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F White Jun 2012
Seriously?!

I'm a ****...

Wait. No you're not. Hold on.
I can't find...
I can't find my *******. Help me look.

blankets flung.
nothing.

You're...
you're laughing right now?
How could you not?


Can you see that
we're standing in a
giant pond of
ridiculosity.

a glasses lense
popped out.
hair a nest
of invisible
rodents.

his belt
all askew worried
face pursed
lips.

shirt tails- a crumpled
facade of the pressed
summer evening shadows
outlined behind
the lawn sprinklers from
the night before.

and in the cab
to work
phone almost
dies. 37 degree damp
heat pressing
against the car
like a monroe-type
kitten from the
50s.

the morning world
bustling awake
the driver asks
'you work this
afternoon?'

shake my head 'no'
slowly working the
knots out of my
hair

brace for the last
day.

And I'm
still missing
my underwear.
copyright fhw, 2010, 2011 ?

A.N: Golly this is...old old old. I found it in one of my folders and laughed at the absurdity. I'm about to get married now. To a wonderful man. Not the man in this poem. That one really actually was a ****.

Enjoy.
Umi Apr 2018
Facing the day with upmost pride,
Praising each ray of warm, caring, wonderful sunlight,
No matter the weather, they shine brilliantly, as children of the earth
Being happy about rain, these flowers only grow thankful, for what it's worth
Because these rain drops may look like tears, the scene may be sad,
No sound, but the gentle tapping of the falling water onto the ground,
but a lone standing Helianthus won't feel bad,
For it felt joy in this weather,such can be difficult for some to be found
A mysterious, yet beautiful lense, once the sky opens up a little for the sunlight to travel through again, inviting a rainbow through the sound of wind,
My pessimistic outlook of this weather, the raindrops looking alike tears, changed, through it's brightness, rather don't they look like jewels of some kind ?
My heart won't be drenched by sorrow,
Alike a helianthus, I shall look softly, gently towards the sky,
Towards the azure, ceiling beyond me.

~Umi
Lisa Jan 2021
I am you, you are me
There is no difference inside to see
The color of your skin, hair or eyes
Does not represent what’s inside.
Physical traits come from the family tree
They give roots, history and a sense of identity
But inside we have the same blood, the same heart
So when does prejudice begin to take part?
Babies are born without preconception
They feel love and comfort from their caregiver’s affection
Their new eyes are blind to ignorance
They see through a clear lense and don’t see difference
As they develop, society gives them glasses,
Their vision gets clouded by the opinions of the masses
The lenses get darker as they grow
They filter the world to see only colors they know
Differences become obstacles, not celebrated.
Leaders tell them who to respect and who should be hated.
These biased views could remain for a lifetime
And then they’re passed down to the next one in line.
Opinions are essential, shared thoughts educate.
But when they’re bigoted and hateful we cannot tolerate.
Take those blinders off, take a look around.
There’s so much joy in diversity to be found
Don’t let the blindfold give such a narrow view
Don’t be complacent and take what is given to you
Rip off the filter, open your eyes
Find connection, common experience, destroy the lies
Revel in these connections, learn from one another
We’re all trying to get through from one day to the other
See through the skin, the hair, the accent
To the core of the HUMAN BEING with love and respect.
Larry Potter Dec 2013
I've had a taste of my father's medicine
But it wasn't in any way a cure.
It stung like the strongest kind of heroine
That made me prisoner in this ****** moor.

It was an addictive transformation
Where I almost lost myself
A painful venom was set in motion
Yet I didn't want to cry for help.

I don't need those foggy glasses
I'm a man with a spider's sense
I weave courage while I kick some *****
Not a nerd who cleans his camera's lense.

But how can I be called strong
If I couldn't even beat this irony
Though I save a hundred people all day long
I couldn't protect those who are dear to me.

If only I could defeat the monster
This eight-legged demon inside me
I wouldn't have to say "In great power
Comes great responsibility."
Kao Jul 2013
NO.
Two ruby marks.
I can feel them bloated against my hand.
Like glue or blood.
Meat, metaphorical and incarnate.

Not that. It means nothing to me.
The milky light falls upon it as
I catch it from the corner of my own milky lense.
No.

The first and eternal struggle,
And still I march on and pray
It doesn't end.
georgia sophie Jul 2018
don't say it's me
this problem
you are holding onto
it cannot be me
don't say it
don't let those words fall out of your mouth

(just so you know)

i am new
i am beautiful
i am irreplaceable
Umi Mar 2018
Created by dopamine and memories entitled with the sweetness of life, this process of thought becomes a nice place to rest and hide,
From the cruelty of what misery life could hold upon us if we didn't fight back, do something to make a day blissful, at least for a moment,
Serene and clear, events which occur far or near, are a trigger for this,
Created by an imaginated landscape inside my heart, forming from the techtonics of the transience, from those I hold dear to myself,
Step by step, on passing time, joyful memories seep through my head,
Sure there are those, who would find glee in even a clouded raining sky, but it is well to know; it comes in all different kinds and ways,
A mysterious but beautiful lense, reflected by a raindrop from the drizzling cloud, whichs mission it is to fertilise the earth, so may life grows out from the gentleness of the suns majestic golden light,
Perspective, is what makes thoughts wonderful and happy, or drenched in the deepest misery of ones own nightmare fueled fears,
Rain drops, seen as tears could turn to jewels, cast in the smile of your beloved, sitting with them, watching the rain showering a landscape,
No matter the weather, this world shines brilliantly as long as you keep your heart from being drenched by sorrow and let it soar into the blue sky, carefree, pure and filled with wonderful happy thoughts

   Umi
CH Gorrie Jun 2013
There were six horses,
Abaco Barbs - black, white, tan -
enclosed in my Olympus's lense.

The camera reached through deadwind
that whipped the Huey's window,
painted a staggered line where the herd had been.

