Poetry

Author: janesix

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@janesix
Mahatma (Great Soul)
...Ebuc.....
 
Thank You,
For thetantric teachings.
 
About love,
Theultimate binder.
 
Truth,
Theultimate purpose.
 
Flirting,
Theultimate entertainment.
 
Humanity,
Theultimate complex,
Of socialinter-relationships.
 
Viewpoint,
Theultimate micro-universe,
Ofsemi-divine,
Self-manifestingintegrity.

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@ethang5
Are you one of those authors that hate having to tell readers what your poems mean?
Well i don't hate it but most of the time when i wrote it was more off of how i was feeling rather than having a specific meaning (sometimes just starting with a word and flowing). I enjoyed hearing others tell me what they thought it meant more than what i would have thought it meant. Plus, writing with a specific meaning behind it could take away from creativity.. at least it did for me so i would just write and rearranged draft after draft. Especially for ones i had to count syllables.. it was especially hard to think of meaning bc you had to look up words.

For example... the color poem i wrote had no meaning behind it, just how the words made me feel... and flow from there. Now that i read it... it has an interesting 'reality' meaning to me. And, the rose one i wrote was after an Anime where a main character i liked died and a rose fell... it made me sad and i related so i wrote that. Really not much specific meaning behind both.
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@ethang5

Oh moon lit night 
talk to me
as I hear the chimes
through every leaf
I plead to thee
softly
quietly
please
talk to me
tell me what I need to be.
In this night
the only one that speaks
is my darkened soul
along side of me
my shadow
which I know will sleep
when only silence
stay’s beneath.
Forever
eventually.

I sit alone in my room tonight
one thought in mind
what is sanity if not insanity
for the plain walls talk.
They turn into many colors I see
in my most vivid and lucid dreams
whispers of times in the past
levitation above the clouds at last
I am free.
Then comes the stains of black
devouring all the dreams I’ve had
showing nothing lasts.
As I come back to reality, my eyelids up
it becomes clear like an angel’s heart
the shade of color that owns my soul
is an illusion of the art that is this world.

These are literally the first five i ever wrote. Shows you how i was feeling as a teen lol. 


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@Outplayz
talk to me
tell me what I need to be. 
Deep. How old were you exactly?
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@ethang5
Anywhere from 18 to 24... i can't remember when i started writing. 
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@ethang5
It was when i was pretty crazy dark and border line romantically homicidal/suicidal. I'm scared of younger me sometimes.  

A silhouette merely a shadow
The stars don’t align in favor
Standing next to me as a savior
A loaded gun, click click fire.
 
Now we glance at the stars
Constellations caught in gaze
Fire ablaze in your cold dark eyes
A rhyme reels at your wake. 
 
Never to be taken apart
A picture of a smile in this dark art
Painted by Ares with Aphrodite’s love.   

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@Outplayz
In the "see something/say something" culture of today, someone would have flagged you as a potential school shooter.

Standing next to me as a savior
A loaded gun, click click fire.
Russian roulette?

Chilling.
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@ethang5
Russian roulette?
Interesting interpretation but no. That one was about killing "her" so we can be together forever in death lol. **First verse is about killing myself after i killed her... but i did it backwards story. Conclusion being the end. 

In the "see something/say something" culture of today, someone would have flagged you as a potential school shooter.
Seriously. I use to post these to yahoo answer poem section all the time too. And these are some of the less gory ones. Interestingly, when i was younger i was sorta religious but for the wrong reasons. I believed in religion but i thought i was a demon or even maybe the devil here to be tormented. I had un-diagnosed depression and escaping to dark things felt better. Thankfully, i was releasing in a more creative way. I remember two kids on my street bully me by throwing balls at my window when i was in middle school. I went outside with two huge knives in rage... they never did that again (ran pretty fast). A neighbor stopped me too, thank god for her. I was pretty nuts. I thought it was cool bc it made me one of the popular kids. This is when Marilyn Manson was cool though... today, yeah... FBI. lol   
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@janesix
Fishy Story
...E-b-u-c.......
 
