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Stu Jan 2019
In translucent hands
he reads a scripture belonging only to him,
and from memory, he'll rebuild his own illumination.
I feel my bones growing! I feel the warm sun! I am finally satisfied with my own reflection!
Raymmar Jan 2019
I'm dying inside
lying inside
pretending I'm not just along for the ride.

I'm smiling outside
I'm faking my pride
walking around like there's nothing to hide.

And there's so much more to tell too.
I'm just not sure how to be honest with you.

My heart breaks
my body shakes
and when I try to tell you
my voice quakes.

My eyes can see that it's really just me
unable to let go and actually be free.

Trapped inside of this beautiful mind
trying to pretend I'm not one of a kind.

And I know the things I want from you
I just can't have them until I face what's true.

Until I'm actually ready to start over some day.

Which all sounds good until it's time to pay.

Then it's easy to go back.

It's easy to backtrack.

As if I weren't able to fight off my own attack.

A one man self destruction crew
same old story
just made to feel new.

Same guy
still trying to fly.
Still running in circles
still stuck in a lie.

Still a dreamer
still a believer
still holding on
still born to be a leader.

Yearning to be free.
Of the pain
of my brain
of everyday feeling the same.

Looking for escape
for a small break
searching for something
other than heartache.

Starving for attention
lost in contention
hoping and praying
for a sliver of redemption.

When will it all stop?

When will my life change?

And why does facing the truth always feel so strange?

But it's not all a lie.

I've given at least half a try.

And you know,
it kind of feels good inside when I cry.

To feel that release.

To let it all go.

But I always wonder,
is it all just for show?

Pretending to be,
anything but me.

Holding on to a vision
of what used to be.

Holding on
to what I want to see,

because without the pain,
then who would I be?

What then
would be my inspiration
if I was no longer drowning in desperation?

What would I blame if I freed myself from all of this frustration?

And how am I supposed to just pick up the pieces after all this devastation?

What would I write about
if I finally found a way to let go of all this self doubt?

What would I use as a muse if I was no longer perpetually confused?

And what if I fall again?

Am I finally willing to see this thing through to the end?  

How does a man continue to stand in the face of a self imposed backhand.

Trying so hard not to drown in a crowd of people who only know how to back down.

Trying to stand up with a weight on my neck that feels like a thousand pounds.

And what do any of these words even mean?

Should I keep them hidden, never to be seen?

After all, I wrote them for me

But maybe it's something you need to read?

Maybe my pain is intended to show, that deep down inside you already know.

That pretending to be perfect is never the way to go.

That broken is better.

That not fitting in is the new trend setter.

To show off the insides of my brain while proving to the world that I am actually still sane.

And then… just for fun…

I’d bet that you feel the same.
Shlomo Oct 2018
Emerging economies.

What they’re emerging from I don’t know.

My guess, the depths of hell.

From the frying pan, right into the fire, or worse; a well.

A deep hole stronger than gravity, the force.

To be forever under the thumb of remorse.



A modern era of endless acts, policies and bla bla bla.

Shut up with all your platitudes.

I see what’s really going on. Aha!

You speak of sustainable development.

Nice to know that you’ve led by example.

Carried the mantle for all these years.



Centuries of ruthlessness, now veiled in sheep’s clothing.

But you won’t shut up. Because you don’t speak.

You never have. You just do.

Each day that goes by, you carry on anew.

Behind all the talk of hope, equality and more progress,

it seems the wolves are lurking.



Cooking up the next tool to subdue countless.

This time, not behind closed doors. But in plain sight.

It’s scary to imagine such spite.

Each year that goes by it becomes clearer that you never cared.

You sold guns, drugs and all kinds of war.

And each time, you kept coming back for more.



You’ve built up antibodies that ensure your survival.

But sometimes I wonder if you’re alive at all.

But what do I know?

Maybe you’re more alive than ever.

Doing what you do best but always more clever.

That not even the most stable of geniuses can evade your pressure.



A strong enough foundation that each break makes you stronger,

So strong that not even the Gremlin can take you under.  

Against this dreary background, foregrounded is nothing short of magical.

Beyond hope, prayers or a thoughtless radical.

Or maybe this is all just fake outrage.

An attempt to evade the boredom of this endless monotony and baggage.



Or maybe, the term is out of date.

Like every other, that makes me increasingly more irate.

