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Anthony Williams Aug 2014
Today I had a bout of acute-you shyness
one where I try to pretend I don't notice
but have you noticed how difficult it is
when outside idles but inside there's a race

to views like you leaning side to side
on the motorcycle ride slot machine
driving my eyes to sly around your slides
taking them wide as when I was eighteen
I'd look for curves at Southend pier's end
give out stares and start to take in scenes
of free amusement at the Fun Bump arcade

around and around the circuit you rode
I was lapping up your every move
sneaking a view through the coin drop
peeping behind the pinball of Dr Who
prying open the photo booth curtain gap
faux testing the mallet with your strength
playing air hockey with my thoughts
were your short chic bangs a wig?

they sit so still I long for the straights
then swing to one side with a leg
tight vibrant jeans in hairpin bends
ironing out where the centre line is damp
polishing the dashing leather saddle
vibrating with wrist twist contempt
loveliness revving up to red line

exploding in my face with daring
this bike crash heart of mine
please forgive not stopping staring
a race course habit never outgrown

I go too fast and of course I fall
in love as bad as deeply madly
but the fact that it's with you.. well
I have to forgive myself this malady

I'm a side-road heading for a spin
on ways to tell you you're beautiful
dangerously close I risk self harm
imagining that colour of pink and pale
the flush u-turn will be a charm

If I can get you climbing off
hot and flustered
I’ll have done my pit stop job
at once a chance encounter
and a fateful winning score
to let you know you've entered
into being my prize draw

I'll walk away but don't be sore
it's up to you to take it further
but just know one thing more
that if you call me to confirm
and tell me that I’m worth it
I would turn around so fast
the world would gearshift
and wait
but not in neutral
for us
by Anthony Williams
Scip Nov 2010
Malady mind dance from behind,
Behind a line in vague silhouettes of unmoving time,
Like puppet’s swirl prancing up and down,
At the back of a laughter of a teasing clown
THE PROLOGUE.

WHEN folk had laughed all at this nice case
Of Absolon and Hendy Nicholas,
Diverse folk diversely they said,
But for the more part they laugh'd and play'd;           *were diverted
And at this tale I saw no man him grieve,
But it were only Osewold the Reeve.
Because he was of carpenteres craft,
A little ire is in his hearte laft
;                               left
He gan to grudge
and blamed it a lite.              murmur *little.
"So the* I,"  quoth he, "full well could I him quite
   thrive match
With blearing
of a proude miller's eye,                    dimming
If that me list to speak of ribaldry.
But I am old; me list not play for age;
Grass time is done, my fodder is now forage.
This white top
writeth mine olde years;                           head
Mine heart is also moulded
as mine hairs;                 grown mouldy
And I do fare as doth an open-erse
;                         medlar
That ilke
fruit is ever longer werse,                             same
Till it be rotten *in mullok or in stre
.    on the ground or in straw
We olde men, I dread, so fare we;
Till we be rotten, can we not be ripe;
We hop* away, while that the world will pipe;                     dance
For in our will there sticketh aye a nail,
To have an hoary head and a green tail,
As hath a leek; for though our might be gone,
Our will desireth folly ever-in-one
:                       continually
For when we may not do, then will we speak,
Yet in our ashes cold does fire reek.
                         smoke
Four gledes
have we, which I shall devise
,         coals * describe
Vaunting, and lying, anger, covetise.                     *covetousness
These foure sparks belongen unto eld.
Our olde limbes well may be unweld
,                           unwieldy
But will shall never fail us, that is sooth.
And yet have I alway a coltes tooth,
As many a year as it is passed and gone
Since that my tap of life began to run;
For sickerly
, when I was born, anon                          certainly
Death drew the tap of life, and let it gon:
And ever since hath so the tap y-run,
Till that almost all empty is the tun.
The stream of life now droppeth on the chimb.
The silly tongue well may ring and chime
Of wretchedness, that passed is full yore
:                        long
With olde folk, save dotage, is no more.

When that our Host had heard this sermoning,
He gan to speak as lordly as a king,
And said; "To what amounteth all this wit?
What? shall we speak all day of holy writ?
The devil made a Reeve for to preach,
As of a souter
a shipman, or a leach.                    cobbler
Say forth thy tale, and tarry not the time:                
surgeon
Lo here is Deptford, and 'tis half past prime:
Lo Greenwich, where many a shrew is in.
It were high time thy tale to begin."

