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 Oct 2017
RebelGirl
you feel depressed
they say your emo
that is not even close to how we feel
judge us
but yet you don't know us
how is that fair
wait it is not fair
my scars on my arm
was from pain inside
but yet I was being selfish and trying to die right?
wrong wrong wrong
you don't know us
so don't try to judge us
 Oct 2017
zebra
oh, the poet
antagonist to the good and evil alike
a sobbing child
let lose in the world
with words and appetites piqued and sensual
transgressors of the middle class
and dull speak

their literary magnitude
sometimes perfume and sometimes stench
dripping on wet pages
written by electric brains
nimble figures and wet crotches
to relieve themselves of stupidities accumulations
wrought by their culture
mired in stink think
of either or

from the head up
high minded saints
from the hips down
undulating demons
each in denial of the other
a buffet of lies

the poet
purging private pleasures and torments
for the bemusement of the world
laid-out on the page
like public masturbations
for all to see in the theater of the ear
genuflecting
with mellifluent grace
and silver tongued appreciations
 Sep 2017
Valsa George
Once I have been to that city
the city of ritzy splendour,
of hoary grandeur,
a gargantuan pile of steel and granite.
It stood an enigma
on the banks of Hudson,
lulling the waves to sleep
in the garish light of neon bulbs
with an eternal tumult
heating up its nerves

Walking down its streets alien
scenes eerie scurried past-
Men and women-
of all climes and continents
all ethnic denominations,
all shapes, sizes and colours,
blonds, brunettes,
blacks and whites,
tourists and nomads,
in flashing styles
outlandish costumes,
tonsured, dyed
and tattooed,
on shoulders, back and chest
with bizarre shapes,
Some dressed from top to toe
many bordering on ******,
splurging with life
feverish and frenzied
speaking different dialects,
some tall, some lean, many obese
trundling down busy streets
that never go still
with sleep and awakening
but action, commotion, agitation,
where each day is an eternity
and each night- a New Year’s Eve
where business runs without pause
rife with sounds and noises -
the incessant roars of fevered minds
muffled, stifled, excited, agonized
mixing with music flowing from concert halls
merging in sounds of siren
and speeding traffic
A banal hubbub-
A hoarse discordant clamour!

I passed through avenues
where sky scrapers
huddled together on either side
where once stood the Twin Towers
stabbing into clouds –
those titanic monuments of Yankee pride,
one day raced down to Ground Zero
where terrorists wreaked havoc
and wiped thousands unwary -
still frozen in the dark memories
of that day light nightmare!

Passing down Wall Street,
the nation’s Money Mart
that spawns an industry
of ruthless dreams and fantasies,
I saw,
the mammoth Bull, charging feral
under whose crushing hooves
many fall dead
and rise again like Phoenix
or soar into indefinable heights
or bury their dreams ever
under the sod.

Broad roads that stretched endless
seemed to lose themselves
like the mazy tangle of complex minds,
and pavements
littered with a thousand moving feet
Men and women in pairs,
hand in hand,
lip to lip,
bodies entwined
seen in beaches and parks
in whose brain
Marriage- labelled an anachronism!

In these hurricane of faces
with fleeting passions
or fixations of their own
What chemistry could I discern?
A zest for life--or its absence?
A search for a life lost in living?
A fight for survival
Or
A passive surrender to the inevitable?
I do not know—
I fail to define
I fail to divine.
Here the city is described as many faceted because in New York, one can see a larger medley of men of all countries and climes and their differing fashions and fads than in any other city of the world. Here perhaps foreigners outnumber the New Yorkers! This is one of my old writes holding the raw impressions of one who felt suddenly thrown into the midst of a sea of people and cultures