In which case, this poem is at least ten years late.

Or maybe there are too many maybes’.

And I’m perfectly suited for this time of vague uneasiness and indifference.

In which case, my imagination probably needs more sociology and less a lesson in rhymes.
Piano backed narration @ https://anchor.fm/shlomotion/episodes/Emerging-Economies-e1s1a6
Breanna evans Dec 2018
I am at peace
I can finally say
there’s no more storm clouds
bound my way
my body’s sore,
my muscles ache
but I’m stronger now
than yesterday

an easy life
I’ll never find
but that’s okay
no, nevermind
it does no good
to ***** and whine
just take my days
one at a time

I’m getting stronger
every day
my muscles sore,
my body aches
but I’m prepared,
let come what may
I am complete, now
I can say
Every day is another battle, another challenge. yet here I stand, victorious
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.

I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.

I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.

I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.

Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.

I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was.
Stu Nov 2018
Someday soon,
under a new sun,
We will sing a bird's song of white and gold hues.
Of beaming light.
Of warmth encompassing all that we love.
And it will be magnificent.
Natasha Oct 2018
Each unhappy in their own worlds
They were driven together.

Then desperate for each other
They clung to their unhappiness

But now apart they soar:

Their weightless bodies drift
And when they pass
These two old friends–
Ghosts locking eyes–
Glide without a smile.
Sutherland Oct 2018
The Red Herring travels a divergent path,
alone in presence,
master of mind.
The Red Herring comprehends what he hath,
bearing little thought,
to the wake behind.

The Herring passes content with isolation,
alone in essence,
possessor of mind.
The Herring cares not but for his destination,
bearing some thought,
to the wake behind.

A herring finds his final place,
alone in absence,
chaser of mind.
A herring now knows his destination was never a space,
bearing absolute thought,
to the wake behind.
ShFR Oct 2018
8 fifteen in the morning,
huddled around a wooden framed door,
awaiting today’s moderator,
another professional development,
Restorative Practices,
the art of inclusion,
the art of accountability;
Skill building,
Cooperation,
The mutual hate among us as we stare into a dark room,
windowless,
Awaiting another 7 hour day of ice breakers,
We clutch our coffees and populate the lone corner —
— 12 capacity room in the basement,
All 15 of us,
Good morning: let’s begin
© 2018 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
Ash Sep 2018
You know those films on movies where they flip the table
Throw things around and scream obscenities at everyone
Well this is exactly what I would do,if my life was a movie
Instead I the prey sit here hiding all the anger trapped inside
Instead I the prey take a walk stay silent taming it all in
Instead I the prey fall prey every time to the predators bait

You know that feeling you get when you are disgusted by yourself
Trying to conjure up where everything went wrong?
How you can change things?
What to do not to repeat the same mistake?
When you finally think I got this,you repeat the same thing
Only to get things actually have gotten worse
Well that feeling of disgust is not funny

You know that feeling you get when realize how naive you've been
When you realize all the anger that you have is because:
You just couldn't let go
You held onto your ideas so strongly,you couldn't see the others
You loved someone to much but didn't love an ounce of yourself
You listened to all the negative people
You felt all the negative energy and let it consume you
Yeah well I can tell you how pathetic and joyful realizing that will make you feel

I put you on top
So far up there
When I need you the most
When I come to collect my fingers caught ***** first,
Then I stretched a little further and got hate
I stretched a little further and got unfaithfulness
I stretched and got pain so much pain and anger
When I almost gave up I got me back with a sprinkle of wisdom
So I'll give you this I love you always will
Even though you shattered me
Though I love you more because you dear
Returned me back with a sprinkle of wisdom
This poem is a get way of some sort,I wrote it with a lot of anger at first as clearly seen in the first stanza but as I was writing,spilling this words out I realized my problem all the anger morphed into something else better than crying or being angry all the anger towards the person towards my situation turned to getting me back with a sprinkle of wisdom ,now I just wished I had done this earlier which shows what I meant by not loving an ounce of myself since I listen to others more than I listened to me,I loved and wanted to be loved more than I had love for myself,always doing what they want to please them always holding so firmly to my philosophies that I broke every single time things didn't go how I idealized them,So this is just what this poem above is about it took this final straw just when I thought things couldn't get worse only for them too for me to get me back with a sprinkle of wisdom
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