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Samuel E Jul 20
They told me to listen
because they’d already learned
enough from books to know

as they burned my soul
in their book burning glow.
Choices made in ignorance follow us the rest of our lives. It doesn’t matter to others what we knew at the time. Many see people as 2 dimensional on their own 2 dimensional way of thinking. A person can only be their experience and memories, and you should forgive them for that. It usually isn’t their fault.
CE Uptain Jul 6
How to read my poetry:

Read it with your eyes, they will show you what I say
See it with your heart, it guides the way
Read it with your mind, keep it open to the truth
Use your understanding to verify the proof
Let it get in your dreams, read it while you sleep
Let it get in your soul and I hope it will keep

When you finish, read it once again
This time with feeling, like blowing in the wind
After that, quietly reflect on the story
Did you find it sweet and nice or ****** and gory

Try and remember your favorite line
Maybe the one about yours or the one about mine
Dry your eyes, blow your nose, get to the funny parts
The one about true love and two broken hearts
You can read them over and over; they never get old
Some of my best lines are as good as gold
I know you poets don't need reading instructions however, this one slipped out.
Kngblaq Jun 8
𝙰 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎
𝚂𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎
𝙰𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎
𝙰 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝙰 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎
𝚅𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜
𝙰 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜
𝙰 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

𝙰 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚣𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 "𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚞"
𝙲𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜
𝙰 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝
𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝

𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎
𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗
𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎'𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜.
**𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚞 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎.
Kngblaq Apr 27
Night Time
A darkness that guarantees shelter
From the scorch of the burning Sun
A time cherished after the light
And assures rest from the day's work

A time of unprecedented happening
When good and evil shake hands
As they each take turns moving men
Like pawns on a chessboard
One trying to checkmate the other

A time when men sleep but don't sleep
Where powers that be meet and greet
A time when angels visit and demons possess
Binding us infinitely to the Divine
This piece offers an exploration of nighttime, it's complexities and symbolic meanings
Kaiden Apr 22
Reading my life
In tears
The past 2 years of my pain
At exactly 11:52pm
Contemplating every decision,
Every tiny detail
That shaped me into this failure.
i'm so sorry.
I'm going to finish my book,
I'm going to finish my work.
This time it will really happen,
This time it will really be read.
Keep your eyes peeled!
Valentin Eni Nov 2024
(Literal Translation from Romanian)

This poem, actually,
it's not even a poem,
just some random text
that
will waste your time
and energy,
will try to hurt you
and rub salt in the wound,
it will mess with you a bit.
That's what happens when you don't read
what you're supposed to.
This text was born
to teach you a lesson:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Alternative translation I)

A Poem Not Meant to Be Read

This poem, in truth,
is no poem at all,
just a simple text,
meant to stall—
to steal your time,
your energy, too,
to wound your soul
and rub in the salt,
mocking you,
it’s your fault.

That’s what happens, don’t you see,
when you read what’s unworthy.

This text was born with a goal in mind:
to set you straight, to make you find
a better path, a wiser way—
be cautious in the books you stray!

(Alternative translation II)

not recommended for reading

this poem truthfully
isn't even poetry,
just some random text
that will steal your time
and drain your energy,
will try to wound you deep
and on that wound will heap
salt, in other words
it's making fun of you.
that's what you get, it's true,
when you don't read what's due.
this text was meant to be
a lesson, you will see:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Original poem)

poezie nerecomandată lecturii

această poezie, de fapt
nici nu e poezie,
ci doar un text oarecare
care
îţi va lua ceva timp
şi ceva energie,
va încerca să te rănească
şi pe rană să-ţi presoare
sare,
adică îsi va bate niţel joc de tine.
aşa-i, când nu citeşti
ceea ce se cuvine.
acestui text i-a fost dat să se nască
pentru a te pune la cale:
altădată
să fii mai precaut
în lecturile tale!
The poem playfully critiques the act of reading indiscriminately, mocking both itself and the reader for engaging with texts of questionable value. It examines the relationship between writer, text, and reader, exploring notions of expectation, disappointment, and self-reflection.

The tone is ironic, self-aware, and lightly admonishing. The poem is a "non-poem," undermining its significance while drawing readers into its trap. Its conversational style, fragmented structure, and casual rhythm reinforce the playful nature, making the critique feel lighthearted rather than harsh.