It was fall 1977,
Abaco's Independence Movement had ended;
Oliver and WerBell were gone,

having run off like photographed horses -
distant, almost ignorant of me (at some point,
they must've assumed there were wildlife

photographers inside Abaco). It was fall
1977:
the ornamental Allamanda still rustled in deadwind;

the starfruit still ripened and fell. It was fall
1977 and that country
was nearly the same as it'd always been.
"The Abaco Barb is an endangered strain of the Spanish Barb horse breed found on Great Abaco Island in the Bahamas. The Abaco Barb is said to be descended from horses that were shipwrecked on the island during the Spanish colonization of the Americas and the Caribbean. The population of wild Abaco Barbs that run free on Great Abaco once numbered over 200 horses. The Abaco Barb is found in different colors than the European/African Barb, including pinto (including the relatively uncommon splashed white), roan, chestnut, black and other colors. They range between 1.32 to 1.47 m (13.0 to 14.2 h)."

"The Abaco Islands lie in the northern Bahamas and comprise the main islands of Great Abaco and Little Abaco, together with the smaller Wood Cay, Elbow Cay, Lubbers Quarters Cay, Green Turtle Cay, Great Guana Cay, Castaway Cay, Man-o-War Cay, Stranger's Cay, Umbrella Cay, Walker's Cay, Little Grand Cay, and Moore's Island. Administratively, the Abaco Islands constitute five of the 31 Districts of the Bahamas: North Abaco, Central Abaco, South Abaco, Moore's Island, and Hope Town. Towns in the islands include Marsh Harbour, Hope Town, Treasure Cay, Coopers Town, and Cornishtown."

"In August 1973, shortly after the Bahamas became independent, the Abaco Independence Movement was formed as a political party whose stated aim was self-determination for the Abaco Islands within a federal Bahamas. In October 1973, AIM published a newsletter to launch it's campagn for 'self-determination through legal and peaceful political action'. AIM proposed that all Crown land on Abaco would be placed in a land trust. Each citizen would receive a one acre home lot from the trust plus shares giving them an income from land sales and leases. The land trust would enter into a joint venture to develop a 60 sq mile free trade zone. When AIM was formed by Chuck Hall and Bert Williams, they contacted an American financier named Michael Oliver, who through his libertarian Phoenix Foundation agreed to support AIM financially. The Phoenix Foundation had previously sought to establish a libertarian enclave in the South Pacific, the Republic of Minerva. AIM's first convention, held on February 23 1974, was addressed by John Hospers, the Libertarian Party's 1972 US presidential candidate. Hospers was later refused entry to the Bahamas. The maverick British MP Colin Campbell Mitchell also visited Abaco to offer support."

"Michael Oliver (born 1930) is a Lithuanian immigrant of Jewish descent, Las Vegas real estate millionaire, and political activist. He was the founder of the micronation project the Republic of Minerva, a failed attempt to create a sovereign state in the South Pacific in 1972. In the following decades, Oliver and his Phoenix Foundation were also involved in similar projects on the Bahamian island of Abaco and in Vanuatu with the New Hebrides Autonomy Movement (MANH) which was done by financing an insurrection. He also published a manifesto of his libertarian beliefs. Oliver is prohibited to enter in Vanuatu and his nation-building projects seem to be on hiatus."

"Mitchell Livingston WerBell III, (1918–1983), was an OSS operative, soldier of fortune, paramilitary trainer, firearms engineer, and arms dealer.In 1972 WerBell was approached by the Abaco Independence Movement (AIM) from the Abaco Islands, a region of the Bahamas, who were worried about the direction the Bahamas were taking and were considering other options, such as independence or remaining a separate Commonwealth nation under the Crown in case of the Bahamas gaining independence (which they did in 1973). AIM was funded by the Phoenix Foundation, a group which aims to help build truly free micronations. The AIM collapsed into internal bickering before a coup by Werbell could be carried out."

^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barb_horse
^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abacos
^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abaco_Independence_Movement
^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Oliver_(real_estate)
^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mitchell_WerBell
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
National mindsets self interested suffer
forms of dementia as the order all confessed,
demands of each a concentration of self worth,
you bet your soul, but only in the spirit,
step into the fray, say, let me lead you,
say let me take elected office,
democratic to the edges, being your voice
in a popularity contest, not an intellectual joust.
Tutelary deontology 101.
Governing is managing the labor. Ask the king.
Any flock in the system, governs itself.
Business is business.
Some arrangements are always secret. All
grown ups are in the business of war supplies.
Let your children's minds be at ease.
Trust the checks and balances history proves,
have never worked on balance, for the poor.
Get rich quick as one can imagine, on a bet.
War meets Peace, like it is the storm
that left Greenland, a legend until now.

Easily intreated innocense, who could know.
Prosaic first morning pizz to prime the pump.

How deep is the generational debt due to war?
How many bonds have been sold to pay interest?
How many times has the national debt ceiling failed?
You know.
Every time.
"Each major conflict in U.S. history
has been accompanied
by a sharp rise
in debt as the government raises funds
to pay for the fighting."

But laws do exist…
"Without a declaration of war
to put the country on a wartime economy,
Congress paid for Vietnam
by increasing the national debt.
Over the course of the conflict,
America's debt nearly doubled, growing
from approximately $317 billion in 1965
to $620 billion in 1976."

Now the debt is rising
on interest alone. No need for another war.

And America's trade balance is hinged,
on the point of war.
The ideal centermost irritant, war's hate pump,
pain expanded by generational trespass acts
likened unto the pea
under the stack of feathered beds,
or the bit of grit forcing oyster stress
that has made the misshapen pearl sold
to sovreign entities, those colors on the map,
these mental aggregations called nations,
by nationalist mind frame riveters,
foundational eye beams, remove before demoting,
ah, slow, riveted beams spanning ferro-concrete tech- think.
Building a reasoning trap, children,
ask your fathers to whom we owe our national debt.
Ask also who sells the weapons to the world at war.
Semper fi,
no offence, but… holy hate is as crazy as hungry hate.

