper thin, walked it like a drunk person in front of a couple corrupt police men, heathens but feelin' better than, lost control long ago, before I fell off the wagon, I ain't talkin' about drinkin', it started way back when with prescription medication, ones that were suppose to be helpin' but then used for wreckreation and that's when it began draggin' me down to an underground parkin' garage elevation

I didn't have a break down, like I said, it was a break in home invasion with the assumption there was somethin' worth takin' to begin with but everythin' inside is broken and you can see the corrosion of the foundation built on sand, makin' this temple worth nothin', even self worth is fadin'

Graspin' at the air and yet again findin' nothin', grapplin' with the notion I'm nothin', prayin' my emergency flotation device will suffice cause the water is ragin', feelin' the undertow currant strengthen in it's concentration, I think it's attackin' and there's no escapin' so I began blinkin' SOS in old fashion morse code hopin' you don't need help with the translation, if that's the case then I'm done for, why bother debatin', I'll take myself out of the equation, preparin' my soul for the comin' evacuation

You begin lyin' just to raise my spirits but I ain't buyin' into what you're sellin', counterfeit concern bein' spoken with no emotion or conviction, after the extensive evaluation I see it's no garden of Eden I'm livin' in, again, someone's been lyin', I'd be wakin' right into the den of a rabid lion shrouded in original sin, I ate the fruit knowin' full well it was forbidden, straight up poison but zero ***** were given, so this was bound to happen, the writin' was on the wall, who am I kiddin'?

You have my permission to begin the process so let's just go ahead then and get this over with so I can silence the voices within, I've eliminated every complication, layin' on the tracks at the crazy train boarding station, awaitin' the unavoidable, provin' I was correct in the assumption that this is the right time to initiate my endin', a personal Armageddon...oh, well hello, you must be that Satan guy I've been hearin' so much about from everyone preachin' directly in my ear then going out the other, it's still hard not to listen, I'm just tyin' up a loose end or two then I'm yours for the takin'

...alright, thanks for waitin', now then, let the journey to my endin' begin shall we? I'm takin' the lead on this one cause I know where we're goin' and I'm no good at followin' direction...obviously, it goes without sayin'

©2022

this poetess known as Elizabeth Squires
with ways of writin' by waves to admire
the one i read here caught my attention
managin' all styles of apprehensions

for i love all of her works she gets penned
i say readin' her poems i find well spent
by her, learnin' beauties of Rosarians
i dared attemptin' to the rotarian

this writin' to her, for she to inspire
seein' as one of my inspirations
it's hers becomin' as musin' impends
bein' it against or pro-contrarian

i am a fan of this amazin' ma'am
hopin' she'll keep blessin' us with her slams


*
..love always...




عرفان بن يوسف © AH 24/04/1437

'a (pentameter) Sonnet'
Max Neumann Jul 2021
fear and sweat, flashin' gear
writin' rapz in hectic, but: yeaaah!
detached paramedics, but: yeeeah!
tizz alive, he and me, didn't die

who am i? will i be a version of me
free from dat ******* of abuse, b?
who would tell you the truth? me?
dunno, demons inside wear masks

they hide, whisper, mouth odor like gas
i'm behind, they passed by, they see,
know and feel dat i'm blind -- what is real?
and what's not? i know diz be god

"good" and "god" are like moon and sun
but if i use, then i run, will forget wise men
and it's bleeding through my eyes when
i'm unable to arise and sling like five men

codes from the land of oblivion
demons sending messages: dey fo'
da trashcan, you may be from aspen,
or a child of da bronx: good remains good

wrongs remain wrongs, stuck in-between
writing songs like cage fighters, man bites
dog, my weapon may be a pen or a glock:
if i do, use, take or abuse drugs: i'll fail

the loft, the jail, the yacht, the hate
hell ain't a snake pit but a desperate living,
shivering, lonely, no homeys, suffering
ignorant and angry, indifferent, cranky

still: a flickering, glimmering, somewhen

rock bottom, i hit it, my addict: i'm wit him
he within' me, steely and sneaky, peace
of ****, b, chasin' the thrill just to **** me
i will be dyin', will be fightin', skies brighten

no bullshittin, johnny weeks, so high,
delusional: "i'm a viking", drugs are unusual
why do i used dem as much dat i felt like
jim carrey as "truman" -- observed, being

followed; diz a good state to be in?
ya know da answer, my friend, shake
your own hand, accept ya name
leave da climate of coldness

diz requires boldness, but ya know what?
the addicted demons hate us like themselves
do not let 'em do dat
lock em in an inner shelf, wit a key

call it as you like, dear friend, i call it
"SELF-LOVE", ooooh boy: what a word,
what a term, your stomach may rage now:
fierce, furious demons being in flames

heaven yeah, let em burn, it's your turn,
put your life into god's hands, soft hands
clean yourself, wash ya hands, the
end of this poem must not be ours


**********      **

HELP: SOMETIMES IN PERSON, EVERY DAY ONLINE, CARING, FOR FREE. DON'T HESITATE TO MAIL ME, IN CASE YOU GOT ANY QUESTIONS. I WILL BE ANSWERING.

na.org
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Jay Jimenez Aug 2012
I came to you in a dream
my fingers bleed
writin you
invisble letters
people read
No one knows me here
while I lay in a unknown house
slowly memories creep on me
memories of holding hands
and popcorn
and popcorn
and popcorn
jeffrey robin Nov 2013
Disquieted

( Not amused anymore )

••

We shed our Humanity
For

?????