There once wassperm in a current,
Whose tailwhipped around like a turret.
 
It had littlemind,
Perhaps evenblind,
 
Tho onwardit swam through the ferment.
 
It reached theegg,
Stuck in itshead,
 
Now the two are concurrent.

194 days later

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A Puppet On String
...Ebuc.....
 
A puppet on string,
Dangles and dances,
Controlled by the master,
It bows and prances.
 
Free from hard choices,
Free from minds will,
Free from pregnancy
Free from the pill.
 
Oh to be a puppet,
A puppet is free,
Free from decisions,
It smiles with glee.
 
My puppet is attentive,
My puppet is smart,
It lives in a container,
It does not fart.
 
A puppet on string,
A wooden delight,
No weight problems,
And reflects all light.

46 days later

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Tea, Earl Grey.
Heated, To a degree.
Not sweetened.
Cubed sugar? No, Not aught.
Small cup used.
To carry, Sup from, Haul.
And no straw!
'Plain drink, Easy to fund.

62 days later

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While nations battle for the fate of all, it is easy to see we are all so small.
Philosophers think about why, so that we may find out why we die.

In the universe sandbox scientist play, yet fail to predict the next day.
Naturalists claim that Earth is all, while Christians celebrate the fall of Saul.

The politician screams left and right, still the world sleeps at night.
Can we find the truth at last? If we do so, it would be a blast.

7 days later

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A Democrat Rally Lament & Soft Shoe
 
Me, not my folding chair
Sitting on the avenue.
Me, not my folding chair
Not a dance to sell my troubles to.
 
And when it’s twelve o’clock, and a rally’s there
I never knock; a circle’s all that’s there.
Just me, not my folding chair
All alone and feeling blue.
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The wind blew down the tree.
It collapsed with a thud in front of me.
"Ouch!" Said it with a great big groan.
And there he laid in the street all alone.
"Please cut me up I'm in the way"
"I can't I lost my saw the other day"
"Well can you break my branches please?"
And so I got down on my knees
And snapped and pulled till I heard the wood,
"Muahaha you've been fooled."
I gasped, aghast, and horrified.
The tree was looking in my eyes.
And I never went to work that day, 
Because here alone in the street I lay.


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@Sum1hugme
How did the wood fool the person?
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@Lemming
Idk man I wrote it this morning on a whim. Use that imagination of yours
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@Sum1hugme
Alright, well, I still like it.
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@Lemming
Thanks man

14 days later

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Three drunk men went to town one day.
When a buggy and horse approached, 
"Get out of the way" came a yell from the coach.
And two of them jumped away.
The third one froze and rightly so, 
he knew and know he knows.
That that horse and buggy that was riding by
was in the lane with the other guys.
And the two men laughed like fools
unaware of the mistake they made.
But then they were trampled by the hooves,
and the third man got away.


-well if you ask him, that's what he'll say
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@janesix

Jane this one has all you need to find the poetry of heart in these dark times.

Please release the spiritual within you as you watch this Phonix Choir perform their magic narrative accompanied by comdey music for angels.

51 days later

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6 busy mice run from shelve to shelve.
Inside of this lady's kitchen and cupboards they delve.
One finds some cheese, another finds a trap,
One mouse finds a bottlecap for little a hat.
One finds a baseball, that was too big to carry,
And frankly quite useless to a mouse on the scurry.
One finds some army men strewn all about,
But the final one found something they couldn't do without.
The meeces looked in awe at the sight that they beheld.
They hadn't mind to speak, as they began to delve.
Some knawing here, a nibble there, 'fore long the box gave way.
Inside was the sweet surprise of cereal!
To mice it is surreal.
They had found the treasure trove,
Of snacks to bring back home. 
Now it was time to feast.

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Ode on the Inauguration of 2021 
 
For the benefit of Mister Joe
There will be just empty rows to see his show,
Obama clan will not be there,
To celebrate the Mister’s hair, shout hurrah!
 