A voice from a song, from nowhere,
you just could rethink, or did, that first time think
a bridge over troubled waters being a truly old good idea,
come to rescue you,

in the early days of Boomer parenthood… being grown ups,
we never missed a Disney Movie, though by then,
they were losing the gnostalgia, old knowns to be like so,
were no longer even imaginably so.
Old Yeller,
Childhood's end, the separation
from hearth felt comfort,
to the class rooms and hallways
of massive cold concrete schools… where on day one,
the child pledges with its cohort of coeducatables,
the ancient bond of aliegiance...
I pledged mine first in 1954, the year "under God" was added.

In the just now settling down towns along the great freeways,
there has been no peace on earth in my generation,
at the level of military minds in conflict caused by stories,
boys bred with old hates just waiting for a sigh-psignal
sci-revealed to those willing to become Jason Bourne,
to the best of your abilities, ring the bell, any time.  

Welcome to the front. Sanity is on the line.
There is no conspiracy, we sell our souls for what money
can be demonstratively proven to allow and even augment.

War is all we sell. There is another game, it's a liar's game.
Many famous authorities have filled the space at the table.

Take your hat off, Bartholowmew, she does not understand you.

------------
Daily communication with myself,
one person, with no power to use
save the early cultural confidence;
sworn to tell the whole truth,
so help me, God. Yes, your honor.

Except we reactivate the curious why,
functionally suppressed during the standard
test taking by the proximate others
diligently filling in the blanks,
with graphite rounded just right, one swipe.

Except we see that hanging senselessly realized.
Each problem, one answer, not one option.
Only select correct answer.
Tell the child learning the pledge,
God is on our side, emphasize
how exceptional those who know so are,
extremely discriminatingly,
arranging the economy around
the great decussation at the air gap,
at the back of our national neck.

In this time,
thoughts and prayers, we hear
spoken of as easily done,
almost without thoughts, who
responds?, who, has ever responded
to the said to be going out constantly
thoughts and prayers, asking truth
to intervene and call the liars liars?

God is not angry, nor without resources,
according to the cultures now at war--
¿
Whose mortgage was not paid with earnings
from war readiness industrial complexes?

Whose talent was left with the userers,
because the Bible says y'sposed to earn interest?

Whose 401K deflated to oops?

Business begins with informed agreements.
Let's make a deal.
No killing, stealing nor needless destruction.

Minds join eye to eye, one mindwise agreed,
we become an entity, a being essential
to the parts, a mind in harmony, rank and file.

Greedy men with no agreement. Hmm, who loses?

Line up, not by rank, single file, fall in,
first and following, get in on the end,
and wait for the circle to close,
re done dances, life going wild as
we celebrate our circle, we sing of it
being unbroken in the sweet by and by…

The land of those who talk back to El,
yes, yes, we do, to honor Iyobe,
who first called for the Daysman,
who first
told reality, with all it's evil potential,
you cannot not be true, you know, in form
as spirit and truth containable in words, logos,
logos of all o-logies,
so powerful as to allow, in fact, cause, new mindforms,
species of thoughts that function as a system to make
sense, discernible, bits of valuation determinable in agreement.
--------------
Contractual obligations religiously adhered to
just between us, we take advantage for the nation's sake.
Madrassahs and aliegiance pledges set habits hard to break.

Set the cost of goods, lower than replacement cost of the price.
What does it cost a state to rear a warrior class individual
that self replenishes?

What does it cost me to scatter confusion in profuse create-ifity?
So, add a proper tip,
and pay the cost to ride this line to the next re-entering angle.
Middle east,
cauldron of all the holy empires thus far into the age
of entertainment so vast,
wise men can imagine, some day
there will be a war, and no parents will have
offered children to the infantry or made
righteous indignation acceptable national pride to k-ill for.

There Hamas, holy brainwashed haters of hatefulness.
Repents and perishes the very thought of peace.
Repay in kind, here, swear undying obediance,
fear not death, this is Allah's Promise, die killing Jews,
turns on the monstrous virgins awaiting you…
in post mortal walled places,
where the oldest civilizations occurred,
as God's great idea, I'll
empty the center of me, and seep
back in through fractured rationality
along trade routes between Africa and
the forested north above the desert.

Me, there, in mental efforting, thinking
thoughts, not prayers, but wishes, hopes,
thoughts that prayers attach to, as evidence.

"Ask and ye shall receive."
Love those who call you enemy, can you?

Face me, Mr. Nobody, the essence of other,
I declare peace, where none is, and you laugh.

No ritual, no enchantments with promise,
no sacred making of secular deaths, just
just just adjust the justice aspect, blame
the holy haters whose God dispenses vengeance,
at the behest of warriors fitted with military minds.

As when holy Americans gather to offer military aid,
blessed by the congregations alerted to intercede,
on the side that denies Jesus was God,--- ah, both sides,
in this case…
whither turn we, do we face Mecca, or Jerusalem,
or Petra or … Sol or Luna, all our enculturated faith,

blinks, a lense clarifying effort, rub the crust
of sleep fallen into while mourning, unsealing eyes
to see again, a war between two national identities,
both with warrior glory emulation traditions,
one with money as first de-fence, the other with hate,
nothing less than pure hatred, Cain to Able, sorry bro.

Old mean spirits.
If the hate can live in any man, wombed or un, it will.

Willingness to hate enough to k-ill a stranger, will
manifest as holy terror… enough to make Jesus weep.

--- and those were a few of the local thoughts made prayer,
seemingly automatically, as mysterious as most final secrets.

Part three, deeper, faster, harder… or not

Doings in the dark, are done by feel.
One, you or I, or some other sapien
augmented with the messiah's mind, feels the need for the deed.
Take the message from Garcia.

