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Through an Angel's Eye
Some see the world through rose-colored glasses,
some see it only as bad.
Some see man split into one of three classes,
some see it only as sad.
They say that the eye to the soul is a window,
some find such introspect lame.
Still others may prefer to focus on shadow,
some look for fortune and fame.
To see the world softly through colors sublime,
requires a heart that is pure.
Yes, to see the world as an angelic rhyme,
the eye must be steady and sure.
Through the eyes of an angel she captures our world,
the wonder of God in her lens.
By virtue of her work beauty is unfurled,
earning her many a friend.
To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.
Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.
I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.
I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.
Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.
The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.
Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.
Stand StrongI stand in awe at the strong winds blowing
Hurricanes rising and tornadoes growing
Housing blown away and long hair flowing
Killing the crops of this year's sowing.
Stay strong, dear brothers; Strong in disaster
Stout in the winds that blow ever faster
Stay strong for your children, strong for your wives,
To get to the morning you must first traverse the night.
A Poem for LokiRhyming is hard
Just so you know
But for a friend
I'm giving it a go
His name is Loki
From Scotland, of course
Today is his birthday
I heard from a source
Plays Pokemon for fun
and Nuzlockes them too
Though one in particular
Might need a redo
His adventure in Hoenn
Was not quite grand
Many comrades died
Of course, not planned
But in the end he won
With a badass team
Including a Mightyena
Who reigned supreme
Not forgetting Mad6
Who replaced 5 before him
His chances of survival
Were really quite slim
And then there was Boom
Who exploded with glee
Against a troll Milotic
We won't forget thee
Tittypank is next
In the list of honours
ContrariwiseSilly little Alice,
Forget all you thought you knew,
For deep inside your head,
Everything is all askew.
If they tell you that one plus one,
Equals twelve and half, my dear,
Don't worry yourself about it,
For two is so last year.
Don't even try to be different,
Or it'll be "Off with her head!",
And you'll find it's better to live a lie,
Than it is to end up dead.
So heed this socially accepted advice,
Ditch any scraps of your insanity,
To cavort with the Hare in March,
Join the Hatter for a cup of tea.
Fritter your days away,
Dancing under a Cheshire moon,
Don't mind the surrounding chaos,
Ignore impending doom.
But even as you join in
Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.
There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.
Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.
These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.
Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...
Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.
EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.
Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.
His hair was that of blonde,
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.
His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.
One that the dictionary cannot confirm.
Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.
An Aching NeedAn Aching Need
This Kingdom of magic and wonder suits me very well, for I am without want.
I rule absolutely over my ugly subjects, like a puppet-master maneuvering strings.
The sting of want may not exist, but I have an aching desire for the one I hunt.
They are fairly simple , yet very beautiful to me; I NEED them above all other things.
My wiles and trials to win them over have led to a devious act, for which I regret not.
Whisked away through my mystical Labyrinth, her beloved brother sits upon my capable lap.
Though through her luck, and some help, she has made it to me, and ruin she has wrought.
And even though I thought myself
A man such as meHow do you think it would be,
to be like a man such as me?
Copper mane unkempt, unruly, distort,
from showers too long and sleep too short.
Eyes darting erratically, vibrant and blue,
sunken in purple pits, looking blackened and bruised.
A nose, big and red, once hit with a bat,
a maw full of teeth, yellowed, crooked and that.
A beard full and lush, fit for a king,
(one I should trim one evening...)
Betwixt my shoulders lies a beating heart
one which stirs for music, words and art,
one which constantly yearns for intimate love,
but is under command by the grey matter above.
A pair of lungs, tightly restricted by my bulk,
only shallow breath
SandmanSleepwalking in tainted dreams
Falling through its open seams
Caving into unsure grounds
In a dream where fear abounds
Tightrope nerves are torn right through
All the facts become untrue
Screams are muted and lost midway
Still terror exists to my dismay
Faces change the closer I peer
The way I feel becomes unclear
And in the end I know it's fake
The pivotal moment when I awake
But still disturbed and afraid to dream
I wonder if they are at all what they seem
So I close my eyes and there you are
Staring at me looking bizarre
You told me you were there for me
To fight off the frauds valiantly
Trusting you I did what you said
I unmasked the
What may be a dream?Oh, what may be a dream but wishes mute?