?????

?????

And the Rain!

And Death., too

And

She wanders on in torn

Clothes

And she is ***** and enslaved and goes mad

And we go on

????

??????

?????

Long the evening it's stories are sickly and men are weak

•••••

We

????

????

We are men?????


NO!

NO.!

NO!!

•••••

We are dumber n **** and men are not dumber n ****

With dumber n **** daughters cutting themselves to get high

n sittin back waitin for the police state to make em dumber n **** slaves

••

••

(No they don't

Really)

••

No offence  meant

••

But yer all ugly dumber n **** *****

••

Writin yer dumber n **** love/hate poems

Glorifying

Yer absolute indifference to those you claim as the ones you know n love

You can't even tell if yer a boy in a girl's body or a girl in a boy's  body
Or a donkey in a pig's body or whatever YE just stick something somewhere wiggle around and then feel somethin n then get irate at whatever n whoever

Is there.

n cut yourself n get proud n tell the world who in their dumber n **** fashion tell YE how sensitive YE are for bein dumber n ****

And I so dumber n shitly read it n go mad

--

All on a quiet evening when we should all be out playin with the children in the park

But no!!

!!!
!!!!
!!!

We too dumber n ****!!!!!

•••

Anyway

I DO

love you all

Maybe we all best settle down

n leave our simple

Bodies alone

For THEY. ain't dumber n ****

It's you livin in em is
Bunhead17 Dec 2015
Chillin like a villian
listenin to dylan
writin and thrillin,
as long as the good lord's willin

Sweatpants & a ponytail,
chillin with no make up on.
Cos' it's like my hobby now


Camo sleep pants
led zep tee
drinkin cold ones
and groovin to youtube

Watching scream queens
on netflix.
Texting & trying to figure out
what's next


Keying thoughts
onto my notebook
thinking hard about
a late night snack

Chillin like a penguin
cos' its freezing cold.
Wishing I had some hot coco.
Trying stay up late.


Toasty warm
inside my room
to step out for a smoke
would seal my chill

Chillin' is amazing.
I got the chills,
feeling like a cold hell
Wolf Spirit Poet is amazing


Chillin, blazin
mind **** amazin
oh these nights
dreamin and lazin
Copyright 2015
We were bored. So this is what we came up with.
Chuck Aug 2016
It's been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy, there's no doubt
Didn't mean to step before I left somthin'
That lit your soul on fire and got your hearts pumpin'
I'll lay down words that get the rhythm bumpin'
Don't need music when the words are thumpin'

It's been a year since I dropped out
I'm back y'all so scream and shout
I still got the rhymes that make words hop
And the liguistic skills to make the beats drop
I hit bottom but now I'm back on top
I'm back for writin' and to talk shop

It's been a year since I dropped out
It made the women cry and my boys pout
Don't worry y'all, I'm back to lay em on ya
I missed y'all, especially you Rick, Bex, and Tonya
Though y'all didn't make the list, I'm still fond of ya
I left in a Limo and drove back in a Honda

It's been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy, there's no doubt
I'm back y'all, so scream and shout
I'll make the women smile and show em all what I'm about
It been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy' there's no doubt
Arcassin B Jun 2019
By Arcassin Burnham


We suffer from lupus and autism and cancer
of a variety,
But this man that speaks to you now suffers
anxiety,
Not worse , but it has a hold on his life
as we speak,
The kind of man he could have been only
mocks him and call him weak, see there's
A difference between good and worse
And he happens to know the story,
He has saw the rage and true colors of
people, too many to count or worry,
For he never had a fear of facing any man
in this life,
Most-High listens to him this time and
this time he will do right...
Flowers cover mountains that humans
can get over,
If this only real for a good life,
Good life , Good Good Life,
Good life , Good Good Life,
Dawns nearly there and the night we will
bring out demons,
That will only try to ruin this good life,
Good life , Good Good Life,
Good life , Good Good Life.

/

Do they think they could survive in the shade?
Another promise that a politic made,
I work alone like batman battling slade,
Implying about my good and bad side due
to hate,
Watch the people follow being greed crazed,
Most fight the system going out in a blaze,
My body dies but my soul doesn't fade,
Don't let the work field make you a slave.
Don't let the work field make you a slave.
I find peace in knowing that could find
peace in this crooked town,
In this crooked town,
******* sucluded area I'm in,
And I don't like no one,
They all have fake intentions,
Flashy intuition,
Throw it in your face and having you have
a couple mentions,
And when people mention me its not good,
Usually rumors I'm not apart of,
False claiming and saying that I probably
was on drugs,
Doubting and forms riddles on who I was.
Through it all I rise above.
Through it all I rise above over y'all.
I'm a artist , poetic writin' star gazer,
There's no way that I could say that
I am one of a kind.
Through it all I rise above.
Through it all I rise above over y'all.
I'm a artist , poetic writin' star gazer,
There's no way that I could say that
I am one of a kind.
Through it all I rise above.
Through it all I rise above over y'all.
I'm a artist , poetic writin' star gazer,
There's no way that I could say that
I am one of a kind, of a kind.