When one roams through the streets of Manhattan, one can find the city racing at a maddening pace, with a never ending parade of personalities. I found it impossible to fully digest, or keep up with...but, there was indeed an underlying heart beat which pulsated fluidly and offered the very lifeblood to those who sought a cacophony of culture and creativity.  It was overwhelmingly abstract, but it extended a welcoming sign to all. At the same time one would feel so lost amid the titan towers of marble, stone, steel and glass.  This has been my experience when I.... from a semi urban town from South India with no much exposure, saw New York City for the first time!
 Sep 2017
Star BG
I want to write a love story,
with all the flavor of a grand movie.
A story that touches viewers heart.
The kind people go in droves to,
where man and woman explode with
passions never ending.
I want to write a love story with me in it.
One that matches dream to drifting in someone's arms.
 Sep 2017
Sam Stone Grenier
10 Facts Your Grandmother Tweets About

Ashton Kutcher's 12 Shocking Stamp Collecting Tips

15 Street Racing Tips From Joe Biden

10 Unbelievable Things Urologists Don't Want You to Know

The Jaw-Dropping Truth About Crochet

19 Reasons Why This Novela Villain Is A ******* Style Icon

18 Pictures Of Kristen Stewart That Might Make You Pregnant

Can Leonardo DiCaprio Save Skateboarding?

Can Leonardo DiCaprio Save Skateboarding?
 Sep 2017
Akira Chinen
I only cry when I'm alone
and I am alone a lot
I don't cry because I'm lonely
I'm usually only lonely when in a crowd
I cry because the world
seems to be falling apart
instead of coming together
and everyday that passes
brings us closer to a day too late
a day when the warning is a reality
and the reality is worse than predicted
and hope and *****
have long left us to drown
in our own misery and ignorance
and if god was ever there
he realizes what a mistake
it was to make us in the first place
and just quietly walks away
because it was as simple
as love and be loved
but we ****** that up so bad
that love became nothing more
than a ****** brand
of gift and sympathy cards
and life became nothing more
than fuel for war and hatred and profit
for those that have too much
but have nothing to give
other than grief and manipulation
with hands that twisted
our minds and hearts into believing
evil was the mischief of the devil
to distract us from the fact
that the only place real evil was breed
was inside their ugly hearts
and I can hear it beat loudest
when I find myself alone
and no matter how long
or hard I cry
I just can't drown it out
I hadn't expected someone there
already before me.

Only lonely men come here
I heard him through my heavy breath
lonely with nothing and everything.

Down there was the sea rumbling faintly
with the froths painting themselves on the shore
like a sketch in a child's drawing book.

Height does amazing tricks, the man continued,
makes you feel invincible
stimulates you to be ****** into gravity
to fall as light as the feather.


The dusk was wrapping up the light
when I remembered having promised her
not to be late to descend.

There's a man up there, I told the gateman,
Nope, he said,
you were the only guest this evening.
 Sep 2017
zebra
Black agat cat
koshei-deathless
fire in a skull
a conjuring crone
grand mother of terrors
nag
draped in black
the key hole to her door made of teeth
black salt queen
she rings the  alter bell
her curse
return to sender
address known
dancing alligator pendents
worry dolls
worried
she dances on chicken legs

For many years now
I watched her son
"I have been trailing this old murderer,
this cunning ancient seducer,
this revolting old rake,
deformed by old age
yet disguising himself
time and again
as a youthful prince charming.
This crafty hunter
of the broken-hearted,
this vampire wooer with a voice as bittersweet as that of a cello on a lonely night,
a subtle, velvety charlatan,
a master of stratagems,
a magic piper who draws the desperate and lonely into the folds of his silken cloak.
The ancient serial killer of disappointed souls."
This Poem is taken from the mythology of Baba Yaga....Slavic Witch
and the writing of Amos Oz excerpted and put in poetic form from
A Tale of Darkness
 Sep 2017
Amanda F
My body is a ballroom for my soul to dance in.
My eyes are shooting stars that claim the cosmos of my sight.
My hands are fragile vines of woven skin that grip the dirt and praise the earth.
My skin is a delicate mould.
My freckles map the constellations and tell the alignment of the stars.
My body is my home, that explores the wonder of the universe.
I am nature. I am art.

- A.F
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