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BlockThe words aren't coming
The flow has stopped
The spindle runs thin
The flowers cropped
The letters dropped
Hand on her chest
Wishing she wasn't
Entwined in this mess
The honored guest
To maritial ties
All too late
To bid her goodbyes
StructureI'm not a fan of structured poems, at least
When they're imposed on me, like subtle frames
Of written code which keep each line the same
The trapped voice a bird that yearns for release
Allow the flame to grow, please free the beast
Don't snuff the candle's fickle, frozen flame
Set meter and rhyming, you are to blame
Rendering my creativity deceased
But for you, I'll accept the forms you wish
Consume, swallow words with a grain of salt
My heart, wrapped in paper, I'll give to you
In a stanza, a line, or a swish
Of reason, confining words to a fault
Just don't think you're the only one who knew
Lucid - WIPI'm lying here on a table. Nothing but the sweet hum of machinery, both around and within me. They'd mentioned something beforehand about my hearing. Something about sensitivity that wouldn't hurt in higher decibel ranges.
My hand twitches to touch my new ear, but it remains limp by my side, paralyzed. I think they'd mentioned something about the risk of muscle atrophy in low-gravity environments. Something like that.
I'm hearing my heartbeat now. It's strange to hear such an organic sound in this sterile environment. If I cut myself, would I still bleed red? Or had they replaced my blood with a substitute? Was it still red, or another, foreign color?
With a slight click, a bright light switches itself on from overhead, illuminating the capillaries in my eyelids. Still red...
Squinting, I try to turn my head, but my neck won't obey me. As if reading my though
Ghost of the PastEver been haunted by a ghost of the past? You know, those recurring memories of a time long gone, the ones that float uninvited into your head? Maybe it's triggered by a memento, or a visit to a sacred place, or the mere mention of a name. The moment relives itself in your head, then disappears, leaving you with only a scrap of cloth or a pressed flower to remember.
But what if these ghosts aren't really ghosts at all? What if they're still living, breathing creatures? Maybe you never see them anymore. Maybe you live too far apart. Maybe you see each other on a daily basis, but you both pretend the other no longer exists. Maybe you're enemies, or even friends. Either way, you've both made an unspoken pact to never speak of the moment again. In a vain attempt to smother the memory alive, you flood it with fresh oxygen, fresh consciousness upon which it can feed.
Is it better this way?
PerfectionistsA writer in a group of artists
Is hardly a place to fit in
In a glance, one can admire a picture
But writing takes much longer to sink in
We've all learned our native language
But not all have picked up a pen
Yet sketching is somehow extraordinary
Simply because not everyone can
We can both stare at a vase for hours
Yet come up with an empty slate
And our details of realization
Rarely come sooner, but late
For despite our apparent differences
Our goal is the same: to learn
And only by way of practice
Can this mastery of skill be earned
LifewishA mourning dove hobbled across the road
And I wondered, "Why didn't it fly?"
Does the pleasure of crossing the pavement by foot
Outweigh the risks if it should die?
Maybe the bird remains ignorant
That a passing car could lead to his demise
Unsure of the dangers in the world of man
With no sense of fear in his eyes
Or perhaps he is simply cocky
As he struts across the road in pride
Knowing all vehicles will stop their procession
In order to let him pass by
But I, for one, think he enjoys it
In the way a human walks instead of drives
So the next time you see a bird walking
Maybe you should be the one he walks beside
ScrapVersion 2.0 is ready
The beta is complete
Its release date is tomorrow
And I've heard it will be l33t
This one's fully moddable
No need to deal with flaws
And it's piracy-protected
So you can't break the law
The calendar is built-in
You'll remember all your dates
And the autopilot feature
Will ensure you won't be late
It's compatible with everything
The computer, the tv, the phone
And it'll download all your contacts
So you'll never feel alone
But if you choose not to upgrade
You'll be alienated, at best
Your communication will be archaic
And your accuracy, second-guessed
This isn't really an option
Conform now, or be scrapped
Humanity is overrated
Believe me, the entire brain's been mapped
We've discovered all your problems
And fixed them, one by one
Even those pesky emotions
We've sparked the revolution
NephelaeToday is a sad day.
Why is the sun shining?
I thought the sky was supposed to reflect emotion
Like a heaven-mirror
Answering the prayers of the living
In the form of precipitation
Are the clouds our gods now?
They are notably absent
In this clear sky
An expanse filled with light
A Change of Mind!The small arachnid, I called Fat Sid, crawled across the ceiling;
Its size was disproportionate to the fear that I was feeling.
It jogged its hairy, leggy way, and passed the ceiling light,
Glancing down at me disdainfully, in my immobile plight.
I couldn’t move, was hypnotized, with glassy eyes did stare,
As Fat Sid suddenly did speed and went to God-Knows-Where.
I searched the room, with trepidation, the chairs I overturned,
Looked in the smallest nooks and crannies, whilst my stomach churned,
My legs were quivering, I was shivering and then suddenly felt hot,
I wanted to find Sid, to get quite rid, but then part of me did not.