"Now, sirs," quoth then this Osewold the Reeve,
I pray you all that none of you do grieve,
Though I answer, and somewhat set his hove
,                  hood
For lawful is *force off with force to shove.
           to repel force
This drunken miller hath y-told us here                        by force

How that beguiled was a carpentere,
Paraventure* in scorn, for I am one:                            perhaps
And, by your leave, I shall him quite anon.
Right in his churlish termes will I speak,
I pray to God his necke might to-break.
He can well in mine eye see a stalk,
But in his own he cannot see a balk."

Notes to the Prologue to the Reeves Tale.

1. "With blearing of a proude miller's eye": dimming his eye;
playing off a joke on him.

2. "Me list not play for age": age takes away my zest for
drollery.

3. The medlar, the fruit of the mespilus tree, is only edible when
rotten.

4. Yet in our ashes cold does fire reek: "ev'n in our ashes live
their wonted fires."

5. A colt's tooth; a wanton humour, a relish for pleasure.

6. Chimb: The rim of a barrel where the staves project beyond
the head.

7. With olde folk, save dotage, is no more: Dotage is all that is
left them; that is, they can only dwell fondly, dote, on the past.

8. Souter: cobbler; Scottice, "sutor;"' from Latin, "suere," to
sew.

9. "Ex sutore medicus"  (a surgeon from a cobbler) and "ex
sutore nauclerus" (a  ****** or pilot from a cobbler) were both
proverbial expressions in the Middle Ages.

10. Half past prime: half-way between prime and tierce; about
half-past seven in the morning.

11. Set his hove; like "set their caps;" as in the description of
the Manciple in the Prologue, who "set their aller cap".  "Hove"
or "houfe," means "hood;" and the phrase signifies to be even
with, outwit.

12. The illustration of the mote and the beam, from Matthew.

THE TALE.

At Trompington, not far from Cantebrig,
                      Cambridge
There goes a brook, and over that a brig,
Upon the whiche brook there stands a mill:
And this is *very sooth
that I you tell.               complete truth
A miller was there dwelling many a day,
As any peacock he was proud and gay:
Pipen he could, and fish, and nettes bete,                     *prepare
And turne cups, and wrestle well, and shete
.                     shoot
Aye by his belt he bare a long pavade
,                         poniard
And of his sword full trenchant was the blade.
A jolly popper
bare he in his pouch;                            dagger
There was no man for peril durst him touch.
A Sheffield whittle
bare he in his hose.                   small knife
Round was his face, and camuse
was his nose.                  flat
As pilled
as an ape's was his skull.                     peeled, bald.
He was a market-beter
at the full.                             brawler
There durste no wight hand upon him legge
,                         lay
That he ne swore anon he should abegge
.             suffer the penalty

A thief he was, for sooth, of corn and meal,
And that a sly, and used well to steal.
His name was *hoten deinous Simekin
        called "Disdainful Simkin"
A wife he hadde, come of noble kin:
The parson of the town her father was.
With her he gave full many a pan of brass,
For that Simkin should in his blood ally.
She was y-foster'd in a nunnery:
For Simkin woulde no wife, as he said,
But she were well y-nourish'd, and a maid,
To saven his estate and yeomanry:
And she was proud, and pert as is a pie.                        magpie
A full fair sight it was to see them two;
On holy days before her would he go
With his tippet* y-bound about his head;                           hood
And she came after in a gite
of red,                          gown
And Simkin hadde hosen of the same.
There durste no wight call her aught but Dame:
None was so hardy, walking by that way,
That with her either durste *rage or play
,                use freedom
But if he would be slain by Simekin                            unless
With pavade, or with knife, or bodekin.
For jealous folk be per'lous evermo':
Algate
they would their wives wende so.           unless *so behave
And eke for she was somewhat smutterlich,                        *****
She was as dign* as water in a ditch,                             nasty
And all so full of hoker
, and bismare*.   *ill-nature *abusive speech
Her thoughte that a lady should her spare,        not judge her hardly
What for her kindred, and her nortelrie           *nurturing, education
That she had learned in the nunnery.

One daughter hadde they betwixt them two
Of twenty year, withouten any mo,
Saving a child that was of half year age,
In cradle it lay, and was a proper page.
                           boy
This wenche thick and well y-growen was,
With camuse
nose, and eyen gray as glass;                         flat
With buttocks broad, and breastes round and high;
But right fair was her hair, I will not lie.
The parson of the town, for she was fair,
In purpose was to make of her his heir
Both of his chattels and his messuage,
And *strange he made it
of her marriage.           he made it a matter
His purpose was for to bestow her high                    of difficulty

Into some worthy blood of ancestry.
For holy Church's good may be dispended                          spent
On holy Church's blood that is descended.
Therefore he would his holy blood honour
Though that he holy Churche should devour.