©Abpoetry2019
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/p/minds-eye-lp.html
Chuck Oct 2013
Bobbin my head to Public Enemy
Lookin' like a misfit Chuck D
Sittin' in the corner  clickin' keys
Drinkin' honey green leaf, not coffee

Not the normal old dude in a coffee shop
Shakin' his head to old school hip hop
Writin'  poetry and he just can't stop
Hope the baristas don't call da cops

Soon be closin' time in dis five and dime
Kicked to the curb, but I'll be fine
Got my tea, my raps, and my rhymes
They killed the wifi, coulda lost lines

Waiten' for my daughter outside dance
But I'm da one jamin' out my pants
Refusing to listen to dance moms' rants
Bein me, that's always my stance
Matt Jursin Mar 2010
Here I sit, stale as a pile of ****.
Here I sit, wasting my wit... 
Nothing to inspire...
Nothing to remember...
No deep message to get.
Im jus' killin time...
Writin' lines that rhyme.
Freestylin' off the fingers as fast as I can think.
Flyin' off the handle...
Im ele-mental...call me Zinc.
Secure in my manly dreams, not afraid to wear pink.
I'm a fan of good things, I speak them in tongue and write them in ink.
Im fed up with frauds and emo kids that think they're rock stars...
And smokers inhaling tar sticks...
In their smokey bars...that smell like ****.
I dont get it.
A couple things I'll never miss.
But here I sit, wasting my wit.
These are just a few frustrations I'd like to forget.
Lenore Lux Dec 2014
He's not home ever anymore
so I sit and I whittle 'way time on the porch
while I wait to meet him again
I return to the stars, tracing days with my finger in air
Fractured back, swingin' limb
Some haunted monster to others who show refusal of humanly care

Work in progress. BLAH! Writer's block.
Work. in. pro. GRESS.

X: "**** it."
Ben by the Window: "Got a problem man?"
X: "I can't finish this and it makes me so mad because it was there and now it's gone like that."

X snaps fingers. Snaps. fin. gerrs.

X: "Stop nursin that potato, ya *****, come on, give it, pass it."
Window Ben: "You keep writin and writin, so what are ya gonna do with it?"

X hits that ****. Hits. dhat. shiiiiiiiiiit.

X: "Ben. That's not right. This, is, the doing with. Get it?"

ex cough cough cough exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale.
Mark Toney Jan 2020
Had to pick up the pieces
To mend a broken heart
So I put myself out there
Made a brand new start
Downloaded the app
Filled out my bio
Then selected "submit"
Said "here we go..."

(Chorus)
It was me it was  you
It was all of the above
The future was ours
From the start my love
Every time I look at you
It makes my heart sing
Makes me do funny things
Just like a ding-a-ling

When I saw your picture
And read your profile
I swiped to the right
Beguiled by your smile
Wasn't long till you replied
My heart skipped a beat
Couldn't wait for the time
When we'd first meet

Well the rest is history
It was love at first sight
We have been together
Since that very first night
Many years have passed
Our love still goin' strong
Because of you baby
I'm writin' this song

(Chorus)
It was me it was you
It was all of the above
The future was ours
From the start my love
Every time I look at you
It makes my heart sing
Makes me do funny things
Just like a ding-a-ling

(Repeat chorus and fade)


© 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
1/5/2020 - Poetry form: Lyric - This is my first county song. Yee-haw! - © 2020 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
PhiWrit Nov 2015
I'm Runnin Jews like Lil Dicky
Run the Jewels, and Ricky
With soso flow of Biggie
Ever since I quit the ciggie
Livin life straight propper
Givin props to Big Poppa
I'm off the spliffs and poppas
Writin riffs for beats that drop ya
Lingerie ladies who have
Curved bodies tight Mercedes
Hot as Hades 420 degrees
Just hot enough to chrisp my cheese
Torchin these trees
Straight from Belieze
Blowin Bolivian keys up they ***
As their friends ends they pass
None of y'all thought this Jew could last
Two days past your last meal
Didn't really know how to feel
Cause I ****** you so raw
Y'all got mistook for veal
That means hyper tender
No allussion to child *** offender
Call me a money stack lender
Back ****** but never a pretender
If I split her in half
God'll have ta mend her
This **** is known to send ya
Into bliss quick
That feeling'll stick
When the tip touch they lower lip
They get oil slick
Just the thought get's 'em hotta than a candle wick
Though you know I don't flow with no trick
Start off slow so we can show each other
Our flame be sure not to smother
Like an over protective mother
Reflect on it while it's lit
Climb inside my mind
See how I visualize thee
Undress and become pantiless
You're sittin on my face
I impress with the pace
I carress your **** with tongue
Spell sinless you'll be a wet well
When you see how well I'm hung (do tell)
I'm mother ******* mischievous
Mysterious
And deviant
A whole new experience
No jokes
Man I'm serious
Delirious
Got some smoke
In my lungs
Gettin toked
Can't keep up
you a slow poke
I've been working on my flow
Not too fast and not too slow
Writin words and spittin rhymes
Never waste my ****** time
Cause I ball hard
Yeah that's my grind
want that money
******* fine
Want that Audi
sip on wine
Check my Rolex
About time
The throne is mine
Take your pick
have the treat
Or have the trick
Halloween
Yeah that's the ****
Dressing up
Like a kid
Livin like I'm ****** rich
ignorant
I gotta quit
Cause these raps
I write
And flows
I spit
Sell like ***
To a celebit
Celebrate
Cause we above the hate
We don't listen
they get irate
Im In good hands
That's Allstate
in a new state
Yeah new level
Turn up the bass
Hit the treble
This is intended to be a rap and is the beginning of a series of poetry and raps I will be posting on the site. All Criticism is welcome. Please be polite.
My gal's got a way of talkin' so sweetly
Of talkin' so sweetly to me
It brings me the mornin' to hear her
Voice sweetly
To hear her
Kind words just for me