Mystic experience in story realms,
holding all the visions taken raw,
as revealed… as when a curtained
entry way is opened for inspection,

are we ideas in bodies?
are all ideas spirit in form?

Inhale an intuited absence of evil,
breathe the air of answered prayer.

Imagine that, let fly the idea of you,
beloved individuated potential saint.

Here is your sentimental inner edge,
your gnosis pressed flat as you see in.

The edge of this bubble, is distant
only to the holy cloaked in asceticism,
twisting wicks
for someday light in someday night,
circulate one way then the other,
rethinking perfected emptiness,
there are no others, up or down,
to and fro, vectors tie targeted states,
spider kites form single ray classic webbing,
slim banner, a flag unraveled long since.

Follow me, I say to me, follow me,
I say to you, saying back, I am not you.

My option.
Turn on, sit back and watch,
evolving cave wall interesting hooks,

look around, nothing interesting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during peak-info preservation history,
when men like Franklin and Voltaire,
met to share secret meanings of things.

Previous to any whole story
that remains, as when any mind mistakes
tzimtzum inside as first occurrence,

total emptiness, pre space, one time
this instant accepted as audience

in true gaseous we form, auto informing
the vegetable phaze passed eons ago, life
tells tales too esoteric for novices
to notice, in the ideal state, active
imagining, as with a child's mind, yours
since ever was, so far as you may wish
to remember,
a time when the state was deemed
comforting and beauty filled, chaotic
process of floating lipids, in form of air,
light has not dawned on us, we are
night scene setters of settings, nodes
of potential anything you can imagine,

level with me, even, straight, right… yes it
is the optional meandering mind engine,
an idol, or a daimon, madness of sorted
degrees, a little bit off the charts, sorted
out.
Not in, the bubble being becomes,
when one emerges in a self…

subtle is good, right, we agree?
Jesus, before Christianity, as a kid,
instructed with his cousin John,
likely by his temple servant uncle.

That can be imagined, projected
on the outerwall
of this bubble we be in.
At the moment,
on an Earth wired

for sound, elephants agreeing to meet,
to follow the pilgrimage, pilgrim beings
activated by stark necessity successful
to this degree…

by the reader's time's
at tension, pull
release
snap back, at what ifery, at once, push

most bottom centered point once sitting
in raw time thought processing, in
and out, efforting
- slightly off, not fully on
uncomfortable impression of holy
you better get better or else. Holy

blank slate, bubble pop, soft wow

Now, we're in the swirl, in the spin
toward, froward lips sealed, golden
silence,
subtler than any beast, creature,
living thing in the ruliad, am I? No.

BUT, you know, those penance prayers,
given you as a child, enchantments,
as with all your renouncements of evil
and pledges under God, in your child mind.

Look. To your own self, be true.
You still have private interpretation access
to your child mind.

If you put your worried mind to work
on some thought too deep to ponder then,

The idea of punishment by the Creator
of all that is not God, but was deemed good,
by God, because I said so, said the father,
in the child mind.

To know good and evil knowledge,
that talent, initial mark on our blank slate,
to know, not what you know, but ask
your child mind, how does it feel,

flat on your back gasping as others laugh,
and your child mind blooms an entire eon
- just to catch a breath takes for ever
and there were others, the whole family
of mankind of your kind, to your child mind,
stood laughing at your attempt to perform

a first flight, from an edged bet with an
I think I can virus perpetuated in ever after,

since mind made time make sense in chaos.
Instantly, things start to take shapes, in mind.
Non sense. Since. Processing time. Go.
Instants out of mind, in atari.
Fog of unknowns. I used to play the game.
Not really, only, one off thought forms,
cloudlike in symmetry, no clear tongue
and groove, fitting our pro-posed… pose

supposed, to listen and while listening,
learn the use of any knowing, can be
taken as granted possibility by your self.
- distant sound of light sabers actuation
Your blame and shame catcher, out front,
as we steam ahead across the gap,
thoughts made prayers must leap.

Keep your eyes on the prize, three
walnuts and a split pea with a hair, fine
infant hair, see it there, your old minds eye.

The unveiling of an artifice, an angle
greater than straight, from this point…
a re-entrant angle, like a point, banked shot.