Great soken* hath this miller, out of doubt,    toll taken for grinding
With wheat and malt, of all the land about;
And namely
there was a great college                        especially
Men call the Soler Hall at Cantebrege,
There was their wheat and eke their malt y-ground.
And on a day it happed in a stound
,                           suddenly
Sick lay the manciple
of a malady,                         steward
Men *weened wisly
that he shoulde die.              thought certainly
For which this miller stole both meal and corn
An hundred times more than beforn.
For theretofore he stole but courteously,
But now he was a thief outrageously.
For which the warden chid and made fare,                          fuss
But thereof set the miller not a tare;           he cared not a rush
He crack'd his boast, and swore it was not so.            talked big

Then were there younge poore scholars two,
That dwelled in the hall of which I say;
Testif* they were, and ***** for to play;                headstrong
And only for their mirth and revelry
Upon the warden busily they cry,
To give them leave for but a *little stound
,               short time
To go to mill, and see their corn y-ground:
And hardily* they durste lay their neck,                         boldly
The miller should not steal them half a peck
Of corn by sleight, nor them by force bereave
                *take away
And at the last the warden give them leave:
John hight the one, and Alein hight the other,
Of one town were they born, that highte Strother,
Far in the North, I cannot tell you where.
This Alein he made ready all his gear,
And on a horse the sack he cast anon:
Forth went Alein the clerk, and also John,
With good sword and with buckler by their side.
John knew the way, him needed not no guide,
And at the mill the sack adown he lay'th.

Alein spake f
Moomin Apr 2020
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I bring to you a sad affair
Someone who evokes such fury, yet one who faces deep despair

For this, the accused who faces death, or lives according to your decree
Who makes no statement with dying breath, yet silently invokes her plea    

What crimes are done by this lost soul, what evil deeds did she aspire?
And where the witness of her death toll, the evidence that guilt requires?

No crime recorded, no victim slain, no trace of ****** or robbery
No voice of condemnation raised, none here to force a guilty plea  

She has no wrongs in her short life, has no deceit within her soul
No hurt has she, nor human spite, no determined selfish goal  

But one accuser, here today, one joined in life and woven fate
This one though will have her say, and claim the life she helped create

This witness claims to suffer pain, and a prison, should the accused survive
That her life will ebb and be restrained, and sadness would always reside

For some accusers have been defiled, by monstrous beasts of lust and hate
Others young and so beguiled, are induced by charm, so participate  

Others spy disease and defect, and cry acts of mercy to prevent
They choose to extinguish and protect, rather than one day regret

And then are those alone who strive, who cannot toil with life's results
And so instead, they choose their lives, and cry for freedom do exult

But where in these stands the accused, silent and awaiting fate
Her breath and freedom she is refused, for all the reasons the witness states

Is she alive, does she have form, within her soft and warm abode?
Where her heart beats, and fingers form, and from miracles she is wove    

Was she not also one defiled, is she not young and helpless too?
Would malady she reject, and death instead would opt to choose?  

And would not her life loneliness cure, and make a future with great light?
And comfort one who gave her life, and join her purpose true and right

For the accused can offer more than this, should she be allowed today to  live
Has so much that she can share, so much love and joy to give

For in our world, where children die, through hate and fate and evil men
We cherish those we lost too soon, and yearn to see our child again  
  
But what of the accused today, what future do we her deny?
A nurse, a doctor or a friend, a mother of so many lives?

How sad the accuser, so resolute, yet desperate to belong
In a world where our rights are so absolute, that they obscure the wrongs

And what she gains through this sad act, she loses so much more
A legacy of love and hope, a daughter who will adore

And so good people of the jury, I ask that you reflect
Upon the life of this dear child, so amazing and perfect

For my client has committed no crime, no evil deed or word
Is blameless and so innocent, and would not have caused this hurt

I ask therefore for mercy true, that her life be now redeemed
That she might live, and love and learn, and so pursue her dreams


