truth

Fantastically Fictional Phantasms

Blushing his mind was suddenly buzzing

With a rushing kind of thrumming thundering

His hands fumbling with wistful whispering

As he stilled listening

Quivering in attention to her symphony

Moving so fluidly it seemed

She was perfect symmetry

If symmetry could sing infinitely

While still breathing

 

Red lips and a tongue ring

Swayed hips like an epiphany

He used ink viciously

As he tried to capture her being

In pages of calligraphy

Ultimately ending in simplicity

And writing only two words worth keeping

Lovely,

And Epitome

But even that seemed to be a study in futility

Close, but still just a facsimile

 

Now even attempting such a thing

Was like extemporizing a soliloquy

When she’s not in the scene

It was a crushing ruptured something

Lusting up toward her but just...brushing

See because,

 

Crystallized starlight and sunbeams

Are the color of her eyes for one thing

Her makeup was made of the constant fluttering

Of a thousand different shades of butterfly's wings

Her body wrapped with swirling images of things

Half shown only teasingly

Blues and pinks perfectly painted in permanent ink

She wore a meticulous modesty like an alluring anthology

Audibly dancing the lines of an infatuation with her body

Calmly, and without a hint of apology

 

Never did they speak

But he thought of her with a quietly

Quickening need

Like a disease

Degenerative and growing constantly

Her motion kept within a distant proximity

Close, but still just out of reach

Orbiting fitfully like a belief caught by gravity

Even the fleeting demons seemed to freeze

The needle points of their teeth not quite so pressing

Folded and creased with every word that she’d speak

 

See,

He wanted God but was stuck in the ministry

She was the girl of his dreams

Literally

An Ideal over which he found himself continuously

Waxing rhapsodically

Lasting and wrapped softly

In prose and in poetry

She was the standard for every real meeting

The source of a lonely rising anxiety

Only interspersed by other versions sporadically

By terse blurred physical excursions endured silently

Violent and briefly blinding

Lost like a leaf in lightning

 

She was a masterpiece paraded in pageantry

Absently grasping at the fantasy of his own imagining

She was a fiction with...

Cherry flavored lips and a tongue ring

Swayed hips like an epiphany

And eyes the color of crystallized starlight

And sunbeams

Too caught up in the dream

To realize he was sleeping

He fell in love with a faery

 

He just couldn’t see her wings

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Tell me what you think...

If I Were President

IF I WERE PRESIDENT

 

His plan to run for president is to trick them into thinking he’s the best they can get. 

 

His campaign call is to build a wall, claiming without it, the country will fall. 

 

He sings a song to lock the doors, with a refrain that says, "Let in no more".

 

However, give the key to those who look like me.

He says, that campaign will work for me.

 

He’ll plant no seeds of hope and care, but place acres and acres of tares and despair.

 

Adding to his song a chorus:

“The way to maintain peace, is to ban the Middle East"

A catchy phrase that's bound to amaze.

 

Keep them singing and they will miss the true meaning.

When the singing stops, he will have done his part, and found his seat where Barack use to sleep. 

 

The hell with trade, listen to him and we've got it made. 

The way to win the race is to point fingers, and claim disgrace.

 

Experience and accomplishment does not a president make.

It's all about the money; don't you get that yet?

 

It's slight of hand and misdirection.

To the Oval Office is where he’s meant.

Make no mistake he’s headed in that direction.

An investment in his own future is the end in all of this.

 

If a few of you can sing his song and follow along, jump on the bandwagon and sing the daylong.

If you don't know the words, fake it, it’s usually how he makes it.

 

Just remember one simple trick, pick a group, doesn't matter who, make them the bad guy, doesn't matter if it's true.

It's good to have to deflect off of you.

Add them to the song and keep singing along, with a catchy beat, he will never meet defeat.

Please lock the door behind you! 

Long time

Been feeling pretty uninspired,

The irony my life has been spiraling,

Taking notes about my meditations and dreams,

Going back and forth with myself 'it isnt what it seems'

Even now, writing but not feeling the words,

'How do I feel, how do I feel'  no adjectives, no verbs, 

To describe my daily illusion, 

All the sick as fuck things ive been doing,

These thoughts and white bitches ive been consuming,

Jesus make me believe in you again,

I wanna believe my future could change if I could just see the light through you again,

These crystals around my neck are heavy but im not grounded,

Obsessing about all of the things around me,

Be mine, someone,

Ive lost my contentment,

If I dont feel another body against mine soon I might betray my commitments,

Light eyes give me hope,

I hope she never reads this,

Im an alien, on a terrace, just standing for what I believe in,

These silly words,

These silly words just giving you feeling,

I have none,

Empty but filled with so much expression,

The church would say your blessed and,

You are satan, for including your love for a woman within the same statement,

Im rambling now,

Lucifer the gardian angel of mine who wears a crown,

Send me down a blessing from the sky,

Perferrably a bitch with nice tits, pink lips, and a smile as sharp as a tooth pick,

Make her love me unconditionally even when im acting stupid,

Unconditionally even when im disillusioned...