He couldn’t help his eight-legged form or hairs that grew abundant,
But the fact he would not hurt me was of little or no comfort.
I shook the curtains and cushion covers, but the blighter was not there.
Then I went into the hallway and searched thoroughly each stair,
And all this time, I thought of questions. Was he as scared as me?
I was a raging
Piano ManHey Piano man,
play me a song.
I had a hard day work,
Home ain't no better,
Music has been gone for too long!
It can be of something, anything,
that has a beat and a tune.
Please Piano man,
just play a song...
He first creates the mood,
with some love and romance .
You laugh and smile,
stand up and dance,
giving it a big chance...
His fingers hit the keys of passion,
and the many heart breaks and pain.
You can't help but to feel the cravings,
to make this night insane..
Slowly crippling you,
falling into a hole..
His fingers play on the keys,
that greatly snatch and save..
Next song, Next beat,
sings the grand piano.
Next move, Next show,
his fingers picking up the heat..
“Hey Piano man,
play me a song!
my passion is dead,
my heart just broke,
Music is mean to me!
It can be of something, anything,
that isn't burning with untrue infatuations!
Please Piano man,
play me a song!”
The piano man listens,
and gives you a tune.
Filled with dark, despair,
true signs of bitter
The Final Problem: Peter Steiler the ElderPeter Steiler, the elder of two.
What a trial were the well-to-do!
At the Grosvenor, folk never thank you when you
Pass them the menu.
Tiger Lilley is the Bestdedicated to my sister from Down Under
Tracey Henderson/Tiger Lilley
Tiger Lilley was my first stuffed animal, a plushie one would say
Of one thing I am certain. She was a present on Christmas Day.
I can't remember if she was for Christmas or my Birthday,
But I was small and she was cute and we would play and play.
Tiger might have been a little stuffed, but she was also mighty.
You see to sleep with me she always took a little flight every nighty.
We would go to bed at the very same time each night,
But the very next day she would be nowhere in sight.
After a while I grew older and no longer needed Tiger Lilley.
But that darned stuffed animal stayed with me, I know it sounds silly
As i got older I started a to write a magical story,
And there was character Tiger Lilley in all of her glory.
She is alive again and now I will never forget her.
In my imagination she just keeps getting better and better.
The Ruby and Sapphire Remake.The Ruby and Sapphire Remake.
By SharpySaber (Sharp Edge.)
Eleven years ago there was a game, whose legendary Pokémon was made of ocean and lava,
It had beautiful graphics, contests, unique villains, and berries that look better than guava.
However the new 2014 designs will make you confuse and really glum,
Even if the newer version of these two games comes out with a shiny Beldum.
It's the Pokémon Trainer's fashion sense, all in GameCube style 3D,
I'll first begin with Team Magma and their nerdy hipster leader Maxie.
The male grunts wear sweater leggings that lower sperm count and are shun by Miss Rarity,
Tabitha is no longer intimidating, but a clear sign in the rising number of worldwide obesity.
Team Aqua’s new pirate outfits compare to Neo Team Plasma grunts look really bad,
They’ve even installed a no ginger policy that made Coppercab really mad.
Speaking of ranting bad guys, have you seen the new design they gave Archie?
A skin tight diving suit on a forty
Spider's a little bitchLittle Miss Muffet
sat on a tuffet
eating her curds and whey
along came a spider
who sat down beside her
and frightened Miss Muffet away
good for the bitch
she thought me a snitch
so I went on with my day
she fell in a well
and down to hell
and the devil took her away
and just this one time
in this simple little rhyme
I will not be a snitch
for the sake of that bitch
With sincere love ~ Spider
Laws of Nature (Poetry)Laws of Nature
A poem about one of my D&D characters, Spiro Agnew the Mage
It’s my natural curiosity
(Nothing about sexuality)
To distort and create,
Making clerics irate.
Calling me the Butcher,
Bodies, organs will rupture.
My scalpel is sharpened,
My skill has hearkened
The lost and the damned
To my experiments planned.
Chaotic Roguish death,
Fighters with fire breathe,
But beware my first success.
Far worse than the rest,
Timmy the Man-Kraken,
Hostile violence, not slackin’.
Screw the laws of nature,
I rewrite them with legislature.
I’m the mad doctor mage,
Going to make a hemotophage.
SleepThe sunlight fades
Darkness closely follows
Over the sky it cascades
In slow, sweeping swallows
I fall into its depth
In the secrets it has kept
In the dark -- I am bound
Wavering on the line
I dangerously raise my stakes
Either way I'm confined
Sinking deeper I go
Taking a great leap
I fall into it's continuous flow --
And I sleep
Problem Solvers"Time! More Time!" the teachers cry
As six by ten seconds fly by
"I started in the afternoon
How did it get this late, so soon?"
"Why!? Why!?" principals sigh
As two in three students fall shy
"I know we did, all that we could
Why is it not being understood?"
"How!? How!?" the district asks
Can we solve for [tool] in [task]?
"What can we use across the map
That gets our grades up to the cap?"
"Whoa! Whoa!" the gurus say
Let's look at this a different way
"A problem underlies these facts
and do the math"
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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