"Your eyes saw even the embryo of me."  - The Bible
Bows N' Arrows Mar 2018
Foggy breeze through my
fingertips when sunburnt days
seem coveted in memory.
When the columbines came back from the dead.
Burnt up cities...
The last glimpse of
firefly lights grew dim behind me
The trees sprouted everywhere like stardust
The pillars I once worshipped
in incense with amulets
became faded ruins...
The weathered walls texture
were like sequins with no glimmer
I escaped again to a place with green lakes and forrests of pines
It's quieter up here in the
mountains
Like a shudder through the
window
I hear the old house moan all
through the day and all
through the night
The sunlight pierces through
the blinds
illuminating his face
which is already illuminated
But you're my bumblebee
that insignia- a honey gatherer
If you subtract the intimacy
out of ***...
Nothing's left, but
hollow mechanical *******
Stealing the rythmn from
the music
Sturdy as a beam I lay
Unable to grasp at anything
It's just noise
Sweaty day, shivering nights-juxtaposed
It's like living on Mercury
In decomposition like a basket of rotten lemons
Past conversations crush their
weight against my open ribs
No parent teacher or friend
told me how all consuming the sensation would be...
Dazed eyes staring through
disheveled blinds,
I was dropping rose buds off the
second floor balcony in the night
They hit the scratchy asphalt
like a gentle meteor shower
Monotonous nights replay
the same phases
That moon...
A face splashing
from gibbous to crescent
Waning on my malady
Always stirring like a steady torch
Marshal Gebbie Jun 2010
Poured upon the coldest plate
Sensations I have felt of late,
Oozing out in rhyme so thin
To slit betwixt the blood and skin,
Feelings I can best describe
As mothers’ milk in ostrich hide.
Feeling I can best project
As crystal **** wrote circumspect.

Turgid as the wrath in waves
I feel my very soul depraves
The values held within my breast,
The turbulence portrayed at best
As damnable as purple ink
With oiliness of olive stink.
This malady is best described
As mothers’ milk in ostrich hide.

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
24 June 2010
Haydn Swan May 2015
Sometimes we sit in quiet expectation that the other will speak
only to be greeted by the silence of internal solitude
if we may hear the sound of our own breath
then do we know that life is indeed still in abode
does the other understand our internal rhyme
the words that keep the heart in its beat
the soul drags its bow across the taut strings
a sorrowful malady does spring forth from its tune
would that the other hear this internal melody
then hope might indeed cement over these cracks
scripts are always written at the lovers behest
only to be discarded by its woeful actors
scenes played to no rapturous applause
bows taken in haste with exits gratefully received.
The disintegration of what once was true love is suddenly amplified by the distance between the partners in the relationship,  we become lost and lonely, longing for some understanding but sadly feel it slipping away ..
neth jones May 19
dismember                        
the jerking flesh of my heart
nervous excrement
the manner your head rattles
when i lunge at you
this room stiffens with ****
                    running our corpses thru the flame
the gummy dark muffle day-to-night            
       pinball wisdom of creatures                    
                                   ­   below the floor
cactus salad
        me you and our malady
[notes : inspired by Remember  by Joyce Mansour]
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2011
(Quote by Spike Milligan)

One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****.

There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.

Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!


Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.

Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.

****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****.

I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****!


Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE
PEOPLE ACTING AT EVERY PHASE .
REGARDLESS OF CASTE , CREED,COLOUR OR AGE !
ARTISTS CHOOSE THEIR SUBJECTS AND CHARACTERS
CREATING MASKED SLAPSTICK'S , OUTRAGEOUS , RIOTOUS ACTORS .
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !

AT THE ONSET PLOTS WERE SIMPLE , STRAIGHT AND PREDICTABLE , INTENSELY FOLLOWED BY
DISGRACEFUL INTRIGUES , CLEVER TRAPS , FIREWORKS AND SHIPWRECKS  ,
ANYTHING THAT PROVIDED PRETTY ACTRESSES TO GO HYSTERIC ON STAGE AND POWERFUL HEROS TO NEVER AGE .
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !

NOW THE WORLD IS SET ON FIRE ,
NOT WITHSTANDING NOSTALGIC DESIRE REPLACED WITH DIPLOMATIC DRAMA .
MOMENTOUS STUDY OF THEIR PARTS ,
MELODRAMATIC , GRADED PLAYERS REPLACE ARTISTS WITH NO HEARTS .
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !

PACK OF EDUCATED PERFORMERS TURNING INTO PROFESSIONAL TROUPES.
NO MORE  EMOTIONS , NO MORE COMEDY . OH ! IT IS SUCH A MALADY .
HATRED , COMPETITION AND TRAGIC ENDS ,
MARK  WORLD'S STAGES WITH THE LATEST TRENDS .
ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE  !

