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AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.
lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."
The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along
Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for? 
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude
False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days, 
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be 
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen
ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).
False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.
Evolution of life
child, we dream
teenager, we have ideas
adult, we have a bar code encrusted in the nape

we evolve to finish in the matrix
False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for
On The Collapse Of Modern Society"I've never seen so many folks
putting their hopes 
in packaged air,
as far as I'm concerned,
and from what I've observed
misplacing material worth while 
rushing back and forth
to get nowhere."
my Grandma said, 
shaking her head.
Within A BoxIt's a prison for the minds of haunted souls
an odd prison, not large enough to contain its prisoners
and yet it encompasses every fiber of their being 
in silent, silent spaces.
Haunted souls are searching for the key
there is no key, but they don't know any better
and what harm could it do? Hope is better than nothing
here's an unlocked open door for you.
Little trinkets haunt souls with their questions
and we want answers, but they won't give
anything away. Very smart,
you know the world is ending soon.
(The best of which are only
crude descriptions of the magic
they are looking for.)
VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire
Lovers and assassinsNight
walk
You're not living, you're survivingDo you know the difference between people and animals?
People and animals have a key difference,
People live,
Animals survive.

Don’t do anything without thinking
Because if you do,
You’re not living,
You’re surviving.

Don’t be without love
Because if you do,
You’re not living,
You’re surviving.

Don’t waste your time,
Because if you do,
You’re not living,
You’re surviving.

Don’t regret the past,
Because if you do,
You’re not living,
You’re surviving.

This life is so precious to just survive.
Human life is done for it to be lived.
Animal life is done for it to be surv
bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.
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More from *alapip

bourne not barrenongoing status:

  decades dormant
  environment sterile
  cooler species
  northern inclined
  potential uncertain
  soil infertile
  damage from weather
  life undefined

muted outlook:

  long duration lack of affection.
  gone bereft of beauteous thought.
  words unheard, of loving acceptance.
  lengthy languish in tundra, unthawed.
  one knows not what warmth unveils.
  romance rare, memory fails.

vital invigoration:

a dove lifts my spirit from grey, to gold.
the leaf she carries, a ta
ultimate responsibilitymy bad - to refine
my good - not yours to define
all i've done - is mine

llp - sep'09 - dA
master fatefrom "The Devil's Dictionary"
Ambrose Bierce -

Mind, n. A mysterious form of matter
secreted by the brain.  Its chief activity
consists in the endeavor to ascertain
its own nature, the futility of the attempt
being due to the fact that it has nothing
but itself to know itself with.
----------------------------------------------------

you sit there in your underwear
how might you gasp if you did grasp
become aware how unaware you are

llp - sep'09 - dA
stuffy nosejust a bit of autumn dust
what ails me most
would only thus
be cured by something
uncontained by bottles

satin, nylon
pink chiffon
burrowing to what they're on
assured a dumpling nice
would tap my throttle

llp - sep'09 - dA
pseudo freedomessential, every falsehood
implanted for our own good.
steadies us for interruption,
our future as a finger puppet,
conforming as we're told.

puppets beget puppets, virally.
the disease(?), our conformity.
the world of nineteen eighty-four,
morphing toward a four-score hour.
of victory and loss, relentlessly.

llp - sep'09 - dA
gossamer knowledgedespite our belief
we know things we cannot know
we still do not know

[put the comma (s) where You want]

llp - sep'09 - dA

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November 23, 2012
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[x]

solar perplexus

:iconalapip:

again, it rises, that stupid sun,
trying to brighten my nurtured overcast.

no matter how i try -
roll over in bed, bury my head.

it still shines all optimistic.
go away.  leave me alone.

can't you see i need to suffer...?

suffer!


llp - dA - nov2012
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:iconhalcyonshores:
*halcyonshores Nov 30, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
The title alone won me over.
And the rest.. sealed the deal.

:rose:
Reply
:iconalapip:
*alapip Nov 30, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
you like 'goofy', must be. ;)
[i can do that]
Reply
:iconhalcyonshores:
*halcyonshores Nov 30, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
I can see you!!! Hi Pip!

I can do goofy too and I hope I will always be able to. :hug:
Reply
:iconalapip:
*alapip Nov 30, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Hi :wave:
Reply
:icondeeclear:
~deeclear Nov 26, 2012  Student Writer
God I do feel like this every time I go outside into the sun. For some reason even though I am a summer baby I am all Seattle weather. I love the greys and dark blues of the sky when it seems like it it is gonna rain.
Reply
:iconalapip:
*alapip Nov 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
i pretty much like all kinds of weather, Dee.
but, because i'm not enough of an outdoors
person i don't get all the sun i should.

that's another habit i'm working on.

thanks for the favs!

:hug: pip
Reply
:icondeeclear:
~deeclear Dec 25, 2012  Student Writer
I am not a sun person either. welcomes pip!! any time.
Reply
:iconavfc4me:
*avfc4me Nov 26, 2012
Don't be smudgin' my grey with your happy happy yellow, now...

Clever, Pip, as usual!

I wish I had time to properly cultivate a proper melancholy but just when I think I might have one under wraps to let loose, the Monsters come and stomp it out with all that rawr and 'get up, Mom!'...

*sigh*. One of these days?
Reply
:iconalapip:
*alapip Nov 26, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
and, mom is always there,
right where she's needed,
and loved.

thanks for the favs, Kari!

:heart:pip
Reply
:iconfuzzyhoser:
`FuzzyHoser Nov 26, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I'm a lover of the sun, myself. But I can def understand this one. I have days when I want it to just go away and shine on someone else's sadness. Nice work, Pip!
Reply
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