She talks of forever and ever just with me
She talks like she's writin' a poem
She talks like a liar
Eyes glint like a tiger
I see it,
And know that I'm *****

My gal's got me wrapped all up on her finger
Caught up in her hair
Curls like irons.
But me I don't worry
That she'd ever harm me
I'm just as disarming
As she

I know by the taste of her tongue
It is silver
I know cause it matches my own
And though we both talk of such aery ideas
When we are together I'm home
This poem accompanies an original american-irish folk song written also by me.
am i ee Sep 2015
i'm gonna get me
a new set of eyeballs
too much readin'
n writin n stuff

can't proofread
worth a dam
gotta go live my life
not set here n write

now i got me's
a little nut
and she writes
not so slow

i ain't much
fer words
likin the
sound of silence
myself

but this little
new nut
she's kinda a
cute little darlin

so with my eyes
whirling in despair
i slog forth
until they can
be repaired.

i gotta get me
a new set
of eyeballs,

one new set of eyeballs
i'm gonna get
me.
hey if anyone can bring in the cowboy accent to make myself with a spelling that reads the way i am hearing it in my head that would be fantastic.

sound like maa self, i am open to suggestion.  i hear it but haven't read much of it, so i know i'm off with the spellings that convey the accent.  thaneee
16/19 May 2014*

Jane, I remember
How you took my heart away
Just like that, your words
Are pressure ‘n’ friction
Rubbed back ‘n’ forth
To beget a single spark
Set my heart on fire, burnt with d’sire
But we were young ‘n’ innocent
I thought it would pass, soon
But I was wrong

I asked myself,
When did I start writin’ letters?
And never send them.
If I did, t’was twice or thrice written
My head was happy, but my heart wasn’t
Half-heartedly tellin' you what I feel
Never lettin’ you know how much I love you
Just words: generic ‘n’ meaningless
Always sayin’ it’s not yet time

You didn’t even know
All those feelings ‘n’ gestures
Were switchin’ on ‘n’ off
Some days I would feel strongly ‘bout you
Some other, I didn’t know
Never findin’ courage to tell you
B’cause I wasn‘t sure anymore

Your smiles, always remind me
Of the sun, so warm ‘n’ raw
Decisively charmin’ ‘n’ infectious
All life glowin’, yet completely lethal
It melts my heart every time I see you smile.
I could go on like that forever.

I didn’t just picked you, I chose you
And I’m thankful to Him twice my life already
Someday, the butterfly in your finger will fly
Wherever it takes you,
I hope I’m the one you remember
I feel light ‘n’ happy to be able share to you
Like the first time, I’ve atoned for my sins

I blew up a lot of chances
But you always come around
When I almost lost you
I just accepted the fact
That this, this will ne’er gonna happen
Not in this lifetime.

But here comes the universe
And surprisingly conspires with me again
I had so little time to tell you this
And so many times that I wanted to
But my mouth will not cooperate.
I lose my thoughts.
I get cold feet.
I can’t catch my breath.
So I changed my mind every time
I come near you

I would’ve wanted to explain myself
But I didn’t get an openin’ to do so
And I didn’t know where to start.
B’cause if I did,
You will know the storms inside me
And if I crossed the line,
I knew there was no comin' back.
I was not prepared to lose you

I played the game
Of spillin' clues ‘n’ gut-feels,
But it didn’t work out, right?
That feelin' when you like
Someone so much that you think
And overthink how to tell her
And how anxious you are
That she may not feel
The same way about you.
All this time and in between,
I was just too scared to do that
My insecurities eat me again

Walk to the town ‘n’ out of the blue,
We have no more words to say
The silence was awkward,
I wanted to grab your hand ‘n’ hold it,
So we don’t have to talk much.
But I guess, it would’ve been worse
I don’t know why you do that to me.
I have a lot in my mind to say,
But I cannot speak.  
Thank you for keepin’ me company.