POLITICAL FURY , DIPLOMATIC JURY CEASED THE ARTIST WITHIN .
THE STAGE IS GRIM ,WITH TEARS ROLLING IN A STREAM.
MERE PUPPETS  DANCING TO THE TUNES ,
MAKING DRAMATIC SCENE AFTER SCENE .
FUTURE IS AT STAKE UNCLEAR AND UNCLEAN.
EACH PLAYING A MIGHTY ROLE ,
EACH PAYING A HEAFTY PRICE
LEFT TO THE MERCY OF THE WISE ,
CREATING  A VERSATILE ATMOSPHERE FOR ACCOLODES TO A DYING ARTIST , BLOGGED WITH FOG AND MIST
WITH PEOPLE ACTING AT EVERY PHASE ,
ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE !

© Mrunalini .D. Nimbalkar
14.04.19.
Certain events make a person retrospect if the real purpose of living is ceasing .The world needs to change ...Change for the better !! Real emotions , affection and love seems to diminish tarnishing the purpose of life .
This poem is every bit a thought process of what each one is moving into ...A unrealistic future and uncertainty of emotions
T R Wingfield Mar 2024
Hark and Come Hear Ye Here
Ye loyal subjects of the king
Reports from the borders of our principality
warn of a gruesome pestilence spreading unseen,
This devilish scourge of affliction is Coming!
Beware of the telltale signs of corruption
In the countenance of those under siege of this heretofore unknown malady.
It has been documented
by trusted physicians that certain aspects of one’s physiology
Will present themselves shortly
before the fever of madness and fear
Takes control.
Take Heed of thy neighbors
Behaviors and be wary of
Changes occurring in regards to
Their normal routine.
If boils or bleeding of orifices be
Witnessed report the citizen to the nearest authority
Once the outward expression of the putrification is upon them, it is but a fortnight until they succumb to the terrible fate of mortality. Those most beset by the pox of this plague are without exception in a state of aggravated nervous disorientation. Keep safe, keep your distance, and warn others around you of such individuals afflicted, lest ye contract the pox, for there is as yet no alchemical remedy

Be wary of these ghouls wandering the streets
Muttering manically, wreaking of decay, flailing and gnashing their teeth in a rage.
If one of the accursed creatures approaches, It is a mortal encroachment ye must evade.
Make right with the lord and keep the faith, our souls stand for judgment, ensure yours will be saved.

Take heed of these warnings here given this day.

They are not to be ignored if you wish to survive
12-27-23

For decades I’ve had this internal fantasy that I’m a bearer of the plague, not necessarily patient zero but one of the early infected, a vector of an unknown catastrophe. I got really sick. This was a fun thing. (Not being sick, writing a silly poem)
La Volpe Heline Oct 2013
I am a concentrated mess
A combination of crippled thoughts
This conflict of vicious melodies;
A malady of heart

Words that are jumbled
Seem to tumble from my lips
And I stumble over phrases,
Stuttering lines to make me sick

And my envious reflection,
An enemy to me,
Stares daggers at myself,
Because she hates all that she sees.

Yet your compliments leave complexions that are riveting in hue,
And the conflicts of my mind seem to eventually subdue.

Your fire leaves me flustered,
But just a little bit confused.
Fires are supposed to burn,
So why has yours refused?
Amitav Radiance Jul 2014
Cheating can be pandemic
Heart’s afflicted and paralyzed
Mind rationalizes the malady
Sabotaging the ties of relationships
Pandemonium sweeps away all
brea Mar 2014
Anything for a friend
Means not only petty favours
Or discounts on coffee.
Kindness, is it really?
At 3am, holding your hair back
Mouth waters, yearning for a taste
Of the promised land, so close.
Kindred matchstick kindle
Almost small enough to slip through the cracks.
"Malady, my lady, I have none."
Only silver strength and iron will.
Killing you with a smoulder, caressing lost lover
As surely as the nuMbing cOld finally maKes you feel anything at all.
Joel M Frye Apr 2016
I do not fight my fatal malady;
awake each morn, and live the day anew.
I have it; my cancer won't have me.

No battleground, no carnage to be seen,
my gentle Spirit bears my burden through.
I do not fight my fatal malady.

No cringing, no beseeching God, "Why me?"
In truth, I'd rather it be me than you.
I have it; my cancer won't have me.

Of course, I wish no one at all would be
in suffering.  Someday, I pray that's true.
I do not fight my fatal malady.

Should I live long enough that I might see
the cure the doctors say is coming due,
I'll have it.  The cancer won't have me.

