Life?
Is that actually a thing?
It seems....
Fake.
It seems to come and go taking what you care and sweeping it just like, well, clean air.
Taking the life from underneath the Meeks of your feet just like sweeping the dust of a dirt chair. Things would appear great to realize its, well, fake. I took this before thinking it was going to matter or that swift from your breath for just a snapping moment everything is perfect to realize its all but. To live like no one has is a dream of all you may not realize it because you havnt thought of it, but trust me. Its there.
Submissions for PRC Round 142 are now over. Make sure to vote and join us for PRC Round 143!
We're over 10 poems. I've decided in an effort to alleviate the waitlist of the contest to expand the max number of poems per round to 12. (We don't have enough poems for two PRC threads per week yet or any other drastic measures like that.)
That means that the poems after the 12th that will appear in Round 143 are:
Mediocrity and Uncertainty by Koopa
Poems withheld for failure to vote (and being after the 12th) are:
"Life?" by brahamthomas
The world is at peace and my mind is near ease,
but the phlegm is crawling up my throat in chunky hunks of cantankerous frieze.
Invisible fists of stone punch their way out of my body, through my chest,
ripping through the skin and wrapping silently around my neck.
How can I breathe?
When I've been sucked down beneath lengthy piles of insidious ichor.
Left to drown,
amongst a town of nobodies whose love simply made me sicker.
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The nude poses playfully on the grassy shore, the chicken counts her eggs too early -
they have all broken upon the pavement like raindrops from the eyes of god -
Oh!
There is too much to hold in my hands and the water slips through cracks I cannot cover up,
my watering eyes make the flowers on the ground grow like magic beanstalks and at least I can rest easy
knowing that all of this suffering has purpose burgeoning - or madness hovering,
and at once when my hands fall away it will reveal itself
like a blossoming plant in the desert, taking advantage of single drops of rain
to become the largest flower of them all.
There are things running in us that we cannot stop:
mountains move without our knowledge,
consciousness along for the ride -
what torture it is to not know yourself!
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my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I reach the bottom
to search for water
I am in the end
but still thirsty
Nothing is finished yet
If there's a thirst to quench.
I was born among sapients
I knew all letters and subjects
All I did was to shine
As a trophy held by the champions
Much to my contentment
I met humility itself.
I'm almost there
names on the block
but what color suit should I wear
Who did they pay
to speak for me
when I've nothing at all to say
To fill this veneer
they sentenced a man
what they got was a volunteer
Look no further
for someone to lay low
it's no vice of the willing to murder
Causality hurts
and the guilty should pay
so soon I'll be covered in dirt
Police and a priest
both strangers to me
the dinner was delicious at least
144 paces
a room full of haters
and not one recognizable face
Finally it's time
I lay my head back
and fall fast asleep to the chime
(12/30/2011)
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Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
I waste away in quiet contemplation
lay torpid in somatic suffocation
my mind conjures a guitar's sweet creation
Of lullabies: my ire lies contained
the daylight signs to me its resignation
While stars play with the dreaming congregation
A nocturne dazes me with adoration
what held me once now breaks melodic chains
I gorge myself on music's sweet confections--
mind amplified, my nerves lose their connections
Too long I've lived a life in pure reflection
Of dischord when I should have been awake!
But as the strings sing to me, their inflection
Quells the thought of wrathful resurrection
I cling back to my somber introspection
I'm strung out in dementia again
I weep
for the hateful mind
the soul raised by violence
the jealousy of a first world that stands so tall
yet cannot hope to reach meaning
Idolatry
the mind that presumes knowledge truly knows nothing
is this not the meaning of wisdom?
how do I navigate the ethereal tides
when knowledge is no anchor
and we've destroyed everything else
in jealous love of knowledge?
The landmarks were bulldozed
the paths were paved over; wrong
the stars are shrouded with light pollution
and the cold streets are a labyrinth
An envious world
in jealousy lashes me for asking
Can I have my life back?