Oh, and send me a bag of money.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Because its been a while...

View dime421's Full Portfolio

Folly of our past

Our lives are seen as tragedies in the present which are viewed as comedies from the outside looking in and as satires by those beyond our time

Realization of the bigger aspects of life is usually a hard thing to comprehend

The realization that individually our lives are an arbitrary existence

A tiny little insignificant speck in an ever evolving planet within an infinite universe

What often matters is what we do with this knowledge

Choose to accept it and leave marks for a generation to be in awe of or reject it due to some misplaced sense of superiority and piety.

A coping mechanism for those who accept it is to believe in something bigger than themselves and what is greater than a man than death.

Life after death

Rebirth after the mortal coil shuffles from the earth 

Despite the little iota of realization of our insignificance, a choice to believe one thing is apparent, that our frustration is a thing we can channel, and put it into something we can quantify and qualify: ourselves

We develop niches and avenues of self-hatred based on differing ideas that are quite similar in the long term

We fight, rape, pillage and kill over race, religion, resources and imaginary revenue

We seem to be proving that we are doomed to repeat our past failures

We make the same mistakes not become we are ignorant of the past but rather due to pride

The stain of pride and elevated egotism controls and convinces us that we have we have progressed so much that the transgressions of our forefathers are very well beneath us

we decide that they had no control over their destiny and were just tools for us to commend ourselves on how far we've gotten

The sardonicism of the situation is that we commit the same errors for future generations to look upon mockingly.

They will institutionalize our errors as we do with our forefathers and vow not to repeat our mistakes unaware of the fact that they are nesting in the gaping maw of pride

It is beautiful, isn't it? How everything changes but not us.

How the world continues to turn but we are stuck at the crossroad between mistakes past and atrocities future

Don't you see them pointing? Can you not hear them laughing? Do you honestly not see their tears?

Al these emotions from those not yet born.

Can you not feel the studios glazed over eyes of a people doomed by our avoidable errors

The future seeks to emulate the past that should have never been discovered

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

worked on this for awhile. Comments and criticisms are welcome as always

View ceeclod's Full Portfolio

Garden Of Lies

Folder: 
Just For Fun

.................................................

 

On the day before yesterday,
Prior to my timely demise
I was carefully weeding
My garden of lies.

 

And what a garden it was,
An eden of grace,
Every slipperwort slouch
Deftly tucked in its place.

 

Every bristle and blight,
Every maddenwort lysp
Fighting the cockscomb
And dragonsheart wisp.

 

Every weed that I pulled
Shared an echo or two,
A small little lie
I did not know I knew.

 

And they laughed as they died
Underneath the pale sun.
They caught their last breath,
Every wee little one.

 

For they had run their due course.
Their fruition complete.
They'd never laxed in their
Curious web of deceit.

 

They worked out so well
I'm reminded each day
Of a tale of a tale
I once sent someone's way.

 

They'll mention it briefly,
And I'll recall it, in jest.
There is always one story
I embellish the best.

 

A meretricious concoction
Of diddle and dodge,
With a devious twist
Of some hodge and some podge.

 

There was no plan. of course.
No agenda. No design.
I'd simply crossed that one
Final, indelible line ~

 

It was an innocent moment,
On one innocent day,
A question was asked.
I did not know what to say,

 

So I spoke a wee nothing,
And that wee nothing grew,
Until it grew 'near as grand
As the ocean is blue.

 

And, as you well know,
Each tale begets a tale ~
Until the cistern is full,
And the rot starts to smell.

 

To fester and fume
In their putrid decay.
So we sweep them discreetly,
And brush them away,

 

And bring in another,
All shiny and new,
To do what the old lie
Could no longer do.

 

But a garden like this
Requires care every day.
Lest a lie wrangle free
And then run off to play.

 

Because, they'll get away from you,
And that's never good.
You ought keep a lie
Safely tucked where it should.