When death will win its meager victory
the door will open.  Gladly, I'll pass through.
I do not fight my fatal malady.
I have it; the cancer won't have me.
In my case, stalemate means I win.  :)

So many concerned friends keep asking if I'm all right, and tell me to keep on fighting.  It puzzles me, for the above reasons.  There is no fight.  Accept, adapt, and move on.
The time of year has grown indifferent.
Mildew of summer and the deepening snow
Are both alike in the routine I know:
I am too dumbly in my being pent.

The wind attendant on the solstices
Blows on the shutters of the metropoles,
Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls
The grand ideas of the villages.

The malady of the quotidian . . .
Perhaps if summer ever came to rest
And lengthened, deepened, comforted, caressed
Through days like oceans in obsidian

Horizons, full of night's midsummer blaze;
Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate
Through all its purples to the final slate,
Persisting bleakly in an icy haze;

One might in turn become less diffident,
Out of such mildew plucking neater mould
And spouting new orations of the cold.
One might. One might. But time will not relent.
This is very surreal, it must be a dream
Falling and falling through thick hot steam
Hitting some sort of surface, I stop to catch my breath
Wiping the sweat off my face, wondering where I am and why I feel like death
Before another thought could arise, the surface collapsed
This time falling slowly, hearing distant sounds of human gasps
Trying to stay calm as I am floating in this unknown reality
Its almost like i might have control; its my own malady
I'm starting to think I am supposed to be here
To learn, to be, not to be scared nor to fear
Sounds coming from every direction; very faint echoes
I close my eyes briefly and upon opening them I realize I'm atop giant legos  
Wanting to play, I attempt to touch the huge green one
The moment I made contact, an alarm sounded, so what do I do? I run
I ran along the giant legos for what seemed like hours
Legos now out of sight, and far in the distance, some odd shaped towers
I wanted to reach them but only empty space fed the way
A sudden fatigue came over me so I found a place to lay
As I awoke, I noticed a pathway from the towers to where I stood
How very strange, I thought, but also this is good
I make my way to these mysterious towers, finding myself in awe
The weirdest and yet beautiful buildings I had ever seen, and insanely tall
I let myself in to the nearest tower, having no clue what I may find
I open the large door, and to my surprise, the room was mine!
I am in my own bedroom, and I see myself sleeping in my bed
I walk closer to myself, and gave me a big thump on the head
Next thing I know  I am awake, and it was, indeed, a dream
Baffled and confused but learned that nothing is ever what it seems
copyright Hannah Benchetrit
Robert Zanfad Nov 2009
Psychotic break stole
Sound mind with a dream
Escaped from the hole
Left by heart's loss.
Paste and paper seams
Meant to give gloss
To facades distressed
Unravel in time
And a life, no less,
Is bound to come loose
When built on old lies.
Lost to reality
In a new delusion
I watched a poor fool,
Arms flapping wildly
Certain they were afire
Set to flame by the embers
Of that brazier
Lit a life time ago,
Left hidden in past
Still aglow,
Time's slow drip
Yet unable
To put the coals to rest.
From poets,
Madman learns,
Salving fresh burns
With quenching words,
Delighting in their
Cooling flow,
A newfound remedy
For a primal malady.
Babbling in swatches,
Speaking of things
That aren't there
But maybe were.
Then lighting more matches,
Lest the glow extinguish
Its delirious illusions
Ease smoldering anguish,
But leave the room too cold
moondust Jul 2017
you're not doing well
with skin like bed sheets
ebbing tides in your forehead
and the malady that keeps your mind guessing,

these next six nights
of not having to feel
so alone will make you
fall back into sleep
to grow roots.

i'll cut holes in the ozone
to put your heartache in

i'll walk you to the hospital,
i'll wait in a white room,
place your sad eyes in my drawers
until my hand breaks

the universe is twice as big as we think it is
and 'you are so important to me'
is easier to digest than
skipping heart beats

i miss you like a dart hits the iris of a bullseye,
or a train ticket screams 4:30 at 4:47,
and
i've fallen in love

you're the only one that made that idea
less devastating.
cut-out poetry i made for a project back in november 2016. i used lucas regazzi's poems called small and bedside table.