Phoenix rise from where you've been
From ashes past breathe warmth again
Burn though brightest through solstice long
Prudent of thy fall to come
Phoenix return to whence you came
To ashes anew, begin again
(Figured it was time I threw my hat into that whole, "Submit raps to the PRC" thing)
When you're cursing-
that's when you're speaking my language
short. nasty and brutish
it's a lot like life-
or if I'm feeling sarcastic,
a lot like my ex wife-
But I've never been married and I've never been in love
but I know what it's like to have a little bit a lust with a little extra kick
and a little extra shove
an I know what it's like to have it fly off with the doves
So I'll tie a rope like I like my jeans-
never too loose and never too tight
somewhere between
a slipknot and a noose.
The hardest question of all,
not the whats or the whys,
but the, "How could this happen?"
It's not what you meant;
being your words, not mine -
"That's not what I meant."
Well then what did you mean?
It's the world's simplest answer
to the world's toughest question -
it's the, "How could what happen?"
with those smiling eyes.
An unacceptable echo
to original query;
Should I bring us full circle?
Earns a confident, "Surely!"
So the hardest question of all,
now begot repetition,
It's the, "How could this happen?"
being your words, not mine,
asking no one particular as I opened the door.
"That's not what I meant to happen," you say,
"That's not what I meant to occur."
Cypher (In which I pray to god with juvenile pretensions and obvious hidden meanings)
Territorial, adversarial,
Rend my heart into two places:
Yell words nobody understands,
Invent new ways to be bored,
Never care what the result is.
Giving up, staying up, staring at sleep.
In thoughts I imagine you surrounding me,
Stuck in my own head and inside my own dreams.
Up and up my head inflates, as though I've solved the self, then
Shattering, unsure, as though I've broken myself.
Elucidate my future's fate in blackened strips of self neglect,
Let corniness, romanticism, hold me, strike me, then infect -
Everything I love is also something that I hate.
Someone save humanity from everything I've thought:
Someone save emotion's pleas from being stuck and lost ...
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
"Nobody is born allergic to anything,
you have to be exposed to it to react to it."
Born a beast of a mechanical society
spawned polished groomed programmed
to carry on the cycle
under names like peace, good, right
and political dogma
The animals cry and the forest bleed
we march as one nation
Man
our quest unstoppable
We have weapons and we know how to use them
contracts, money, rhetoric
friends in high places
to trample underfoot
the unenlightened
Being human is worth NOTHING
when the sickest liches
are as innocent as we are
when everything is valid the evil goes masked
look in the ****ing mirror
does this look fixed?
does it look good?
then it can't be all good
There was a time
in a dream
when I could extend my arms to an image of a bear
call "brother"
and weep
And I can grab a rifle
charge like the heroes
my ancestors
as valiant as any in 1945
I breathe their breath, righteousness
but they had the government
I'm sick of trying to work in the system
The human body can purge itself of any sickness
but sometimes it overreacts
and develops an allergy
--------------------------------
I'm going to change this for another poem if I can write one in time.
Written after reading "Fragments from the Alfoxden Notebook (I)" by William Wordsworth (feel free to shorten it to "Written after reading Wordsworth" in the poll options, sentimentG4X)
I'm sick of imagination
Because imagination is sick
The Bard is dead... we have killed him
We stopped caring about stories
Every story is a children's tale
When only children are allowed to dream
When did it start? I can scarcely fathom
From alpha to king to CEO it's all there
Yet there's a false sense that we can just go back in time
and it'll all be better
But 200 years ago, Wordsworth tells the same story
and I'm sure if we looked hard enough
we'd find a cave painting of an outcast
abandoned for deviance
There's few ways to persist
(as they would like) but
the romantics had a 40% survival rating
and the only way is forward
I should have been born 200 years later
if I can die to make that future
I'll have died well
Am I brave or just ready to die?