 

Every foibling fib,
Every drained dusty briar,
Ought be pulled by the roots
And tossed into the fire.

 

For it has met its foul end,
And it is time to move on.
There is no use to coddle
What is already gone.

 

A sly fabricator
With plans to succeed
Plants only the best
From his bounty of seed.

 

So, carefully tend to your
Garden of Lies.
Be prudent, be cautious,
Leave no room for surprise.

 

And share your lies wisely,
For they think themselves true.
And beware, for some lies
Can come back haunting you.

 

And the very best ones
Almost always do,

 

Copyright © MMXIV  Richard D. Remler

Author's Notes/Comments: 

.........................................................
"Nations are born in the heart of
poets, they prosper and die in the
hands of politicians."
~Muhammad Iqbal
........................................................
"There are some people so addicted
to exaggeration that they can't tell
the truth without lying."
~Josh Billings
..........................................

Parsimonious

Folder: 
Personal

"So hot headed,

but heavy is the hand

that is kept from raising.

Which,

 

being how soft

the surface below 

it would fall upon,

it is al and well

 

no hand was raised,

indeed,

but there is no praise 

for such common sense.

 

Uncommon men

and situations

make for comics 

and comical accusations,

 

life's a joke

so sometimes I laugh at it,

but this time around

I keep frowning.

 

So here it is,

laid on the table

the meal made,

with much forethought.

 

And in the end,

all it causes is heat,

feet stomping,

no use for a cooler,

 

all around fire is sprayed

and it keeps trying

to catch, 

skin not lit.

 

Whatever the reason,

be it power or to tower above,

stepping in increases rage,

decreases range.

 

Within striking distance,

add more fuel to the fire

burning deep inside,

taught to never lay a finger

 

on the fairer sex,

but the moment tests all control,

reveal, resist,

total consequence in the rearview.

 

SLew of words,

which hold meaning

spoken out of love or anger,

babble dipping into ears

 

is all tuned out;

been inside my head for hours

already.

So you go,

 

but not before raising your own hand,

no pain felt with the blow,

no weight to it.

But damned if the point isn't realized,

 

asked to leave 

only to come once I'm gone,

leaving my abode vandalized.

How dissapointing.

 

An anger so roasting

kept cool with a conversation

with a friend, 

longboarder, car hoarder,

 

keeps one in check

before diving into a bitter 

back-and-forth.

The bitter look

 

thrown with an intense glare

with one more pass,

feeling sick to the stomach,

but if one wants,

 

just ask.

I can be more specific.

Penurious of kindness,

parsimonious of respect."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Parsimonious, not to insult anyone's intelligence, is to be stingy; to be witholding (usually of money). Something that you have, but decide not to give, or spend, or show. Being parsimonious is a common reaction to many a great painful events in our lives. But maybe it shouldn't be. For once.

Staying with the Truth

He who stays with the truth,


Even if utterly insulted by the bad,


I cannot but salute him from the heart,


The universe is with him being glad!


 

Alas! Such souls are outcasts,


In this modern age,


A matter of shame it is,


I feel thundering rage!


 

When will the time draw closer,

 

For the truthful to shine as the shiny star?

View mdziaulhaque's Full Portfolio
tags:

Sonnet

With words I try to find the best approach

To quell my love from wav'ring, wond'ring thoughts

But as she hold to them as if their coach

I find loves messenger remains unwrought.

O if my words could cut them like a sword

Then thine own pesky thoughts may then cut free.

To draw the balence of my loves afford

Becomes a bitter risk, I fear, to me.

Will not then truth proceed her way to light?

In newest phrase shall then my heart come through

And prove my souls perpetual delight

That you may have such knowledge ever true.

  In all there is just one thing to be told.

  Your hearts the only one I wish to hold.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My first attempt at writing a sonnet, or any poety for that matter. I figured it would be a great way to learn to more fully appreciate the great poets! I would love any analysis, criticism or feedback. 

View christophermichael's Full Portfolio

The Mirror

 

 

The mirror,

That object with which we our walls adorn,

It hang s in every room and comes in many a shape and form.

The deceiver of youth and to the old a harsh truth

The revealer of age lines and grey hairs

Look closer my dear there’s the proof

I turn to you from a different angle to see if you’ve anything to say

But nothing contrary to the image from that previous day

Smooth, silver and exact no truth you disguise

But show only the facts and tell me no lies

But sometimes even the truth is hard to take in

So I run out the room vowing never to gaze upon you again

But in the end vanity always wins

And here I am once more standing

Before my honest and reflective friend

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