I’m sorry if it took me so long
To say all these bottled-up feelings.  
It’s been runnin’ in circles around me
And now I want to resolve them.
I want to make peace with myself.
But I have not acted upon it.
I always did calculated moves
Held back my thoughts before you
I didn’t want to lose,
Before I get even started

I cannot assure myself this, yet now I can.
With all the ups ‘n’ downs I’ve been through,
Pain is no different already.
I am no longer afraid
To the thought of gettin’ hurt
I love you and I’ll be—
Hurtin' for that, forever.

All the poems I wrote you
We’re not even close as half
To what I want you to read
I have written so much
That I’ve been dyin' for the day
You can finally read them
I wonder if it will ever come

These feelings could've gone
All the way forever without you knowin’
But, you were ignorin’ me.
I don’t know why.
I think of you all the time.
I had this emotional baggage
For the longest time now
And at some point, I knew,
It would snap.
I had to release them.
I tried so much to contain them
B’cause I value everythin’ that we have now,
Our relationship with each other.
I am happy that we are friends
I’m very lucky to have met
Someone like you.
But, I just have to let it go somehow.

You’re like a best-sellin’ book
Or a dandy set of clothes
That I can be contented
Just watchin’ from the outside.
But with that glass in between,
I will not know how good that book is—
Or if those clothes will fit me nicely.
I have to read it or fit it.
I believe there’s so much more
That I have to know about you
And that girl outside the glass
Is so much more inside.

You tormented me, Jane
Into summer blues and,
Cold ‘n’ lonely rainy nights
Listenin’ to the mixed tape I gave you
Lookin’ at the picture of you
In a painting I draw
But you didn’t see me
The sunglasses covered your eyes
I don’t know if you chose to
But this is the price, I have to pay
For not tellin’ you, the truth
But now, I did.

I just want to say sorry
All these feelings long bottled-up
Have escaped completely from me
I have to hold myself back
Never wantin’ you to hold on
To whatever that has to do with me

Maybe, I can go on and one day
I will be over you
Everythin’ in its proper places
I have loved you for five years
But for now, it’s time
For me, to stop countin’
All of the stars or sheep
I’ll watch them from here
Who knows, maybe it’s still you
At the end of the universe
Forgive me for the length. Some stories cannot be contained. Love again, L.
Roy Esnarom Mar 2015
I wish I could tell you
that you'r beautiful to me
But you'r beautiful to all of them
even those who can't see

I wish i could tell you
no one will ever love you like i do
But you are so lovable
i would be lyin' to myself if i tried to

I wish i could tell you
that i will give you the stars
But you got them already
in your smile and your eyes

I wish i could tell you
that i would make you happier than ever
But you'r already happy
and the last time i was i can't even remember

These are the things that are keepin' me quiet
letting' me let you go on with your life
I got the blues, my guitar and my writin
you have yourself and your man and his love
idk when i wrote it but it was put out there for the first time around: 25/11/09

moved here from wordthingies on blogspot
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
it the new year, and only into February have i finally returned to my modus operandi... which was? well... it was the pre-Christmas period in the supermarket, and 1 litre bottles of whiskey were on offer, marked down from £19 to £15^, so it was usually that, a bottle of coke, and a bottle of beer and walking home straight away... perching myself on the windowsill, watching youtube channels of uninspired people talking about being inspired... it was never going to work... i was bound to experience a writer's block... but as of today... it's back to my original "strategy"... (a) drinking expensive alcohol can be depressing, well, it actually is depressing... i don't mean drinking cocktails in some urban hot-spot... by expensive i mean something akin to Jim or Jack... that's expensive... in comparison to high commissioner, it is expensive... so having said that: it's the effect of alcohol in relation to the effect of alcohol in other people: that has to become expensive... a van gogh moment... say: writing a poem or "poem" (depending on the levels of your pedantry). (b) the modus operandi... going to a Sri Lankan offlice... buying three canned beers, a 70cl bottle of whiskey... and going for a walk with the beers... head clearing... and yes: rain or shine, winter or summer... out there... looking into suburban houses, with some people asleep, others still watching television... men at their roadworks posts... taxi drivers returning home... in general the motorway insomnia... it's good to return to my seemingly lost and forgotten ways.

^the most annoying thing about buying a computer in Poland for a mere £100 is that the keyboard isn't what it "should" be... i have no £ within shift+3... and the ditto marks are not at shift+2, but at ****+@... so yes, i have to copy+paste it from the public space of... the internet - and this is where computers become equivalent to a piano... sure, there's the black and white keys... by black i mean shift+.