If everything I've sacrificed
was for the sake of sacrifice,
then have I really lost a thing at all?
Is a martyr still a martyr when any cause will do?
As I'm seeking out iconoclasts
to smash me into pieces,
just to be a part of something more than this.
I sit behind the bars from the bars Xanax bars gave me,
I need a hair cut around my apple, barber can you fade me?
Maybe.
Just ****ing maybe.
I won't be released to release a beast and I'll remain the man you made me.
Hazy hazy.
The room is spinning and hazy.
I see the totems, the cursed totems,
I miss the cage now that the beast has returned to chain me.
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Is that actually a thing?
It seems....
Fake.
It seems to come and go taking what you care and sweeping it just like, well, clean air.
Taking the life from underneath the Meeks of your feet just like sweeping the dust of a dirt chair. Things would appear great to realize its, well, fake. I took this before thinking it was going to matter or that swift from your breath for just a snapping moment everything is perfect to realize its all but. To live like no one has is a dream of all you may not realize it because you havnt thought of it, but trust me. Its there.
We're over 10 poems. I've decided in an effort to alleviate the waitlist of the contest to expand the max number of poems per round to 12. (We don't have enough poems for two PRC threads per week yet or any other drastic measures like that.)
That means that the poems after the 12th that will appear in Round 143 are:
Mediocrity and Uncertainty by Koopa
Poems withheld for failure to vote (and being after the 12th) are:
"Life?" by brahamthomas
Or so it seemed back then.
I miss the rooftops.
Our howls were a song of love!
But now they seem like full stops.
Back then; we were unstoppable,
Impossible to catch
Immortal!
Obstructed by no portals!
Arm in arm;
Back to back;
Fluid and pure
Cured of the truth-
Didn’t know what we had become
Rivals,
Or lovers?
Fighters,
Or artists?
Dance your dance
One last time
Across my dreams and my sleep and my soul;
Paint a picture across this hole!
Come back to me,
Damn you!
If you will not come to me;
I’ll come to you.
Our flight was unyielding;
And does not yet yield!
By blade I lived
By blade I learned
By blade I loved
And by blade,
I am undone.
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
Smoking clips
He gave me a tip
Went like this
"when you absolutely
positively blaze every
mother ****** in
the entire room except
no subsitutions in ever"
loading up the chambers
Click Click Click
Smoke fills the dorm room
All back in the bag
scumbag
Want Higher Level Card Evaluation? Visit Diestoremoval.com
The world is at peace and my mind is near ease,
but the phlegm is crawling up my throat in chunky hunks of cantankerous frieze.
Invisible fists of stone punch their way out of my body, through my chest,
ripping through the skin and wrapping silently around my neck.
How can I breathe?
When I've been sucked down beneath lengthy piles of insidious ichor.
Left to drown,
amongst a town of nobodies whose love simply made me sicker.
The nude poses playfully on the grassy shore, the chicken counts her eggs too early -
they have all broken upon the pavement like raindrops from the eyes of god -
Oh!
There is too much to hold in my hands and the water slips through cracks I cannot cover up,
my watering eyes make the flowers on the ground grow like magic beanstalks and at least I can rest easy
knowing that all of this suffering has purpose burgeoning - or madness hovering,
and at once when my hands fall away it will reveal itself
like a blossoming plant in the desert, taking advantage of single drops of rain
to become the largest flower of them all.
There are things running in us that we cannot stop:
mountains move without our knowledge,
consciousness along for the ride -
what torture it is to not know yourself!
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I reach the bottom
to search for water
I am in the end
but still thirsty
Nothing is finished yet
If there's a thirst to quench.
I was born among sapients
I knew all letters and subjects
All I did was to shine
As a trophy held by the champions
Much to my contentment
I met humility itself.
