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Wanna be pervasive on thoughts?
On carte blanche?
I'll give you a perverted stream
And force you to wade in it.

I'll tease you with wonder,
I'll keep from you the infinite.
Enjoy your *******?
Have another pile of manure!
What sows is what grows?
What is sown is what will have grown?
Yet, the fields of the conscience are different?
There are things important to me,
That many people today will find silly,

This is one of those,
To be a writer,
To write great poetry,

To have that poetry read in classrooms,
To have it read in lecture halls,
That it will be read in fire lit living rooms,
That it will reach the ears of the youth,

----- ----- ----- -----

I find this important.
That I will leave something great behind me.
neth jones Apr 19
the rise of your chest  bellows and rest
the eyes of your investment   in me
the falling mane we form together
drapes
                                   into our milly pool
                              into our night attacks
     we act out civil villainy  and pranks
   we didn't mean to  but  we were spilt

   all the gutted sources of our majesty
bedroom headquarters and missions
   abroad from there  lead them to stare
our belly can hold all the resulting
                        birds of yellow vulgarity

they come to our door
                    with glowing phones raised
and we answer
         leaking behind our death-masks
they've chosen
                      to take us far too seriously
and may strike us down
                                             anti martyred
          alabaster heretics
                                laughing
original version : the rise of your chest/the eyes of your investment in me/the falling mane that drapes/into our pools/into the night/our attacks/our acting out/civilian villainy and pranking/bedroom headquarters and missions abroad from there/lead them to stare/our belly can hold all the resulting birds of yellow obscenity/they come to our doors and we answer/laughing behind our death-masks/they've no choice but to take us seriously
neth jones Apr 14
a high mood                                          
could skip along like a child
a practical joke      i give a sharp pull
         on the strings of Everything
jape's on me                                          
         as i am tugged from off of my feet
           and tumbled on the ground
         laughing any-which-way

the day sky   fills with lenses          
                    enough to displace the stars
but there too much for them to see
efforts made mockable
the pattern baffling the pattern
with misunderstood importance

release      and i enjoy the sun
                 for being the sun
from  04/23 ?
You know what?
I would love to
Hit you
With a frying pan
Approximately 2,387 times
In the head
Around your temple
Until your head
Starts bleeding
But you know
That's illegal
So you're lucky
That I can't!



don't look behind you ! 🫶😋
btw, 2, 8,7,3 are all my lucky/favorite numbers currently
Maria Mar 29
I was searching for love! I was searching for long
In eyes, looking keenly at me,
In hands, touching upon me subtly,
In words, which were a trap foresee.

I was searching for rescue painfully long time
In those others and in yourself at all.
I pinned faith on all blindly and silly
That all of you were meant for me whole.

I was searching for the truth entirely honestly
In them, in you and in myself again.
And while I was searching for, I realized, that
The truth is there, where the calmness reins.

I handed myself at the mercy of the Night.
There's no fear and there's no shame.
I'll finish my useless searches here.
The Night is the calmness! This is proclaimed!
I love the Night. For me it is a time of peace, solitude, grace and silence. It is a time of inspiration and realisation. It is often a time of making important life-changing decisions.
Thank you very much for reading! 💖
MuseumofMax Mar 28
How to gain the confidence to complete a simple task?
a bit of a lighter note than other poems I’ve been posting lately…
neth jones Mar 30
so much squawk and squall    too many people echo the walls
abrasive  and i've no block but to ingest it
wrappered and trapped in this room-without-imagination
this is fusion   a batter of coms and intel i cannot separate and
rooms instrument clamps me   pressioned still          
                         and inflates me like a berry
my vision is expelled                      
my teeth pop out    my ears whine and whistle
my pores fire out tiny dirt pellets                    
                    and my friends duck for cover

all the bombast and sonic din that entered
and all the gases combust from within                          
         I go from ‘surprising’ and ‘absurd’
                                to full on percussion and detonation

what did they do   to deserve a friend like me ?
it’ll be some time    before they enjoy a good meal in company
one without p.t.s.d.   revulsion
and  (without a choice)  in memory of me
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