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 Apr 2018
Jesse stillwater
Just disappearing
isn't possible
when it takes
so long for
a rock wall
to erode away

  The wind
is the only one
that sees you,
and its silence
grinds down
from the inside out
a mountain
too high to climb


  It's hard to forget
swelling words
spoken under the breath
of the voice of silence,
when your hands
are lined with all
that they ever have;

still bearing
every latent piece
that breaks off
tryin' to keep
from the sight
of another
tempest storm gale
moving worlds

  So I'm going
way outside
the edge of the inside;
crossing over
way outside the lines
covered by gathered
windblown life fractals
 
  Though I may not
get back in again,
way outside the lines,
or I might not
even want to ...
you can’t go back
the same way
you came,
everything changes
while you're gone
even if you DO notice

  Gravity pulls
with the strength
of a turning tide:
you can try
and fight it,
but you can't stop
its running downhill
looking behind
your eyes, trying
to take you back
the same way you
went way outside
  the lines ...


        Jesse
.
  04 April 2018
 Mar 2018
Julian Delia
PART I – AN EXAMPLE

Mohamed Bouazizi –
A name we should never forget;
The name of a man whose loss
Is one of many we shall forever regret.

He did not want much;
All he wished for was an education,
A proper house, warm to one’s touch,
The right to make a decent living
A humble being, never taking too much yet always giving.

Mohamed Bouazizi
Was a man who never had it easy;
His story profoundly echoes among us all
A tragedy fuelled by greed and corruption.
Put yourself in his shoes –
Fatherless since he was three,
Working since he was ten,
The right for education stolen from him
By his own, cold nation.

It is difficult to understand
What it’s like
To be buried beneath the sand,
Just like that.
Mohamed had to quit school
And support an entire family
Essentially, reduced to a tool
An instrument
For financial gain;
Eventually, he was unable to take the pain
The humiliation
Of having his only means of remuneration
Confiscated and destroyed.

So, incredulous and angry,
All he had was one final attempt at diplomacy,
His penultimate demand to a governor with no soul:
“If you don’t see me, I will burn myself.”
His produce, his vending stall,
His scales – all taken from him, accelerating his fall
Into desperation,
Into deliberate, self-immolation.

Every authority that was supposed to be a protector
Instead acted as a horrifying molester –
Mohamed
Tried every route he could possibly take
A brave explorer confronting snake after snake.
Alas,
He reached his breaking point,
And true to his word,
He set himself on fire –
December 16th, 2010
Was the date when his ire
Could be contained no longer.
Part one of a three-piece poem which begins by honouring the memory of Mohamed Bouazizi. Parts two and three to be uploaded, soon.
 Mar 2018
Arcassin B
By Arcassin Burnham


I am too social,
I am too artistic,
I am too musical,
I am too fun going,
Too ambitious,
But this ******* broad will never understand my feelings
because her and everybody in the family don't respect my wishes,
Like the time i said i wanted to become vegan,
or the time I said i had a book signing to go to on stage but I couldn't make it,
and they reply was they didn't have money,
but the same place I wanted to go is where they took my sister to see her family,
Now Isn't that a shame ? not quite because theres way worser **** I'd rather write about
tonight,
ya see the out of all these people you thought my mother would have
understood and made it right to serve her purpose as one parent,
but bad decision after bad decisions later  now that 20 years old just give every
reason not to repay me,
and once I get up out of this hell hole and take my business else where,
I won't caught doing things she did to me,
this home never a home in the first place , even in the happy times they ripped
me off aside from all my memories,
I don't hate you cause you didn't care of me most of my life , I hate you because you
still pretend you care,
I didn't forget what you when you were last deadbeat , that I wasn't suppose to be here,
In this house I'm treated like meg from family guy, when all I ever wanted was the love
and support I didn't have,
I'm smarter and I'm wiser and I'm Stronger , i could give a **** about what you ever do to
me on your behave,

When I Leave I Won't Come Back.
©abpoetry2018

https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2018/03/through-trees-mix-part-3.html
 Mar 2018
Poetic T
You thought I was your dog,
bound by a leash, but even
though it was tight, I knew,
that time is an eventual release.

Pulling on me, etching of
fingerprints collect on a throat,
A painting of painful worded hued
like the leash was cutting deeper.

But even though I never bit back,
I was blighting that which kept us close.
Every time you pulled that leash,
always a moment further away released.

Your love wasn't what it pertained to be,
I was leached from our first kiss.
But now I bark louder as our vows are
scratched out as I walk out unleashed.

I wear the scars of your keeping,
but I don't hide them, I wear them
in pride of never been restrained by
another's  need to control my life again
 Mar 2018
L B
They are wild things
Sometimes, I swear
I need a shotgun
but so as not –
to hurt the words

I hack them out of weeds
Break the ice to drag them out
Throw rocks at them in trees

Turn around three times fast
and collapse
Sometimes I catch one
still spinning dizzy
floating circle-words in breeze

I command nothing

The poems always have their way

I command nothing!

Not love –  Not time –  Nor hate
Nor sun –  
but the moon-rise –  
maybe

...in dream-light
 Mar 2018
Julian Delia
Picture –
The ancient slave
On one knee, hands in chains
From his dreams, he refrains
A soul destined
To follow his master
Like a beaten dog tied to a post.
The few who rebelled
Either died, or were expelled,
Outcasts for life,
Labelled as heretics, agents of strife.

The ancient slave
Was born a slave, a captive soul
Animated as a shadow, not a whole.
No freedom, no choice –
A voice
With its chords tied,
Its right to speak denied
Because slavers and a bill of sale said so.