in
Thanks, I needed you to ready become... said the little blue man... whatsoever we agree... indeed. Let us see...
Jeremy Betts Oct 2022
I followed the order handed over to the T, I swear, I checked every square inch of the interior in that musty, empty chamber as well as the outer perimeter
And, just to make sure to cover all of our bases, a land surveyor calculator was used so no one would have to return to confirm the number later
He soulda, woulda, coulda but didn't prepare for the worst,  should have taken ques from one of them openly mocked doomsday prepers
Just in the event there was no search and rescue coming together to push the radius wider
I'll say this, there's nothing you could compare to what was in there other than a twisted flair of a taboo desire for a living nightmare
Keeping it honest here, there was no proper way too decipher if pain or anger fed the monster in turn fueling the inner and outer warfare
After all this time the why is still unclear like an over exposed Bigfoot picture under the blur of an out of focus layer with the top half blacked out by a fat finger
It's mostly ever operator error, there's no proof of any attempt to even remove the lense cover
Resulting in snap shots that fully render the emptiness of a gut wrenching, heart breaking type of forever
Walking through the bare walled entry erected the neck hair, instantly on anticipatory high alert, predicting a jump scare
I'd never go back there but if you dare, prepare to soil your underwear, best to bring an extra pair
It's far eirrer in there than I imagined it'd be with the unbalanced nature of finding tragedy has bled into the comedy so frustration and the for mentioned anger seemed not only justified but fair
One might expect a shrill chill to fill the air befitting the general atmosphere likened to the hollow echo of an abandoned aviator hanger
There was an uneasy stillness in the helplessness seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere
The nonconsentual caress of chaos looked to have been ramped up a gear, allowed to feast on the bounty of self loathing and fear
I don't know if you could consider one over the other being better while not sure who's the bigger threat, the dark passenger or driver?
Neither should have been allowed to steer especially after the request to hold so and so's beer
Looks like nothing penetrated the barrier inside each ear that, according to the guest sign in on the counter here, had been garded by a couple demon friends made during his very first winter
Just prior to the proverbial greener pasture being engulfed by an arsons fire lit by the land owner
And oh how it wreaked of dispair, heavily punctuated by the stench of failure
It lingered like a stocker predator peering over top the chip and bolder on what's been dubbed an unworthy shoulder
Progressively more violent as the one under investigation grew older, evidence shows a temper that consistently boiled over
The life destroyers lurkin' behind every door down a never ending corridor, waiting in the cover of darkness found around every corner
You don't know from where but can hear screams of terror as you pass a single motivational poster that reads, "being dead inside will allow for the skipping over of the coroner all together"
Buyer beware, this particular first stair is a header, the warnings couldn't have been clearer
A lack of empathy stains character but if lead by example it's plain to see why someone might refuse to care
Or would even know how to for that matter, solely focused only on the neighbor who's grass is forever advertised as greener
Didn't do the work on the personal endeavor so it didn't get any better, attitude towards it all seemed very cavalier
An obvious what not to do trend setter, a self proclaimed and locally agreed on idiot of the year
Missed all this YOLO banter, acting like a pop of the trunk would reveal a spare
Who's life is it really if you're not even a content creator in it much less the engineer
Come to think of it I don't recall that even bein' offered up to this poor sap as a qualifying career
It should be but that's neither here nor there, what's done is done and every other cliche you can pull out of the air
To put it simply, he wasn't known as a fighter so he threw in the towel and tossed innocence out with the bath water
The belief that life was beyond repair was a thought he struggled to alter, positivity was something he never learned how to gather, had a horrible teacher
It didn't help hearing a proper confirmation message from both a soothsayer and palm reader with no reassurance from his supposed maker
Proof that it's always safer to separate judge, jury and executioner, it's a no brainier
But he wore all three hats plus at his core was a sinner, it could've been his last meal every time he sat down for dinner
So he no doubt knew there was no scenario where a man like himself was gonna come out the winner
And now that I've seen the bizzar aftermath from every angle I can say with far more confidence than when I began to explore that I don't know how he managed to even get this far
The violence was real, the battles weren't staged, it raged on behind the fleshy mask he wore to keep us from witnessing the horror
But every day his anchor to a brighter reality got weaker, thoughts and surroundings becoming darker faster than he could remember from the days before
One can only be expected to hold on for so long when you're the nail trying to resist the hammer
He was neither hero nor imposter, just the next mother fuucker to fall victim to his own future
Ariel Baptista Jun 2014
I have fallen in love
With the air, the trees
The thinly paved and often cracked roads
And even moreso with those covered in cobblestone.
I have fallen in love with the tanned locals
Old shopkeepers with hats and bifocals
Their calling voices
The natural movement of their hands
The cool sea water
And hot white sands.
I have fallen in love with espresso
And how it feels in my throat
The smell of leather
Taste of gelato
Harbours full of fishing boats
The sound of a vintage vespa
Weaving its way through a crowd
The arguing couple, arguing loud
And this is a country of which to be proud.
I have fallen in love with the architecture
The vast and complex history
The more I learn the more I admit is a mystery.
I have fallen in love with the way the sun shines brighter
The air is fresher
And the fruit is sweeter
The men are bolder
And the books are cheaper.
I have fallen in love with the words they say
And how those words effortlessly roll off their tongues
I breathe in their culture
And try to hold it in my lungs.
Pizza, pesto, cute cafes
Absence of anxiety, holidays
The tourists who view it all through a camera lense
Adventure begins and tension ends.
I have fallen in love with it all
Every flower
Every hue
All those pairs of knock-off sunglasses
I love them too.
Every cloud
Every ray of sunshine
Every drop of ***** riverwater
Every painted line
Every brick
Of every church
On all those hills
In all those tiny towns
That populate the green countryside
And every visionary who in them has lived and died
I love
But most of all
I have fallen in love with the version of me
That comes out when I am in Italy
Sutherland Dec 2018
And on this day
three minds know naught.
Light filters through a new lense.
Vision of the future.
The light can not.

Yet the world,
It
bends.

This lense will grow,
and with it, hands.
This lense will go,
and where it steps, break bands.
This lense will know,
and alter all
that the world spans.

From present to future,
the past holds no bound.
The light, with the world,
will
bend.
Their destination
found.

This child will become
what the double cannot.
The double, the steps,
the child, the top.

The world shifts
and
bends.
I wrote this for my niece that has recently entered into existence.
Trupoetry Apr 2015
Like air to lungs
Like love to lovers
Like life to death
Till death do us part
Till God makes us see
In him we all need
One another
One after the other
Brotha & Brother
Sister 2 Sista
Like water to a well
Lets not wait until it runs dry
Eyes wont dry
Until another color cries
With us, not for us
There is only one race
the hueman race
translation
man of color
many colors of men
Color coated pain
Assorted flavors of oppression
All leave a bitter taste
In the mouth of a wordsmith
these words hit like bricks
against walls
in glass houses
with paper doll people
the revolution is being televised
because revolution cannot be heard
without being seen
focus your lense
See yourself
lua Jan 2022
i've picked apart myself
the pieces that make sense
looking through a rose-tinted lense
of being content

i'll walk behind them
my friends who dance
along the lines of more than friends
and i'll clap and smile

i'll keep tabs on them
their pinkies intertwined
awkward and flushed, i laugh at their faces
as i feel a pang in my chest

these glasses are broken
maybe, i ask myself
i don't need it, i say
but i know inside that
i will always wonder what it's like

i'm at the end of the bridge
steps slow and quiet
to not make a sound
i give them privacy
as they share a kiss
tender and discreet

discreetly, i sigh
i'm at the bridge's end and they've walked past me
but i lean against the railing and think
"when will i?"
i remember entering highschool with a vague idea about teenage romance, and how much i never really understood what that meant. but as i grew older and progressed further into highschool hell, watching friends of mine grow closer to something more than friends, i began to understand little by little just from observations. i became some sort of a wingman figure, the person they went to for some much needed advice even though i never experienced anything of the sort, all while feeling a weird type of pain in my chest whenever they did. it was only until a classmate of mine told me how confused and shocked they were when i told them i've never been in a relationship before that i realised the pang in my chest was jealousy. now i'm nearly 18, nearing the end of my teenage years with no experience in my belt writing about love and romance without knowing what i'm actually writing. i know i'm still young and i still have much ahead of me, but it's still something that i think about alot.