EDIT 170829: none of the lines used here are mine!! they're all taken from the poems mentioned above :)
Laokos Sep 2020
folding the sirens of
eternity in on themselves
as this scant hour
rebuilds its stage
over and
over
in the light of my eyes

already there is a perception
of being caught
in a loop - of a lesson
playing out
before a malady
of ignorance

i am free to see it
and i am free
to miss it

it is the long
breath
of the breaching
whale - an exchange
of currents for
the transformation of
sky into
ocean depths

it is
the
hidden union
in transience

recurring
in beautiful
obscurity
Ivan Aug 18
sweetest writer,
climb forth from the deep trench
in my heart's wound
and quench my thirst for love

dear doctor of written expression,
incant the melody, cure this malady
with verses that expose the affinity
that is inherit between her and I

smith of words,
hammer out a spell to please a vampire
with a quick, orangy sunset to transpire
wield the blade of dusk
against the morning star until it expires

as we conspire to set our bed on fire
there is no consequence too dire
for my one and only desire

master lyricist,
compose the sensual phrases
a song in whispers that ripens
her delicious fruit until ready for savoring

and last, to the dear poet within,
feed the lust filled inclinations of creatures
that hunger for each other's bare skin

allow your words to manifest
her sensuality alike a tinderbox
so I may then ignite her fantasies!
I wish to capture the strands of Light with vials so they'll be saved
and check this hindsight soon
Minus the pensive view as faded memories
and Darkness ensue
Intruding on my current's gentle sway

Bottle my dreams into penny-roll seams
and relinquish the dismay
It's what pain lends that builds strong men.
...Or at least that's what they say

Now scattered dreams on tethered beams
that once held the lantern
Salvation
Now dressings all withered; rotted; decayed;
-to reveal  the
Condemnation

And all the while in your mind's eye
Hundreds of miles away
Becomes the grim smile's wail
Like a dim Firefly's tail
or a fawn's capricious trail sold
So bold on it's heel!
When dawn reveals what THEY wish to convey

And if the rustling; bustling; craven;
-musical trees silent cadence disappeared
and was prosecuted, now Jaded
It was taken on volition none of it's own
and it's coy, inspiring, jubilant ways have all long since faded
Evanescence in essence entreat
Reveals countenance's yield:
Asylum or "Haven"
sealed by the messenger Raven's eternal heartbeat

I'd be content then with malice's malady
Rotund with lust for how I have dispirited thee
Hope for one moment, one moment Just
to scrape at the rust and know I am truly free
I'd ask for my kin to photograph this moment
To omit any confusion
I'd hold it close for I cherish it the most
When THEY boast of the grand illusion

And the echoes of children
Fallen from Grace
Trapped in Rapture nefarious
Too precocious for having known
this Forsaken place
Living in the Age of Aquarius

-Christopher  J. P.  Polizzi
November  5th, 2014
9:34 P.M.
government, rebel, liberal, America, rapture, apocalypse
Ritz Writes Mar 2019
There was an agony in my voice
Unheard rant and tirade against
The world that couldn't appreciate your sole identity.
Life as we know it!
Trembling in fear, braving the storm not to break down in tears.
When billows of sadness roll
Embracing the state of solitude, no one to call.
Behind the dark circle, hidden with a concealer
Bottled up paranoia and scars
Drowning in a sea of misery.
What could've been done to alleviate this malady
I wish I could crumble into pieces
As ashes of smoke, disappearing into a thin air.
Did I chose this melancholic trail
Unable to succumb myself to death.
I,
A living dead
Leave me alone
I can't handle anymore pain.
Catharsis.
Davis Gloff Sep 2015
I had a little headache yesterday
But "little" headaches leave me in ill humor
because I know (and very often say:)
"I don't get headaches! It must be a tumor!"

When I get aches, it fills me with misgiving.
For any symptom, even though it's vague,
I've known this much: as long as I've been living:
Each little pain must be bubonic plague.

I never had a tiny ailment yet
But I was sure was going to cause my death,
And every case of pimples that I get
will shortly make me end up like Macbeth.

A doctor said the malady I fight is
Called terminal acute dramaticitis

dag 11/10/2013
Cunning Linguist Jul 2013
Gnashing of teeth**
Mutilating flesh;
Annihilation.
Reanimate,
Decay
Proliferating
Malady
The Noose Apr 2014
Veins polluted with the malady that is love
From the lethal sting of Delilah