Visualise –
The modern slave
The one who is born
Not with bonds made of chains
But of laws,
Of the systemic corruption
The incessant drive for consumption
And the illusion of freedom.
It is the modern slave
Who lives the greatest lie –
A purposeless drone who will die
Thinking he has lived
Because he had an affair with life.

A life fully savoured
Cannot be just this.
Working 40 – 60 hour weeks
A system that just reeks
Of exploitation,
Of the horrible foundation
On which everything we know is built.

Most of us
Work to eat, to provide,
No secret accounts to hide;
Most of us
Make enough to get by,
Maybe enjoy the weekend
When given the leave to do so.
Most of us
Have this affair with life
Living freely for a few hours
Like rain when it’s just summer showers
Brief flickers, drops of rain
Sprinkled onto an otherwise barren field of crops
Of which the main harvest is pain.



A few of us, however,
Endlessly profit and plunder;
The modern slave
Differs from his ancestor
For he chooses his master
And loves him.
He is conned
Into thinking his masters care
Allegiances are laid bare
Hands are cast in adulation
Rights undergo strangulation
And nobody bats an eyelid.

The modern slave
Caresses his chains,
Wears them like a badge of office
Distaste for dissidence of the state
Pouring out of every orifice.
The modern slave
Could learn and understand
Confront the shimmering illusion, the shifting sand
That is the realm of made men,
But doesn’t.

Rather than fight back
We consume the great lie like crack;
These made men
Will run our planet into the ground
Until it is no longer a home
But a graveyard made for us, by us.
These made men
Spin lies, smear the truth
Force them to mingle and interchange
Like mismatched lovers in a diner booth.
Reality has shifted
It has become unbelievably twisted,
Our perceptions are suffering.
Towards each other, we direct our hostility
Unable to grasp the possibility
Of a better way.

The modern slave
Is cosy in his prison cell;
The reality of the world outside
Is a structured, engineered hell
To be avoided.
So, we just build our own bubble
Outside of which
Our only, primary concern
Is how to get rich.

Life isn’t meant to be an affair;
Life shouldn’t be
Something we are given permission for
But a free pursuit of happiness,
A learning experience.
So, with this I will conclude –
Raise your fists in the air
If you are tired of living bare,
Resist
If you’re tired of a world that does not care.
 Mar 2018
devante moore
He’s no longer responding
It’s perplexing
Because no one knows why
Yesterday he was doing just fine
And in this room it’s frightening quite
Because everyone knows he’s about to die
His mother angrily yells at the doctor
While she stands over his bed
Why! Why!
My baby
This is my son
And he’s not going to die
Devante Devante
I can hear her repeating my name
But the sounds of the world has finally gone mute
And the lights of the room ceiling
Slowly
Fade to black
And if you crying over my shoulder right now
I’m sorry
I tried to fight it
But I just couldn’t fight my way back
I was to lost
Let myself be overcome with pain and misery
Unhappiness was my purgatory
But at what cost
My life
Yes my life
I gave it away
I’d do anything just to feel a little less
It’s why I injected myself
With an illegal amount
Of morphine
 Mar 2018
SG Holter
Even as dying, I have no time
For bitterness.

Life was too short,
Even before.

Each step holds gratitude for the sound
Of snow beneath it.

For
Now

I carry my passenger
Unburdened.

Say no to nothing. Not
Even the cancer.

Even tomorrow's mother's tears,
Father's clenched fists upon casket;

Flowers; loss. Inevitability.
Death grows inside me.

The opposite of a
Pregnancy.
 Mar 2018
Busbar Dancer
The setting of traps
has always seemed
like a tacit endorsement
of the mice.

Acknowledgement.
Validation.
Admission of failings as a homeowner –
(cracked baseboards or an unsealed gap in the door.)

We are usually responsible
for our own infestations, after all.

The relationship with the mice is codified
“you are vermin,
I am not.
I will ****.
You will die.”

Thus the mice are transfigured,
Christ-like.
Frozen in fear,
frozen in time,
laid bare
on a sticky, chemical
altar of sacrifice.

Saviors
giving their lives
so that we may preserve
those unwanted crumbs
in the vacant space
between the couch and loveseat
where the vacuum won’t reach.
 Mar 2018
Lakhana Mnyani
It's hard to admit
That you no longer my twin

Your absence ripped my heart
Left it bleeding
Am out of plasters to cover the sores

Was it worthy it for you to leave?
Am cold and scared to live in this cage
I miss being squashed around your warm arms
Giggling and smiling
Your soft hands moving around my physique

Our funny chats and passionate kisses
Is all i need
Maybe if we could meet
Our eye contacts will abuts the dead feelings
Reminds you the good times we had
And promises you've made

Was about to give you all of me
Because i heed how cosy i am when you are around
But that is water under the bridge now

-Lakhana
 Mar 2018
Siphumelele
!
Cover me
   Have
my
Back!
For once show me loyalty without asking hesitation and doubt for confirmation.
Can i look you dead in the eyes and feel safe?
I'm not at home with you!
I'm wandering with no direction but can feel your fingers interlocking mine.
I don't mind the lies.
The cheating has become a norm.
The scars you left have rearranged my physical appearance completely.
That's all on me!
I allowed it to get that far,
I endured the pain instead of walking away.
What's on you
Is the broken girl caged in the corners of her mind waging war with her fury
You created that monster and now you can't bare the sight of her.
#IndescribablePain
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