here's to all the thirdwheels <3 cheers and happy new year!
Julia Jun 2013
"The telephoto lense is slightly cracked,
But everything else is in pristine condition,"
I said, straightening up.
"She's served me well over the years."
You raised your eyebrows.
"She?" you asked, quizzically.
"Well, of course she.
Actually, Bella.
She's named after my grandmother who..."
I caught myself.
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"No, please go on."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"She was named after my grandmother, Bella,
Who first introduced me to photography.
Grammy Bella gave me her old Polaroid
For my eighth birthday.
It was just..."
My voice trailed off,
"The coolest thing."
You smiled.
A picture perfect smile.
Flash.
I continued,
"My life is a series of documented flashes.
Lost my first tooth; flash!
Played in my first concert; flash!
Sang a solo for chorus; flash!"
"Wow," your voice cracked,
Nothing more than a whisper.
" I think I'd like to buy it."
I stumbled through the filing cabinets
Of my subconscious mind,
Thumbing through old flashes...
"Actually, it's not for sale."
This was inspired by two things: an add on Craig's list, and an essay I read :) I might add on to this piece later, though I can't quite decide. Tell me what you think!
Quortni Moore Aug 2014
It begins the same way it ends.
Fluorescent combinations of photonic crystals,
Burning beneath my skin, into my gaping soul.
These are my lights.

Gripping tightly to is base, holding it steady,
Peer through its open lense.
Record each and every moment.
This is my camera, so let it commence.

Take 1.
A mother wails as her baby rolls out.
Physicians stagger in, along with nurses.
NICU is now home to the baby girl who
Came 2 months before she was due.
02/01/1995 - the unforgettable date that
I changed my family’s lives.

Take 2.
Fast forward to when everyone else’s
Nightmare’s become my reality.
The thoughts took over my anatomy,
Constricting blood vessels in my brain
And with every heartbeat those enlarged
Vessels collided with my skull – throbbing.
A rainbow of pasty pills dissolved on my tongue,
Releasing their chemicals into my ocean-like blood stream.

Take 3.
Every waking day had not only become a
Physical struggle but in fact a psychological endeavor.
The thoughts hindered my perception of reality,
Just as cumulous clouds darken the suns light.
Back seat riding with my negativity leading
Me through a tunnel of self-destruction.

Take 4.
Addicted.
To the bottle, the drugs, and the razor blade.
Addicted.
The dullness of the liquor,
The euphoric journey the drugs took me on and,
The intoxicating aroma the blood gave off
As it poured down my wrist
Shaped my addictions to that of self-annihilation.
Those were my Actions.
It ends the same way it began.
Fluorescent combinations of photonic crystals
Burning beneath my skin, into my gaping soul.
Now this is the end.

If my life was a Motion Picture;
I would go back and film it again,
But this time validating true happiness.
Tree Jul 2015
Life without her is like life without the sky, 70% of what it could be. Those were the first words i heard of her and they've never left me since.
She could make anything and anyone sound enticing; she does make everything and everyone sound enticing. She makes me complete; she makes me a poet. Maybe it's because she's so poetic simply by the way she is. The way her words flow out of her so effortlessly; the way she'll pick up and leave at a moments notice if it means an adventure with one of her many human infatuations; the look she gives when her words aren't enough to show her affections; the way she gives me that look with those cherry eyes of hers. The way she looks when i speak of those cherry eyes cause the meaning of that description still baffles her to this day; how she doesn't know the way her eye lashes curl up and flare out, more than ever in those moments; how's there's a sparkle in her eyes she'll never see because it only comes out when she gives that look, a look im sad to think she'd never give her self. She'll never see herself. She sees energies and dynamics and persons and places and sometimes it's through a lense of grey, but her view is spectacular unlike any other; this is why when im with her i get caught up in the moment, nothing but what matters matters. I share a glimpse of that view just for a while; it's like driving when the sun is setting and finally coming to an open field with the perfect view. But the view of her is better. I don't want to experience anything new but with her; each and every abandoned house, nights of wasting a full tank of gas, adventures on bus rides to unplanned places, all the seasons and random trips without reasons.
We first met in summer, sometime in june. The days were sweet and we'd only fall asleep to our tune. Now fall will come and as the wind will carry away our bad thoughts we'll only be left with the good ones that we'll leave on the pages of our notebooks we found together. I know we'll carry on until winter, drinking our coffee to keep us warm after cold sleepless nights because i wasn't there to be her blanket and she wasn't there to block everything out of my mind. Then spring will be next, our last new season together. When the cherries blossom and you'll still wreck the car before you hit that possum and ill never want those cherry eyes to end watching those morning skies with me. And when those cherry eyes can't see the colors of those cherry skies ill show you its colors through a not so poetic description, hoping that in your world of grey i can accurately portray the beauty of its rays because my eyes are the same color as your view and my soul wants to share any part it can with you.
Too much comes to mind when i think of you it's hard to put it in writing. You're poetic enough for the two of us
Daisy Vallely Dec 2016
I roam from here to there
Until i’m everywhere
And everything
Dancing in the graveyard of my past,
cracking the bones of our memories
Beneath my nimble feet.