it can begin with as little as,
well... it will quiete a lot to begin with...
bilingualism
       is more complex than stating
your polymath ability to learn
    7 languages... evidenly one is superior
to the other, in that bilingualism
can be regarded as something akin
to digging trenches...
     what i mean is that
psychiatric terms can be poetic,
   for example schizoid (split) phren (mind)
         is brimming with metaphors...
Brautigan, Burroughs, Bukowski...
      all of them were labelled as such...
i can't quiet understand it as anything
other than a metaphor,
     but in cases of genuine ordeal
with the symptoms, it's anything but that.
the American linguistic notation:
      [oz-moh-sis, os-]....
the British linguistic tradition:
                                 /ɒzˈməʊsɪs; ɒs-/ -
and this is my linguistic notation:
     \ o(h)-ßmo(h)-sis / -
    by the way... most denote the (h)
                        as '... i.e. o'-
   frankly... i like to laugh and sigh...
because?
                   well, it's what happens when
you originate with a language that has
diacritical marks, and inherit a language
where diacritical marks are completely absent...
   i and j do not really count...
   even though it's evident that i begins as ι...
   so it's there: foreced almost... with a diacritical
marking...
   oh yeah: i forgot to mention the word...
osmosis* -
                       hardly anyone says that word
with the first s being soft...
       hence what english did to the world
and globalised it, so unto english the world must
give an answer, and given that english
is a language written without clear,
educational distinctions, a blank canvas
in terms of diacritical markings...
   i guess we can start to see how we can write
english, once again, with a "world view"
incorporating as many deviant examples as possible...
   a bit like bird-watching, or what darwinism
is in reverse, as ****-centric and beyond this:
nothing... so that's a german example having
a say in this example...
            and it really begun simple...
   and this is how the slavs differ...
    žiž      (well, given the ι already has a mark)
        that ι already has a mark,
southern slavs differ from northen slavs
in that they couldn't mingle the too together...
  so-half a caron on the zzzz / snooze (ź)...
      or how lazily we call it sleep, or snoring...
imagine all that effort into the onomatopoeia
of a woof! or a meow! and indeed:
probably the wise choice to call it zzzzz and sleep...
and leave the snoring to the harp
   (snoring in Polish? hrapanie...
the verb? hrapać)...
              the southern slavs will not spot this,
and if that's the case that žiž could be written
by a Yugol... it wouldn't be written by a Pole...
             and given that ž = ź
it just shows you that the southern Slavs's excess
is a complete disrespect / automaton stance
            concerning i...
  the Russians are Greco-Slavs... don't know...
  if they were introduced to the Latin alphabet first
they wouldn't be a competing super-power
  with their pseudo-Grecian alphabet (Cyrillic) -
   and thank god... no good, no evil...
     it would be a bit too much...
        like th
     at question is usually asked:
why do bad things happen to good people?
well... why do good things happen to bad people?
back to ž = ź
   and there's Hegel... castrated with his i = i / i am i...
well, i can see that...
          plain and simple... no wonder Marxism came
from Hegel... dumber than a hammer...
  and the subsequent nailing in of nails into coffins...

no. 1
(evil bladder, evil bladder! hence the interludes...
but hey! it's a collage)

... and this promenade in the night and rain,
really has a kabbalistic beginning,
well... kabbalistic meaning: you've really become
ridiculous with your numerology -
numerology is the lazy way to upkeep mysticism...
  i can't see it as anything more than indolence...
i begun this meditation
with two letters...              z           &             ι
and that later gave me the variations
                         the Libra is heavier on the z side
i know, but that's for now...
i.e.
                                               ι
                                                     (i)
                              &

               z
(ž    
            ß     ź)

that's how it looks right now, it's good that
i didn't mention ż so far....
so unto the examples...
      a southern slav will write ži... (ž= ź)
but a northern slav will not...
    e.g. ziemia (earth)
         ziemniak (potato)
   ziarno (grain)
    zima (winter)...
             and only in this particular combination...
(this has to be more interesting than numerology,
i.e. not substituting letters for numbers
   i.e. 1 = a, j, s, / 2 = b, k, t / 3 = c, l, u
ergo 3,848 = hello using something called
a decimal base 10 arithmetic... i don't know)...
     as other diacritical acute insertions
    also prove to be the case, respecting
the enforced diacritical mark above the ι,
esp. when there's a squeeze...
    ściema (faking it)
                 nagość (nakedness)...
  this is language slowed down from its
supposed everyday quick usage...
               i'm looking for a word when
the squeezed snooze (ź) appears as it does...
       http://tinyurl.com/zvur8qb
well.. może = maybe (Goran)
   write morze = maybe, and you get
the orthographic nazis onto you...
                 it's an aesthetic that has transcended
aesthetic in that it has become as rigid
as a rubric, or a "universal" appreciation of
                  Michelangelo rather than a Damien Hirst
shark in a plastic aquarium...
     and given it's a diacritical mark on
the last possible alphabetical letter: how
hard if not now to find a suitable word?
       it's really hard to find a ź example
once you realise that z+i are so coupled...
   you only realise at first the alpha-
                  / beginning of conjuring an example
that doesn't really arrive...
       such is the ź example given that z+i are
so entwined...
                   i could easily write the caron z
   and the roman enforced diacritical marking over
iota easily... ži...
                           but i can't... the Pandora is
hovering above my head, and i can't think of
a word with ź in it... given that i'm only thinking
of an alpha- / beginning the word with a zi
                       that's equivalent to ź
should no i be present within such close proximity...
       zakon (monestary)
                 zagoń (round-up,
                           the pronoun is self-evident...
        contained within the word, and it's gender-neutral,
   and if the pronoun is not the bothersome bit...
then it's the latter instructions of: those sheep...
    aport! / fetch... you can say that word (zagoń)
in your sleep, and you wouldn't need to be in a place
where there are sheep, or sheep that need to be rounded-up).