Those thoughts that dance and prance a time or two?
The silent longings of the heart set free
To lift the spirit from chambers dark and cold.
A dream is as a morning mist of spring;
Refreshing, light, and gently promising
To all who sleep and wake in time to catch
The welcome peace and glory they behold.
But woe to waking hours; the bitterness they bring
When dreams escape the loving hold of thought!
The plaintive heart starts longing once again
To sink into the realms of possibility.
My MonumentI am staring at a wall.
A blank, empty, barren wall.
There are cracks in it.
The white paint is chipping.
The spray can in my hand is cool,
and it cry's rebellion.
I hold my breath and stare at this,
and wonder what to write on its
No. As soon as the word is written it becomes a lie.
No, to etch it on yet another lifeless surface would only furthur mar it's meaning.
No. For then the wall would be sure to crumble with time.
No. I need to forget it all.
I stare at this wall.
But it's not really blank, is it?
The chipped pait that leaves
PonderingsCaught amongst the rampant race
Staring into heavens face
Wondering if there is a place
For you amongst that empty space
Something kind of like a star
Constant no matter where you are.
So perfectly above the bar
You envy their right to be so far
So daintily far above
The crooked world your supposed to love
But what right have they to sit and judge?
A star knows not of life and love
A star has no urge to kiss and tell
Has never stood at the gates of hell
Has never had to sit and dwell
On just how far he might have fell
A star knows nothing of win and loose
A star fears no hangmans noose
They just sit there, high and aloof
Raindrop ReliefI rode on a raindrop
While you lit a shooting star
So you would find your way back
No matter where you are.
And as I tumbled down
into the blue abyss
I watched you streak across the sky
and silently made a wish.
I didn't wish for money,
I didn't wish for fame,
I wished that you would smile
Every time you said my name.
And I was falling fast
As you began to fade,
And a tear escaped my eye
As the night became the day.
And now I'm here alone,
and I don't know where you are,
But when I feel real lonely,
I look for my shooting star.
And now and then I see it,
And now and then it's there,
And it's in those moments
Paintbrush PathThe world around me is white.
Blank. New. Immaculate.
Except for the soul shaped holes,
Those are black.
I walk along the bleached streets,
my head turned to the pavement
and the footprints that litter it.
They are the only hint I have that someone else has been here.
They are my Jackson Pollock proof that there is still hope.
My opaque path rambles on,
and every so often a pair of footprints veers off
and fades to gray in the distance,
until there are no footprints left, save my own.
I will paint this town,
because in a world of black and white,
I choose to be a rainbow.
Recipe For A Broken SoulWhat You will need:
A snuff of love
a pinch of pain,
a cringe of hate
a family name.
A broken heart
a missing mind,
a lifetime full
of waisted time.
a twist of torment,
three bouncy springs,
a wad of want,
a nick of need.
Two centuries of mystery,
An ocean of petty lies,
a vile of excessive Passion
and a mile of pride.
and a knife in the back.
Take the soul and add the pride, it had to go in first so it can assimilate to the soul. Make a small incision with the knife. Stuff it with the springs so as to ensure that it will attempt to bounce back every time. in a separate bow
My StormThere is a storm raging.
The lights flicker and flash
and the wind howls as it throws itself
against the walls, thrashing
like a caged dog,
Mad with loneliness and abuse.
It snarls and growls and howls
as it tries to claw down the walls.
The trees are bending like straws,
grasping desperately to remain rooted.
Their leaves have long sense been stripped off by the bullets of water
that the sky sends hurdling down
at the speed of nothing and anything.
It stings everything bared to its gunfire.
I let it sting me.vI let the torrents of wind try to sway me.
Everyone else is inside,
But not me.I stand
The JokerI know the secret God wanted to keep,
And I laid down my hand and said, "Read 'em and weep."
Then he looked at the devil, who nodded his head,
Then looked back at me and smiled as he said
"In knowledge, my child, you win yet you loose,
You are cursed with the will to seek for the truth."
The devil leaned forward in his fit, silk black suit,
Downed a shot and said with aloof,
"He's right ya know, kid,
You're faced with a choice,
Break or bend.
Live or die.
Silence or Noise."
I shook my head, no. I did not understand,
As god stood and left, the devil folded his hands.
He stood and he circled the table and sighed,
"I like you kid
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More