I dance until my soul is dust in the wind
And travels across bodies of blues,
And greens,
As purple women swim ****
Before my eyes.

Their energy morphs into beams of light,
Until all that’s left are fantastic flames,
That illuminate
The voids of spaces,
Purple faces,
Blue auras,
Green eyes,
Red flames
That burn beneath me
As I descend into the evening,
Falling to my knees and praying for beautiful Death,
For we are familiar friends.

The reaper’s boney fingers grasp the curves of my waist.
The silence is our music
As we waltz for centuries in one moment,
as I watch history unfold
before my purest lense of perception;
A kaleidoscope of fear and love,
Like two opposing warriors holding hands
And sharing secrets.

I wake up from a dream in a cold sweat,
Spat out by the portal of sleep.
I celebrate nirvana,
And thank Death, as I swim in it's dark nebulous.
I await the universe to kiss my eyes
And ask it to release me from this endless wander
in this human form
SELORM DEKU Dec 2016
Before your heart over comes your mind
And another's being captures your thoughts
When pictures are seen with love-lense,
Who earns your love deserves your respect
Know it!

When partiality grows and you accept she's best
A beast chooses another beast as best being,
The rigid part of you begins to know emotions
And you feel complete when she's near
Regard your standards before the final choice
Forget it Not!

She's my love not because she lacks flaws
She activates my best so for her I'd fall
With her, life's all day and never comes night
That moment when even you become a poet!
Still get time to reason or pray
Be not Misled!

I'm adamant though you paint her black
You don't have to understand my choice;
Thus you say and hold her dear
And you're armed to teeth against  unwanted counsel
In all, remember others have travelled that road
Listen To Wisdom!
Richie Vincent May 2016
Every time I look into the mirror, I see someone different
I've been trying to find myself in other people for as long as I can remember
My body belongs to those who have shaped me
To the ones who have taken me by the hand and have taken me apart one by one, I present before you the one who was rebuilt by his surroundings and the ones who cared enough (or not so much) about their work

The forgetfulness in my bones stems from the girl I met in elementary school
She was so lackadaisical, you couldn't find a care in her world even if you tried your hardest
She taught me that it isn't always in your favor to care so much
That sometimes it isn't worth it to worry about everything or everyone else, especially if the situations or people are toxic to you

The boy I met in my 7th grade math class
He smoked cigarettes and liked to skateboard
I'd like to thank him for giving me the push I needed to stop caring so much about the way I looked and also for showing me that the words people say to me don't matter as much as I think they do
I don't talk to him much anymore, but I know he'd be disappointed by the fact that I've let such sadness and pessimism slip into my veins
Things were never simpler than when listening to loud punk music and skateboarding were the only things that mattered to me
I'd give anything to take myself back

I met a boy when I was 14 years old
He listened to cool music and played call of duty with me
He was my best friend
The more we grew up, the more we grew apart
His opinions started to differ from mine
His personality changed for the worse
He taught me that "depression is a sin" and I need to "find God" to rid myself of my sadness
He taught me that sometimes even the ones you love can slip away from you in the blink of an eye, but it isn't always a bad  thing

The girl I met my freshman year of highschool
She was short and full of steam that never seemed to come to an end
If rebellion had a face, it was definitely hers
She taught me that people can lie about anything as long as the ones listening to them care enough about them

But trust me, those were the least of my trust issues
The girl I met my junior year of highschool gave me such a different point of view about everything
She was older, so I thought she knew better
I thought things were different this time, better than they had ever been before her
Now my most vibrant memory of her is sitting in her driveway while she bawled her eyes out and cursed me for hours
Even though I wasn't in the wrong, I put myself in it and I stayed in it until I was forced out
She taught me that lust wears a costume
Sometimes it's scary, sometimes it's pretty
Sometimes it looks like love

I met a girl my senior year of highschool
The sunshine shimmered through her hair and the words she spoke were softer than a pillow after a long day of work
She had a lot of problems, but so did I
She taught me that it's not right for me to carry someone else's weight without being strong enough to lift my own
She taught me that love is a struggle and it can get extremely ugly if it isn't kept up with

I met a guy a few years ago
Through thick and thin, I know we have each other's back, no matter what
There are some people that you meet that you just know will be in your life for as long as you want them to be
They'll love you regardless of what you've been through, regardless of your opinions, and regardless of if you think badly about yourself
They will be here for you until the end, and he taught me to cherish real friendship; it isn't easy to come by

I met a girl when I was 15 years old
I didn't know it then, and I'm having a hard time contemplating it now, but I know she's something special
Through everything we have both been through, we always end up back together
It seems that we pop up in each other's lives when we need each other the most
She taught me that people who are meant to be in your life, will never leave it for good
They will always find a way back to you

As time went on and I thought things couldn't get any worse, I met my future
I met friends who cared about me
I met a newfound hope that I thought was extinguished years ago
I met happiness and I shook hands with it

From start to end, my life is a puzzle that I sometimes have a hard time finding the pieces to
I've found a few pieces so far, and others pieces haven't fit perfectly, but trial and error will get you through anything if you try hard enough

I've held up to this point, and I don't really see myself collapsing anytime soon

As much as life and I have a love-hate relationship, I don't think I'd change anything
I wish I could write something
That pierced the wool
Pulled over your eyes.
Your depression, your nihilism;
The things keeping you coupled
To the miserable lense of your life.
Cause there are so many things,
That are just perspective.
And everything else,
We could work through together.
I fear you can't imagine, what
It would be like, to improve.
Walk the world afresh, renewed.
Just so long as you're comfortable,
It doesn't matter if you're happy.
We could be something wonderful,
But you can't see.
That's the real tragedy
SG Holter Oct 2014
The art we make.
Child of our imagination.
Looking back at us.*

The farmer let us into his old
Storehouse. Where food and
Goods had been stacked and hanging

Centuries ago, there were piles of
Rubble and memorabilia.
Half drunk and inspired, we filled

A bag with old objects. Brass scales,
Leather blacksmith protective glasses,
Razor blades and what not.