interlude no. 2 - no comment.

      well...
  it's no mere accident that when i go on
this little walks with beer that i find the odd thing
lying on the pavement...
  today? a rain-soaked joanna cannon
book, the trouble with goats and sheep...
and yes, i finally found a Polish word that provides
an example of ź...
      before the enforced diacritical ι
                              the acute above the z disappears...
given zielony (green)...
              but after the enfroced diacritical mark
over i... acute symbol has a tendency to appear
like a necessitated after-tea mint...
     e.g. kraszewski's god's wrath, page 158
(ludowa swpółdzielnia widawniczna edition, 1973 a.d.)...
znaleźli - they found...
      zło - evil...
                  źli- evil ones...
                          and it is such a rarity to find!
  a bit like a narcissus flower in a field of wheat!
     or a jasmine concentrated to a perfume...
             whiffing about its airs against the tennis with
the wind...

i wish they might call this:
    against the cantos' fascination with the chinese
ideogram...
or... thanks for using emoticons...
   language had to retaliate against the :) and :(
                    hieroglymphs of the digital pyramid...

interlude no. 3 - still no comment

also known as the Libra and the pivot

                                               ι
                                                     (i)
                              Δ

               z
(ž    
            ß     ź)
  
   and yes _____________ the sea-saw...
humanism can really compete with the science,
if it get its act together...

    and since the Greeks already adopted
adding diacritical marks to their beautiful alphabet...
i wonder how θ will fare
   when i write the word thought (θought),
and subsequently write the word:
   weather....       oh **** on me! it's an acute θ!
that magically turns into a V!
   weaver...
                 and saying that: only one consonant
made it to a vowel status of a grapheme æ / œ...
first to come was ß... the grapheme of s and z...
   a bit of chemistry goes a long way... chiral
as a pair of siamese twins, those two are
(you can put on a cockney accent saying that
sentence, yes, you can, i say so)....
  well... it's complicated because you're not german
and german to you is like quasi-Zulu...
ß looks like β (beta)... but it's a grapheme...
an sz that never actually meet... or entwine
like a and e might in æ...
   which makes it very difficult to follow...
just like the grapheme i wish to invent for
       TH  
                         namely that it's akin to  PH...
φilosoφy.... θou(gh)t....
                        g(h)ost...
                 ­                                look how pretty
it looks though: the ****'s F doing here?
     this an **** or a a ******* or a happily
married couple, or what?
    Φ and Θ.... almost looks like a keyhole
with a key lodged in it, and then turned...
horizontal in... reaction of unlocking the lock
mediatory with Θ and then back out into Φ...
             i.e. Φ + I = Θ = Φ + I + ...an open door...

interlude no. 4: this Russian chic at uni really
loved the doors... we watched a movie together
about them... with val kilmer playing
the dead man key role...
  is that door enough for you honey?
                       you got the шock and ßakes?

and if i mention hekhalot rabatai?
or the talmud, or the sefer yetzirah,
                              the bahir and the zohar?
twelth century and thirteenth century rabbis...
      will i also hear of the two Adams
of Eden, the (alpeh) fffא and the (ayin) fff
                    alpeh is a tame ******, feminine,
the mystery is not in the siamese H
   of the tetragrammaton, but in the aleph and the ayin...
    clearly i can't write ayin down without
semite d'uh on the digital canvas...
           writin left to right doesn't do much
justice... unless i write ye י‎,                                                            
f­ff.
ffff   fff        ע                  י‎
...pfי‎                         ­                  י...
there... you should really look at
the behaviour of ayin in the digital form,
the ****** wont't budge! you have to tell him
of the yodh to get off his *** and
make way for a pregnant lady...
        and since this is the 21st century...
i'd like to say: i'd like to write
a pentagrammaton.... yep...
a pentragrammaton... the ayin is gay,
and alpeh is a heterosexual...
     but the pentragrammaton now concentrates
on vav - or a vw beetle... v = w = ł...
       that's the moment you realise
that western linguistic mentioned o' not as
o(h) but as ' = yod...
         bad move... it's no silent (y)...
obviously this can exist in a non-pentragrammatorn
relation...
                            עואי­
Quentin Briscoe Aug 2012
Yo this girl is Dangerous...
**** this girl is raw,
im talking beast among the flesh...
and In the Flesh I'm in Awe...
Im hard down to my core,
Yet her skin is soft...
Dangers writin on the floor,
in some blood letters crossed...
Buts shes passion in her fashion
definitly a work of art...
but her gift aint everlasting
so she needs love inside her heart...
but the road her curves are making,
cause these breaks to start shakin..
and i crash into here Waves,
cause dangerous, she aint waitin...
Pounding deep into her core,
Dangerous just ask for more..
Drawing wings on my back...
as i color the floor...
My wood is under attack,
her walls are caving in....
The cause of Effect,
She keeps on comin....
Harder Screaming
Dangerous starts to call...
Im high,
way too weak
to dangerous i might fall....
Cyrus Gold Apr 2016
Murderous rampage avoided, I spare you the shame
But got ya crew duckin’ for cover with the troops I deploy
Yellin’ and shootin’ at each other, no longer a game
But more a rumble in the jungle, better run jungle boy