Mocking its lack of depth, the "poem" provokes the reader to reflect on their choices and consider the value of what they consume. At the same time, it critiques the culture of superficial engagement, urging a more thoughtful approach to literature.
Ken Pepiton Aug 2024
re reading readily past and present read
read real as a word for what we do
so steadily balancing known on known,
thinking some things at the same instance,
we knew the will to tell, and knew as well
the will to listen, to learn while thinking,

to me
this means that

losing my breath, reaching your reason,
tuning our times to the musical mathematics

all matter is dust, all thought is spirit,
all memory has a price prepaid, the flaw
we may imagine,
maya, Kabir suggests to Rumi, and I ask
might justice mean what Karma does?

The nameless suggester, be it muse, or
some detail in a day so long ago it seems

forever, onward, outward, inward fretting,
lack of knowledge, sublime serpentine bending,

folding, creasing, not snapping in rigged tension,
compliantly bending the knee, image-visualize,
meandering streams of everything,
realize our link to thinking marked taboo.

Discover why secrets are so typical of life,
in bubbles where our sapien relatives live.

All men, wombed or un, catch phrase, me
included, learn in sequence, literally faster
whosoever
than at any time in ever before, we know more,
truth, conscious use of useful knowings shared,

to our advantage, supposing us capable of leading,
while braying mindlessly like a
sotted piper, blues on a fancy Hohner, here we go

asking reception signaling the surfing analogy,
lift us as might those children we see ourselves, once,
imagine turning at the first star on the left, using
Peter Pan, then Peter Principle, from Canada,
Laurence J. Peter, appears in color,
dressed in polyester 70's gear,
as would have looked cool on TV
while McLuhan was doing his thing.

Fit the mind into the hard problem,
let it seem the spiritual force, why

imagine satisfaction while satisfied?
What a man hath, why doth he hope for?

As when Lobsters stack for social duty,
forming hierarchies, certainly,

Delphic precepts urge recalling 1, 2,  3,

know how empty you are, know how small
your little lamp, asking measure mete,

nothing spilled remains thine own, surplus
is for general consumption, evolution taxes

the comprehension of the universal conversation,

we find old rules used to form governable clusters
of us, tabula rosa versions of each of us,
mirroring imaginable completed visions,

like Google Earth, eh,
imagine, we live there, and where we see from
is this imagined plateau in nowhere, really, just
imagine, spell binding,

how newly known is all we know, each time,
the economy collapses and we are left wondering,

was the pile wrong at the bottom, first test of load
bearing Lobster pride for being most useful, calling all

come climb on my back and become the memory,
of original reasons used to do truly childish things.

Roof high stilts was one we succeeded at,
having seen it done, doing it was nothing,
couple of old two by fours, common
artifacts in growing towns out west… nailgun
misfires come to the magnet rescued
from the uncoiled motor
on the old concrete mixer. Grandpa had hammers.

Life with electricity, safe bet, you never had no choice
but to live in a world without power… industrial strength,

but the stacking order adaptations from King of the Hill,
does evolve a kind of specific survival set of reasons,
make do, make things change, to become ladders,
and then stilts, to walk along the Al Can Highway
waving at the tourists on their way to Vegas,
as society evolved around us, hiding wrecking yards,

all the weights in the bag, when balance is primary,
all the weights prove their worth, be it true to fair.

We can think we know less than we must to finish,
but that is maya talking, the cloud of unknowable's
tyrannical kind of order,
attempting to dam the flow…

first king reason, ready to speak up and say, I know.
I know, yes, just
what you mean by too much,
too much
water in your cistern, let it flow down gutters
intelligently placed to slow erosion,
leaving
first pure, mere thought bought by breathing
consistently for seventy five years, attended to
by books that my grandma read as a child,

and my grandchildren read this summer.

Presently passing on the purpose of first and last.
Godin's Practice, a lesson, learned or spurned, whose to judge...
daily musing using magic tools unthinkable except in books, since ever ago,
a good book is one you enjoyed experiencing in your youthful mind.
I recommended Stranger in a Strange Land, got a fair response.
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