A word to the wise
In the end of the journey.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
I'm almost there
names on the block
but what color suit should I wear
Who did they pay
to speak for me
when I've nothing at all to say
To fill this veneer
they sentenced a man
what they got was a volunteer
Look no further
for someone to lay low
it's no vice of the willing to murder
Causality hurts
and the guilty should pay
so soon I'll be covered in dirt
Police and a priest
both strangers to me
the dinner was delicious at least
144 paces
a room full of haters
and not one recognizable face
Finally it's time
I lay my head back
and fall fast asleep to the chime
(12/30/2011)
Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
I waste away in quiet contemplation
lay torpid in somatic suffocation
my mind conjures a guitar's sweet creation
Of lullabies: my ire lies contained
the daylight signs to me its resignation
While stars play with the dreaming congregation
A nocturne dazes me with adoration
what held me once now breaks melodic chains
I gorge myself on music's sweet confections--
mind amplified, my nerves lose their connections
Too long I've lived a life in pure reflection
Of dischord when I should have been awake!
But as the strings sing to me, their inflection
Quells the thought of wrathful resurrection
I cling back to my somber introspection
I'm strung out in dementia again
This is a Shivan Ampersand
I weep
for the hateful mind
the soul raised by violence
the jealousy of a first world that stands so tall
yet cannot hope to reach meaning
Idolatry
the mind that presumes knowledge truly knows nothing
is this not the meaning of wisdom?
how do I navigate the ethereal tides
when knowledge is no anchor
and we've destroyed everything else
in jealous love of knowledge?
The landmarks were bulldozed
the paths were paved over; wrong
the stars are shrouded with light pollution
and the cold streets are a labyrinth
An envious world
in jealousy lashes me for asking
Can I have my life back?
Phoenix rise from where you've been
From ashes past breathe warmth again
Burn though brightest through solstice long
Prudent of thy fall to come
Phoenix return to whence you came
To ashes anew, begin again
Avalon: The Legend Begins :: Pirate Set :: Babel: The Æther Wars
Favorite Magic Card: Fowl Play
[Primer] [Barrin's Tome]: A Master Wizard's Spellbook.
Pass the book
Throw the rest in a pile
Light everything
Burn the culture of millions
We know it's illegal
And we won't stop.
I'll give whoever figures out what this poem is about a cookie.
scumbag
Want Higher Level Card Evaluation? Visit Diestoremoval.com
Sin
The sickness consumes
Eating our souls from within
No Hope, No Mercy
540 Peasant cube- Gold EditionSomething SpicyWhen you're cursing-
that's when you're speaking my language
short. nasty and brutish
it's a lot like life-
or if I'm feeling sarcastic,
a lot like my ex wife-
But I've never been married and I've never been in love
but I know what it's like to have a little bit a lust with a little extra kick
and a little extra shove
an I know what it's like to have it fly off with the doves
So I'll tie a rope like I like my jeans-
never too loose and never too tight
somewhere between
a slipknot and a noose.
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
The hardest question of all,
not the whats or the whys,
but the, "How could this happen?"
It's not what you meant;
being your words, not mine -
"That's not what I meant."
Well then what did you mean?
It's the world's simplest answer
to the world's toughest question -
it's the, "How could what happen?"
with those smiling eyes.
An unacceptable echo
to original query;
Should I bring us full circle?
Earns a confident, "Surely!"
So the hardest question of all,
now begot repetition,
It's the, "How could this happen?"
being your words, not mine,
asking no one particular as I opened the door.
"That's not what I meant to happen," you say,
"That's not what I meant to occur."
Millionaires, I hear it's good Music (Disclaimer: lyrics not PG-13) Thanks, CC
Territorial, adversarial,
Rend my heart into two places:
Yell words nobody understands,
Invent new ways to be bored,
Never care what the result is.
Giving up, staying up, staring at sleep.
In thoughts I imagine you surrounding me,
Stuck in my own head and inside my own dreams.
Up and up my head inflates, as though I've solved the self, then
Shattering, unsure, as though I've broken myself.
