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Mar 4, 2021
3 poems I wrote earlier today.

Some anxiety before 6 o'clock

The minutes pass difficult
as stool from one constipated
yet the salt of my terror
in spite of a silly flimsy hope
prove not corrosive upon
the cold gears of the universe

Should I learn truly of universal gears
I would throw one arm and another
into the works, little caring
about the sickening crunch of bones
merely sacrificing to gain time
one leg, two legs, entire neck
till the mute gods should break their silence

Alas nothing can save me
from knowledge come the hour
from everything forever altered.
the clock hands through the motions
run, impassive as a fire squad
drilling before the execution.


'What can I do?', I ask,
and, eyes suddenly stark
as a wiped board, the sleep
vanishes in a gust
of sigh; or the morsel
half-chewed drains of flavor

what's left is remembrance:
rest, hot meal and status
must be earned -and earned
everyday being voucher
for a bed, bread and smile
in a world of positions

no point feeling sorry
or counting people and places
just what what can I do?


the slimy rats
pass through the walls like an obscene conversation
between the dusty houses;
the clever rats they dart
quick as electric current down the lines
down the labrynth of molding drain pipes
never to be seen again
except as a guttering shadow
in half-moonlight at the overflowing bins
or crossing near the well to a place of clutter
forever in the panic of hiding
behind other shadows


Mar 4, 2021
3 poems I wrote earlier today. All untitled.


This morning I found a piece of button
lying on the floor of my hostel room
a mischievous white shell no doubt inching
towards Lost Land while nobody watched
I wondered which useful shirt it came from
that now I must learn to live without
until I can find the friend or neighbor
who for reasons collected needles
and I might have derided on a different day
a crocheting grandmother for the endeavor.
I picked up the little thing- so smooth
to touch, and when I flipped it over
the button-holes were two eyes of a smiling face
full and warm as a buttery cartoon sun.


Once I walked, I won't say too far out,
but far enough to a place of red dust
so much red dust and not much else
where the dust deadened still the silence
about the place like a mat of fallen leaves
on a forest floor which now and then
a wind stirred in rattling the dry grass
like beads or some agile lizard crunched
passing like gossip between the far compounds-
there i saw a boy half-kid and half-dust
no older than ten if over nine
panting down the breadth of his childhood
watched him nose up the landscape
rooting for amusement beneath all that dust


Coming as I am from a place of crowds and some clutter
my senses insists there are spaces missing here- either
too well vanished or too well concealed-
a little boy lost
in the redness of his little sister's maw and curious
of her teeth.


Aug 18, 2020
silentvoice said:
I did a figure drawing in 30 minutes, it's not perfect but I'm proud of it compared to where I started!
Stan Lee drew stick figures as a kid also champ


Mar 4, 2021
Two poems I wrote yesterday. Both untitled.


I met a friend coming out of doors today
and we stood a moment beside the busy road
matching smiles and pleasantries and memories
until what errand had borne him to my side
carried him off again past the reach of words
and there was me all alone in the road
lingering on the minute of our chance meeting
contemplating his promise of a quick visit-
but something in me would also be alone
something terrified of having to talk past wanting to talk
that set me walking to nowhere under the blazing sun
walking past all enjoyment and walking on still
till every step had the sting of penance-
my sister told me when I was home at last
that someone had been around to see me.


he awoke to darkness. no moon
where he woke. no sky
blue or gray in that place
only darkness and a form
amorphous and indistinct as thought
a realization from far away as consciousness
bearing upon him like a blade of axe
upon wood. blade of axe upon his door
knocking reality back into the shape
of his home. life so far.
there was a man at his door demonstrating bitter determination
to tread on his plastic carpet and stand between his peeling walls
to look him in the eyes while he took from him.
he shone a light on life so far
as if to judge again
it was all too paltry too personal
for the greed of him busy at his door
whose stinging bites there threatened his flimsy barrier
against the world of other men, his illusion of sanctity
which every dawn he got up to make real.
all of these occurred to him
in spasms of nerves and instincts
as he prepared. what
he contemplated was this: what
he would find in his robber's eyes.


Mar 4, 2021
Two poems I wrote earlier today. Both untitled.

When this cloud of uncertainty veers away
and I'm fitting who I am into my own place
I would own a cabinet of jars
big and small, glass or plastic
however way life is sorted
depending on the purpose of order-
so long as the caps are as colorful
as my imagination of Victorian hats
at a fancy party -and sometimes I would stand
and look in on the jars: their plain sterility
contrasted with the spices they would hold.

heaven did not fall because you suffered
so profoundly. the president
would not leave his Aso parlor
and, not being paid, no one else
could spare the labour to carry you around
off their TV screens into their hearts
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Dec 23, 2020
I may post my art at some point, but I think for now I'll post some poetry I've written earlier this year. I should really get back into writing. vent 2 is probably my favorite. Haha

Vent - 01​

Oh limerick of rhyme and reason,
Take away these thoughts of treason,
Whisk away my fear of doubts,
Hesitant, too near with out,
Like a burning summer’s day,
Endless though, it still doth play,
The song of reverent fever dreams,
Tossed about as empty screams,
My soul dejects it’s final motion,
Begging for some errant ocean,
To toss my feelings in so deep,
The air I breath, too high to sleep,
Wondering how I should ever seek,
To end the pain; I am too weak.

{Sick} |0f| [It]​

I’m sick being tired
And I’m tired of being sick
The world around me's ending
And I’ve had enough of it
This shit is getting stupid
And my life has gone all wrong
Like the ever passing moments of another drawn out song
And I’m trying not to drown but you refuse to help me up,
My body is your savior, and I’ve finally had enough;
use my corpse to stay a float, use my lungs to help you breathe
The ship is always sinking but there is nothing left to bleed
The times with you I’m spending getting hung up on the pain
This emotional regret isn’t worth the stupid games
The nights I spend on crying, calling out your wicked name
Leave me numb up in the mornings, with nothing havin’ changed

Vent 02​

I sent the sea to sever me, with fear and indiscretion
I wrote the book, to take a look, at my longing retribution
I yearned to say, it will be okay, even though I know it’s lying
The passing days, that summer plays, reminds me that I’m dying
And slowly now, like ideal hands, my mind begin to slip
Begging for your errant soul, to lead from it’s grip
There’s nothing here for you it says, in hushed and lonely tones
The message spelled out mockingly, while cutting through my bones
The tree, it whispered, upon my ear, is coming to an end
It’s branches old and rotten now, no longer know my friend
Last edited:
Mistake of Nature

Mistake of Nature

A shadow suspended on dust
Mar 30, 2020
I managed to venture out of the house and took a walk here the other day. I'd love to lie near the creek and CTB, listening to the birds and the gentle flow of the water as I leave this world, but unfortunately it's heavily populated.

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Inthe kingdom ofthe blind; the one-eyed are kings
Jan 24, 2021
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...just messing around - will not post on other forums as I do not have ownership:
att: moderators - pls remove / inform directly if ownership rights / royalties infringed upon (with apologies) M!GS


Dec 25, 2020
@DetachedDreamer97 I really love your art style! There's something unique about your portraits.
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Mar 17, 2018
purple꿈 said:
View attachment 65694
although I love drawing I'm still not skilled at it,, I always try my best though
To be honest, I’d say that’s a very impressive sketch for someone who’s not skilled.

Oh hey... you’re Barchen!
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