It’s Brotha Cyrus on the dock, I’m the loch ness
Scorchin’ the earth with all my hotness, see you sweat on the block
I’m the reason for lemonade stands, you better be chillin’
Population feelin’ the tension like a storybook villain

Robbin’ a pharmacy? Can’t afford medication?
Well pay the price to emulate cuz I ain’t givin’ advice
I ain’t a teacher but I educate, you speculate
How can a playa get any bigger with the lack of a vice?

Inspiration came from the West
Cause my writin’ is lyrical
The swagger came from the East
Come in and join in the feast

With heavy steps I walk the earth
Disturbin’ ya peace, you in danger
Anger eruptin’, showin’ greatness since birth

I feel like 20 million dollars, defyin’ the physics
Better behave in my mansion ‘fore I limit ya visits
Ya girl gave me her digits… my bad, terrible timin’
I'm half amazin' thanks to credible rhymin'.
Pure fun. Had an amazingly fun time writing this. Hope you enjoy :)
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2017
no way you could know that
I have driven US 80, when
the Pennsylvania Turnpike
was considered a legitimate deathtrap,
and 80 was a god-send

shuttling back and forth tween
Cleveland (o/k/a The  Burning River City) and NYC,
in the crappiest weather man
could just about tolerate,
and 84 was just an
incomplete dream then,
so we one day,
could skip that idlewild,
Passaic, New Jersey,
back in '69

indeed the Pocono deer that
came through the windshield,
luckily, legs first,
after smashing the radiator,
that I dragged by hooves
to the side of the road,
still well recall, for that
was the first time I touched a
living thing dying in my hands

when I broke my arm in
Tannersville one summer night,
they drove me to the big city,
Scranton,
woo hoo,
cause the break was bad ,
they need to operate,
so they left me there,
w/o any anesthetic,
in the hallway(!) till morn
and a "see ya later kid,"
how they did things in a tough place
known as central Penna.,
which now I think of
semi-fondly as the place where
a piece of me was left buried
and I am still alive to swell tell

but people were tougher back then,
even me, a city 13 year old boy,
cause I had dreams of  girls,
wonderful girls, who had powers in their bodies
that could do things to me in the Poconos forests,
that were unthinkable (for them) after crossing
over the Hudson River,
and that was plenty
anesthetizing

so dem my bona fides,

and Now I Will Write
just another overdue thank you
for Balise, who writes
with a coolest heated blazing detachment,
and then at the very end,
IN ALL CAPS,
smacks you on the head
via the heart

writin'  
of
this n' that,
Mass and men,
worshipping a river called the Lackawanna,
the bleakness of a not quite grimy poverty,
(I worked in  Republic Steel warehouse)
that made grey a bright color,
and the sun was invisible from October to May,
in a world where people PROUDLY,
clung to their guns and religion,
(you arrogant out of touch Harvardian snob,
Mr. Obama prima donna),
you had to see it to believe it

of
herons and beer cans,
of parents and pain,
so exquisitely,
that I would gladly
drive to Tannersville again,
right now,
if I could, if I could,
yet learn that skill under her tutelage,
which by the by, is why some call me
still crazy, still crazy, after all those years,
crazy from a balise,
a wintry blizzard heating the readers eyes, and
who reads my footnotes
and thus
only this woman,
knows, better than she ever realized,
where his undulatin' poems come from...
today,
walked the river arcade,
by the river~side.
same,
where, & when,
a decade earlier
and a laugh ago,  
we performed
a daily differential calculus

of the distance to that line,
a watermark,
where my accidental drowning
would be insurance covered

don’t recall, if back then,
poetry writin’ was a good  
a daily companion, or-even
a mere passing acquaintance

but went to
all-in-all-alone-freedom,
found riches,
yet still pressed in rags
of remorse, mourning surely,
until & still a
woman, or
three, rated me a
good looking edible,

even
if only didn't always dress
in black, head to toes, like an
extra cool new yorker, or an
attendee at my own fun~ereal

since those days,
gallons millions, zillions
of brackish seawater has flowed
out to sea as far as
England, Philippines, New Zealand,
whichever be connected to the
rain water of Adirondack mountains
flowing past East 57th Street,

my salty tears replenished,
but time changed the causation,
from oy to joy in simp terms
that rhymes…with me and yours

water woman water woman water
makes the heart capable of weeping
tears of joy,
oh! happy drowning
how do
you cross from woman to water,
that, now I walk on a
water bridge of loving
hard, steel & liquidity of
concrete, smooth roughness
became the path to loving living
Bill murray Aug 2015
Sitting on the limp writin' stool

Rambling and thinkin'

To stay amused
Gramps has got the cramps
No chance for today's work piling up.

— The End —