The Biden clan will burn the stage,
Burning Donald’s legacy in real fire,
In this way, Mister Joe will challenge the world!
 
The celebrated Mister Joe
Performs his feat, O, don’t you know, on the stairs.
The Party line will sing and stare,
As Mister Joe feels through your hair; don’t be late!
 
Madams’ H & P assure the public
This production will be second to one,
To be sure, Mr. T censors a tweet!
 
The band begins at six to six
When Mister Joe performs his licks on all the girls.
And Mister S will socialize
With everyone in Lucy’s skies; give it a whirl!
 
Having been some days since winning all
He promises a night of ginger ale.
And tonight, Mister Joe is going to fail!
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Trumpet Tooters
.........Ebuc....

Trumpet tooters, please leave this place,
All your nonsense, only looses face.

Trumpet tooters, please take a ride,
Red capped freaks, you've no place to hide.

Trumpet tooters, sick-n-the-head,
See a doctor, leave your immoral's in bed.

Trumpet tooters, on truth they attack,
Stop the lies, as truth tends to fight back.

Trumpet tooters,  break the glass,
While Kamala, Harris, shatters Republican ass.

Trumpet tooters, ego in hand,
Stroking falsehoods, across the land.

Trumpet tooters, have had their say,
Now they should sleep, in the barn in the hay.

Trumpet tooters, tooted their horns,
Some  still remain, to our moral forlorn.

Trumpet tooters, please stuff it now,
Take a hike,  since you we disavow.

Trumpet tooters, its  not too late,
Seek the truth, not immoral hate.

Trumpet tooters, on an immoral high,
Please shut your mouths, or, just say goodbye.

386 days later

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Often a line can be said in a different way, so that the words change, but the meaning remains, sentiment.

Words written, ink pen stroked,
May vary in their form,
Yet same values evoked,
Spirit, beyond body.

812 days later

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@WarriorQueenForever
In my opinion,your poetry is really amazing!You defenitely have a talent!
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The Longest Time ..angels on Earth { from around the world }  sing tribute to Covid-19
https://enchantmentathamilton.org/20200601ForTheLongestTime.mp4

If the above angels are not your thing, then try the Moody Blues poetry { accompanied by  Mobieus-like graphics...' The Word ' from their 1968 album ..' In Search of the Lost Chord '

138 days later

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A poem I made for my boyfriend.

The Man Who Dreams and Does:

He wakes before the sun, whispers into the mirror,
"If you can dream it, you can do it,"
but the mirror doesn't care.
It only reflects yesterdatt's lines.

The difference between him and dreamers?
He knows. He knows.

It's his skills that will make him rich, not passion.
It's the relentless honing, the blade against stone,
the fire of daily grind that forgives wealth.

It's the boring work, the monotonous stitches,
the threads that weave his life together.
Unseen, unheard, except by him.

Success doesn't happen overnight.
It's the slow, deliberate march,
one step, then another,
a rythym only he can hear
even when the music fades away.

Success demands sacrifice-
the trade of pleasure now for what tomorrow may hold.
He's chosen work when others played,
holding out for something more.

It's the imperfect, clumsy steps he's taken,
the falls, the bruises-
but he's learned to love the pulse
of progress through failing.

He must chase the impact he will make.
He doesn't care about the glory,
just the value, the ripples left behind.

In life, you don't get what you want-
You get what you've earned.
He's earned this,
a life stitched thread by thread,
a dream turned real because he dared
to do what others wouldn't.

The world will remember his name,
not for the noise he made,
but for the dream he quietly labored,
that shaped him into something more.

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@iamanabanana
A Zedku for the above.


Simply

Defeating

Dreams

Wistfully

They dabble

Into

Memory

And history

Pass the baton

Pass the buck

Iamanabanana

Good luck.














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Banana Shaped Dreams

Peel away, the ultra-macro outer surface,

Then seek, the ultra-micro inner surface,

And what remains,

Is a banana shaped, magical journey,

That some call reality, and,

Others call a fruit loop.