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Karijinbba Aug 2020
Pictures in the memory chip
woke me up from a long sleep
as amnesia's burried pain
unresolved takes flight

I woke up to see my beast
and did weep for way too long
I saw my beauty within silenced
my inner cores sacred seed
stumped.
my tree of life chopped
I weeped harder then ever then
I loved myself dearly so
and lived
waiting for another chance
to bloom again
blessed with marriage's vows
and many precious kids
I sided with beauty to comfort my beast within to give it the love attentive it needed emergently so.

I survived a loving Mother
badly trashed
envied discriminated birthing
was torturous in the hands of evil jealous sadistic Medeas.

they were the snakes
in everyones paradise
angry I had succeeded
in all they've failed
surviving their many attempts

I survived chasing few boys
chasing me only
with their lethal horn
they lacked courage
heart and brains
to chase me
with heart and soul
I sought for a best husband
that had long passed me by
leaving me behind
to brew longer into
my mangled core
into his aged best
wine reserve

He quickly Married brewing
another woman's wine tougher
oh the pain he caused me!
the daggars deeper dugged.

I roamed the internet
singles sites ever looking
to fill in the void in my kids
A father figure I only sought
for my cherished beloved
young kids
and for a lifetime I did look
asleep in my pain failing again,
in all the wrong places I did look.

Unaware that two bad as* boys
had came pre-paid by my ex or his
consort ** to trash me, to use me
to video tape me just enough and
to continue with a look alike
***** player on sale
ALL
just to trash me more in his eyes.
just to abandon and curse me.
May the internet singles web
of vipers the bad boys
the shadow people entities
no longer thrive.
To the bottom of the sea drown
take the hungry wolves down
an eye for an eye
justice I seek

Later on, the stranger
pre paid **** asked me
to not look back not to crash
Written in a photo post card
depicting two handsome
well dressed men flying
their private luxury airplane.

Same image my lover
rdd had sent in 75
two decades back!.

I found only heartache, misery
and pain by greedy wolves
posing as safe gentlemen
seeking a wife to be.

I took a lot more dangerous risks
many protective Moms would fret

my happier songs unplayed
remained in Hollywood
tower high subsidy abode.

Our dream and my legal identity
in his safety deposit box hid
a lifetime too long
for our harvest to yield it's fruit

My poet lover found me
available unmarried broke
on the singles adds web
again and again in secret
with hope I rejoiced.

he seemed *******
on our old script
he'd cursed me with
yielding no fruits

I lacked resource purse to run
to chase after him kids and all.

He must have given his gold seeds
allowing her generic matrix
edged in greed and jealousy
to grow'm to tie him down.

How's this story poem mine
similar to pictures on the web
photos on an ancient script?

My story poem pictures paint
"a thousand words.*
~~~~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
Copy Rights
when a picture paints a thousand words
the story takes flight across the world it touches someone's heart.
~~~
Hello there

insect buzzing through the air

why don't you come & sit in my snare...

                                  ...I mean chair            
  

I have six legs, see?

I'm just like you

oh, these?  my arms?

why yes, there's two


so come, little one

dawn has begun

take refuge from the sun

in this hammock I've spun


there, isn't that nice?


what?  your legs?

you said they won't move?

there, there my winged friend

I know just what to do!

🕷🕸🦟
Beware of insects with arms.
mothwasher Jul 2020
the creature has noticed me. it has thousands of broken legs on its face and keeps tabs, never wasting an hour without checking in, watching my home grow bigger in the corner. i am a long bodied cellar spider, suspended, inverted beneath the guitar case, just right of the bed frame. food is scarce, but i sense we share this hunger in the humid subterranean habitat. it takes on thinness, shakes at times, makes day into night, flips pages, tele-spells, turns night into day again.

micro-fibrous dust settles on my spinnerets, a twitchy sneeze draws attention, the cruelest of details. while unraveling undaunted one pseudo-day sort of night, a pulse was released comma intent to ****. it came like resolute qualia, something my eight eyes can’t see. the plastic cave, the broken allegory, all ghastly and converging. as soon as the web gets jostled, a switch will summon my stunning epileptic display. i am ready to give it a leg, but only from the calve. it has never come this close.
Somewhatdamaged Apr 2020
What used to matter
Now its all useless.

All those those things I thought were true
Seems like I didn't even had a clue.
Even though I was used to the pain
Cause it was the only thing made me feel alive!
Now it seems to not matter
It was all useless!

Waking up everyday with the same burden
Caught in the web I, myself had woven
What it really seems
Is that nothing really matters!

My head starts spinning
My body's shaking
Thinking about what could've done!
My feet starts walking
My hands are reaching
Desire for my world to burn!

And still I am here
Just waiting for you...
Drowning in the pool of agony
With disbelief in Separation!!!
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Composition of Shadows (I)
by Michael R. Burch

(for poets who write late at night / by monitor light)

We breathe and so we write; the night
hums softly its accompaniment.
Pale phosphors burn; the page we turn
leads onward, and we smile, content.

And what we mean we write to learn:
the vowels of love, the consonants’
strange golden weight, each plosive’s shape—
curved like the heart. Here, resonant,

sounds’ shadows mass beneath bright glass
like singing voles curled in a maze
of blank white space. We touch a face—
long-frozen words trapped in a glaze

that insulates our hearts. Nowhere
can love be found. Just shrieking air.

Published by The Lyric, Candelabrum, Triplopia, Romantics Quarterly, Iambs & Trochees, Hidden Treasures, ImageNation (UK), Yellow Bat Review, Poetry Life & Times, Vallance Review, Poetica Victorian. Keywords/Tags: writing, poetry, night, monitor, glass, phosphors, web, page, internet, online, social media, sound, files, white space
tonylongo Mar 2020
We (as far as I can remember)
Started out to recreate a sane conversation
In which facts of all shades and shapes would
Simply emerge and connect themselves into
Acting structures.

There was a phase in which
Burgeoning ways and means of
Unearthing and spreading these bits
Occupied and riveted most attention;
Followed by something – Fear? Sense? –
Expressing as allergens to ungrounded factoids
And structures acting not from meaning
But obviously from the hindbrain.

After who knows how many rounds of
Lunge feint riposte I found my little self in a
Small drifting group which seems mostly set on
Maintaining through and despite all that something
Uniquely value-added – esthetic, mimetic, cosmogenic or
In any case fertile in cross-breeding ways – is going to fly
On be nurtured and eventually cover the terraqueous globe.
But there seems to be a tacit condition set in this local world,
That the “novel factoid” stream from ongoing earth-21st century
Goings on be ignored. Which begs the question of why do we need
1,200 geosynchronous satellites to do this.
Or –
Was that my drift?
For what is life

But a series of convoluted steps each interconnected with the finest intricacy of a spider's web.

What does one do if they step off these paths
or find their strings crossed?

What do they think when they look to their left
just to see another web perfectly whole?

Delicate

Symmetrical

Beautiful

Then they look to their own and can't help but see the left side is skewed.

A line, fatter than it should be.

They look at that other web.

And so they stop.

What are they to do but sit and think?

Why can't I do that?

What point did I go wrong?

Suspended in the air with no way down because it is too late to turn back.  

And they give up.
Mike Nov 2019
her fingers crawled
around my mouth
like a spider
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