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Topic: The Random Blurt Thread
Posted: 02 May 2017 00:25

This place seems to cry in a digital form...have we just found a new method of hurting?

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The poem of the blue man (the baby of ice)

I was fourteen,  So was she.  I had been away from school for a while, I didn't bother, and they didn't care.  I had heard about her from the freak vine.  That she had given it up to a real sleazy guy named Todd.  I didn't know her, and I figured hey no points for class in this world.  Now I had geometry with him, and it turns out her.  For some reason, the teacher put our desks in...

Added 01 Oct 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 363

Burning down to the stone

My name is Gary.  I have been but buried under the ash of my song long as I can remember.  My hands and fingernails split and broken only the given words for meaning.  Do you want that too?  My name, my path, or my song?  I do not claim it is beautiful.  I only claim it is mine.  Do you want it?  Would you take the loops of my finger prints?  Would you track my life?  Carry my burden....

Added 30 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 326

The click atrack

In my lazy left hand, I grip the dregs of mercy.  I can not see her.  I can not call or write her.  Oh god, she does not even know the sound of my quivering voice.  Yet I have spoken her name twenty times a day for five years. Who among you knows how truly silent the written word can be?   Who hears those prayers, when it is only a name spoken in reverence.  Spoken to the empty...  In...

Added 28 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 300

The Poem of the blue man (prologe)

Didn't take me long to learn the rules of life.  Taking and hurting as long as you can kick ass and it's yours.   I was fairly literate as a young kid.  It came from being accident prone I guess.  In fourth grade, I had a nearly fatal accident.  I had run through a storm door, and a six-inch shard of glass ripped into my stomach.  Took me a year to recover.  I often wonder if it made...

Added 24 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 529

Harder to be

Tonight,  I vow by the spirals God wove into my fingertips, That if  I am not poet perfect.  I shall never write these words again.  "I love you, Basil. " I stood in the eclipse of a rainbow.  I cried two even tears that the sun had killed the storm clouds.  I lost something I want back.  I lost the memory of the first time I glimpsed you.  My love,  I lost it twice.  How callous...

Added 19 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 299

Striping it all down

Some work is far too real.  The grand stuff of usefulness.  Can you imagine the right hand of God (atom.) As he wandered the fresh reality and gave it names.  What kind of insight and sacred creativity does it take to say this is called sunlight?  Did he create syntax, diction,  phonetics?  Doesn't matter he was just useful.  I have a running fantasy a delusion if you want to...

Added 18 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 280

The poem of the blue man pt1

(To say this poem is true is relevant to me...  alone.)   This poem is the truth. My nights are wicked lonely. Just a weird fate and a puppy dog innocence. You might think innocence is free. It isn't. This night was a strange one. I lived next to a party district when I was younger. A lot of collage bars... Well, a lot of bars. It's called west port (not that that matters.) To you...

Added 17 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 332

A woman

Tender.  My hands are tender.  My words,  My words are broken.  The life I have lived is only a memory of sin and broken things.  Rage,  obsession,  fantasy made cruel because of how clever the delusions became.  Not mine,   no others.   There is one thing right in my life.  The lady I am in love with.  I am a hero.  I have saved lives.  I have loved.  I am in love.   I will...

Added 16 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 360 | 1 Comment

The brutal wish

I collect nickels.  I like the smooth edges.  They seem unpretentious.   They will never amass a fortune.  To buy even a book you need to stack them high.  I keep them for sentimental reasons.  I made a wish with one a long time ago.  It was about dedication,  a lifetime of commitment.  But...  it is an empty life time that has passed.  It tears across me like a razor blade.   I...

Added 15 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 364

Freedom a metaphor

I can feel freedom coming, but it doesn't know my name.  I want to play in the crush of brown leaves of fall, but I don't think I know the game.  I leave my words to hear like a bible, a fool with no passion. My consequences are laced across my back,   freedom tattooed in bloody script. Wondering if I should blame you for your kindness with this silent gift. My freedom is a bitter pill,...

Added 14 Aug 2017 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 370

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