A man with a virtuous temperament
A devotee
A fool

Parched and empty
Dangling on the edge of reason
Short of resistance
He succumbed to her feign affections
And so it bled and bloomed
A cloak-and-dagger romance
Doomed to crumble.
Ignatius Hosiana Jun 2016
I want to "unbreak" your heart, to steal all the hurt
I want to look for every lost piece if you let me please
I want to scour the floor and sweep every corner
so that I can gather all the pieces I shattered
and steadily and carefully locate where each piece fits
on the puzzle of your big broken heart
I want to unbend the crooked by the impact
and fold those straightened curves to bring her shape back
I can't make the cracks totally disappear
but I wish I could, I want to weld the spaces with hot friendship
to lock out the air of doubt and despair
I want to incinerate the bad memories with fire of my passion
so that you won't remember the same fire burnt you
I also want to paint the welded whole with the crimson if romance
so that placed back on the shelf of reality
you can be purchased by someone you deserve
someone who'll appreciate your sacrifices
the absurdity & melancholy hidden underneath the coating
I so much want to heal all the wounds and the scars
I don't know whether you will let me in or shut the doors
but whatever you do, I deserve it for causing you pain
I want to be an adulteration that cures its malady
because I'm remorseful for what happened
Almost effortlessly it appears to be
somewhat divine
cuts the line so fine through skin and bone
homes in on the malady that's affected me
and burns it out.
Laser beams unpicking seams
I deem it best to just accept the light
lay back and relax
while the laser attacks
me
internally.

It's like Star Wards
tied by hospital cords
and it's scary
but interesting and fascinating
hyperventilating
fear
the laser comes near
closing my eyes
nobody dies who comes into the light
Yeah alright
I'll believe
but the laser freezes and does not burn
which is of some concern
did not expect that turn of events.

The surgeon cements me together
he's clever
and say's 'all done
nothing to worry about'
then goes off with a gun in his hand
to laser beam land?

Everything moves so fast
where once a plaster cast would have done,
Today,
everyone wants to blast you with a laser
gun.
Zapped.
Icarus Jul 2011
today you could chose
to be silent or to shout
to sulk or to sway
to stall, simmer or bubble forth, overflow.
you decide.
your call.

but today,
i wish for you to dance
(just a wish, mind you)
a twist, a two-step, a waltz in solo
or just lose it wildy alone in the yard
with a flurry of smiles, adorning your face
your limbs undulate in synch
with the colors of your dress in a blur
brown curls sailing with the breeze
your blue eyes buried in stifled laughter
your fingers curl in beguiling pose
while you sway your hips
like cursive graffiti upon a sacred wall
sweat rising on hallowed ground
celebrating the impossible chance
that you even ******* exist.

should you opt to dance
please bury your troubles away
there is time enough to be sad another day
break out like a malady of mirth
infect us fervent with your delicious antics
we know you are crazy enough
to be trusted with our pernicious lives
for there are those of Us gathered
wandering souls with bated breath
to see your feet convulse in rhythm
and lead the parade.
i take my place in the crowd,
throw in my well-wishes
in that big vat of love a-boiling
in the center of the square
ready to see you go nuts.
you decide.
your call.

dance,
for the sake of dancing
love,
for the sake of loving.

so listen to the song spinning.
just maybe,
you could grant me the honor
of capturing your untamed vision
paint it with fierce abandon on this canvass
and offer it as my humble gift.

happy that you were born.
honored to meet you
right at the corner of this universe.

best wishes on your birthday!
Written for my Beloved on her birthday...
Lane Dec 2012
When everything is new, it just feels
so
****
good.

You find yourself lost, maybe in an iris,
completely vulnerable but blissfully apathetic to the fact.
You wake up to a warmer light, possibly from the inside,
and you have no idea where you are, but that doesn't matter.
You discover, uncover, and redefine each other.
Tangled legs and whispered words,
bring you closer to one another.
But everything is new, everything is a wonder.
You enjoy finding the little findings,
even the ones you might not hope for.
But everything is new, and nothing else matters.

But when everything is old, it just gets
so
****
bad.
Discovery becomes memory
becomes habit becomes apathy
becomes malady leads to tragedy.

Keep going.
Keep wondering.
Keep discovering,
and everything will be new.
When everything is new, it just feels
so
****
good.
Akshay Kumar Mar 2014
Heavens were furious this time
In a glimpse it happened
His bridges were burnt down
Void inclination towards life

Desolated on vandalized street he stood
With a malady of his spirit
Immense misery in his heart
The facade of spurn was prejudiced

Confined within the darkness
Lost in the echo of agitation
With a deep gasp and step forward
He feels the quiver in his bones

Divergent roads ahead
To take revenge or to let go
The emptiness inside would never culminate

The Satan inside prevails
Sanity is exfoliated
World seems to consolidate
Paradox of emotions Outburst !

                                       ~D. Akshay Kumar

— The End —