Elucidate my future's fate in blackened strips of self neglect,
Let corniness, romanticism, hold me, strike me, then infect -
Everything I love is also something that I hate.
Someone save humanity from everything I've thought:
Someone save emotion's pleas from being stuck and lost ...
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
the swaying bough, both thin and limber,
shivers, sways to winter's chill
scratches claws on stained glass windows
toussles the nests of cardinals
no blizzard, just antagonistic
thunderstorms form grey blankets
twisting down in foggy thickets
like a million honeybee pricks
in cold drops, and on the wind
the bell's reverb is echoing
forgotten sentiments of silence
above sequestered catacombs
the oaken bullwark's boarded over
and cackling overtakes the tower
laying, entranced, with somnus,
another ritual has claimed her
lashed against the rack, amid
the glow of candles, INCIPIT
RITUALI INFERNOS
RESIPISCO ODIUM
a slit between her mammaries
peel back flesh and sunder bone
a demon's heart implanted and then stitched
begin electrolysis
the catacombs were here before
our grand usurper, cloaked in white;
time's textiles were cut open
at the end, and spiraled inward
across the void is land once filled
with malicious aberrations
when they crossed, we let them in
the farm what cultivates damned
it's from this pocket, parts on lend
were tinkered with, amended
to make our hybrid horrors live
they proudly tore them off
and now she rises, empress
of every disembodied grin
and eyes staring in four dimensions
take pride in her completion
This is a Shivan Ampersand
"Nobody is born allergic to anything,
you have to be exposed to it to react to it."
Born a beast of a mechanical society
spawned polished groomed programmed
to carry on the cycle
under names like peace, good, right
and political dogma
The animals cry and the forest bleed
we march as one nation
Man
our quest unstoppable
We have weapons and we know how to use them
contracts, money, rhetoric
friends in high places
to trample underfoot
the unenlightened
Being human is worth NOTHING
when the sickest liches
are as innocent as we are
when everything is valid the evil goes masked
look in the ****ing mirror
does this look fixed?
does it look good?
then it can't be all good
There was a time
in a dream
when I could extend my arms to an image of a bear
call "brother"
and weep
And I can grab a rifle
charge like the heroes
my ancestors
as valiant as any in 1945
I breathe their breath, righteousness
but they had the government
I'm sick of trying to work in the system
The human body can purge itself of any sickness
but sometimes it overreacts
and develops an allergy
--------------------------------
I'm going to change this for another poem if I can write one in time.
I'm sick of imagination
Because imagination is sick
The Bard is dead... we have killed him
We stopped caring about stories
Every story is a children's tale
When only children are allowed to dream
When did it start? I can scarcely fathom
From alpha to king to CEO it's all there
Yet there's a false sense that we can just go back in time
and it'll all be better
But 200 years ago, Wordsworth tells the same story
and I'm sure if we looked hard enough
we'd find a cave painting of an outcast
abandoned for deviance
There's few ways to persist
(as they would like) but
the romantics had a 40% survival rating
and the only way is forward
I should have been born 200 years later
if I can die to make that future
I'll have died well
If everything I've sacrificed
was for the sake of sacrifice,
then have I really lost a thing at all?
Is a martyr still a martyr when any cause will do?
As I'm seeking out iconoclasts
to smash me into pieces,
just to be a part of something more than this.
The stomach rumbles
The knees grow weak from hunger
Another kid dies
His stomach not fed
With the sustinence we need
to live a simple life
His flesh is rotting
in the calorifacient
sun, flies buzzing near
540 Peasant cube- Gold EditionSomething SpicyI sit behind the bars from the bars Xanax bars gave me,
I need a hair cut around my apple, barber can you fade me?
Maybe.
Just ****ing maybe.
I won't be released to release a beast and I'll remain the man you made me.
Hazy hazy.
The room is spinning and hazy.
I see the totems, the cursed totems,
I miss the cage now that the beast has returned to chain me.