"Guess were going steampunk," you
Concluded, and I agreed.
We spoke briefly of bats, and

Retreated. Back home, the fire was still
Going. You sat down with your
Drink on the floor, arranging objects

Onto the canvas. Bronze spray paint and
A sharper eye for detail than I ever
Had. You nearly forgot to drink your

Wine, and apart from my applying some
Sealing foam and other handyman
Touches, it was all your creation.

I helped you to your feet -glass in hand-
And you stood there with a paint stained
Finger on your chin. Pensive; still working.

A part of me stumbled slightly deeper in
Love with you there, another took your
Picture in my mind, my eyes blinking

Like the lense of a camera, before you
Tilted your head against my shoulder,
Eyes not leaving the work in progress.

*"Don't you just love it? The art we make.
Child of our imagination.
Looking back at us."
Harry Roberts Aug 2017
Dont overplay your hand,
I'm the type of Aries to
Throw caution to the flames.

Set a fire
And watch it burn
Watch as you learn
Yearn for the heat of my rage
Lust. My love oxidised you to rust.

I blush
I digress
And I rush.
If that's not living
When 100 I'm giving,
Then I'm already lost on forgiving.

When through dust I'm sieving,
Looking for Hope
And for my mind to cope,
Truly lost yet never got the scope.
Looking through a different lense,
Cleanse, forgive and love true friends.

Life's what you shape it,
And I will find form,
Lived in chaos:
Thought before the storm.
Though now no longer
Find myself torn,
In life anew I am reborn.
Trying to channel some Aries.
Laurence Worsham Nov 2018
Sound the horns before the crash of the drums,
Reign forever the promise,
only as long as does not perturbe the ageless splendor of it's denial.
The angry man is vain in his resentment of luxury as he toils,
and so he proceeds in vain of his resentment.
The happy man is foolish in his love of life, forgotten to that horrible heaping part of himself,
sprawled with constricting joints and bleeding that blood,
Pay he luck not to remember.
Always eager was accepted by the Earth.

Always downward impress the power and cascading mountains of the horizon.
Ever so that the dwindling height impresses the speck at the edge of it's microscopic lense.
From what pestle were ground these grains of what the body shivers to behold?
From what tree was made sacrifice and ripped the shreds of this beautiful scenery?
From what point does the needle steer it's compass,
Pulsates the ebb of the magma of power.

The excretions of raw turmoil brews,
Below the vats of anamorphic hell was raised,
And up was risen low on high and behold that it was seen.
The slumber had encroached upon itself,
Flitting it's tail at the flies and leftovers of the night.
The spoils of day at hand make clear the path of the arm.
I am stretched about it's expanse and yearn the pangs of inward loss.
The melting hot aftermath boils my blood dark and red,
I am ready to sanctify these old bones with new fire.
I lurch my eyes upon the stocks and bundles,
I am in love.

Flesh loathes the indulgence of the mind,
masked in the light by its submission.
I have made acquaintance with the tonic of breath upon the bellows of breast,
I met the waves that mirror this and thine.
Well met are they, and I said that it was good!
To the heavens which impress me impress myself!
Know my mind you manifold of high towers!
Know me that lightning had stricken the chapels of your Kingdom, my name in blazing stars.
Know my name to the inextricable folds of your searching rebuttal.
And behold my pride,
erected there with bricks I would bet against mountains.
Was my blood so bold to creep back whence it came?
If not so, then was made slave to my own boldness.
So there it was,
and so wept the Earth for a thousand years.

Tears falter to the sun, and my cheek is dry.
You know me, but what are you hiding?
Amongst the flags of nations the sweat of day unfurled,
There in the depths must be hidden.
Feed me or be refused the exhilaration of my tongue.
Set loose the fruit into my view,
I will do the rest.
Having filled my bucket of what belongs to me, harken to my plea for more,
To the adoption of my whimsy,
flicking fast the worm of yesterday.
I had worms in my thin stomach.
Aside it, the froth of snails had savored,
molding the lowest of all my opinion.
Better is the least of my gripes,
entrust me this day or all days hence I will mock you.
The threat twas modest now cast into hard metal for the shackles of a generation of tender feet.
What had inspired now falters,
I can weep no more.
Lauren Ostrander May 2017
I know you're supposed to be that thing
That thing that keeps me grounded.
That thing that keeps my feet on the floor.
That thing that keeps me from drifting away.
But lately I've been floating.
And I don't know if you know what that feels like.
It feels timeless
     and weightless
     and sunless
     and empty.
I feel empty.
My days melt to weeks and my weeks melt to months.
My body feels like a crisp breeze of air that I just can't inhale.
My eyes only see through a cloudy, dismal, forsaken lense.
And well gravity,
It's all because you seem to be absent.
Now I need you to understand that I'm not asking you to hold me down.
Because I'd rather float aimlessly than be trapped under your hold.
But I just know that if we work together,
We can create a beautiful compromise of flying and crawling
And I think normal people just call that living.
Don't get me wrong the blood is pumping through my veins so I know i'm alive
But if your lips can no longer muster the energy to smile
And your eyes can no longer muster the energy to cry
And if the forces of attraction are no longer attracted to you
Are you really living?
Khoisan May 2022
I spy with my life's eye
a hidden lense out of the coroner's eye
from birth to a blade
love or hate on a single-stage,
one made the cut the other died.
Life of the coroner
Persons who, not agreeing with you,
Will tell you, your perspective is wrong.
That lived experience,
Has clouded your lense of reality.
But they offer no real difference
Nothing so substantive
As to say,
Mine is fixed
And based in a place
Of true, unbiased rationality.

— The End —