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The Official ATS Poetry Thread

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posted on Sep, 12 2018 @ 01:29 AM
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a reply to: maria_stardust

I think every poem deserves it's own thread.




posted on Sep, 25 2018 @ 07:16 PM
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in the morning
she said, taste
the sweet liquid.
the light splintered
across her face.
she leaned closer,
her gray kiss
smelled of gin
and juicy fruit kush.

I gave her $13 to buy
some poems down at the
circus tent.

Your work,
no matter how strong
or clever will be a heartless
prayer to those drunk
on the sound of their
own voice.



posted on Oct, 23 2018 @ 04:52 PM
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for Charles Mingus


the subtle, soft
noise. the metaphors
of your sound

You're the life,
sometimes the
sacrifice

I love your tune,
repeatable kindness
slow motion lullaby.



posted on Nov, 26 2018 @ 07:16 PM
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poets of the fall
it all came together
on the Rio Grande

The story of your
daughter lost in hell
is the only dandled I
ever loved

I held it up to the light
turned it over like the
blood quantum

you should understand
I was on my way to
the Wang Ping
ritual....



posted on Dec, 1 2018 @ 10:32 PM
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Father, bless me
now with your
sad tears.
Round headed
babies, black
naked women,

I should have been
embarresed, but
they took me by
suprise.
I said to myself
"you know, your
soul is constituted of
green centainties and
wind.

I wonder if God
is melon cooly to
see us just loitering
about smelling the lilacs
and azure moss.



edit on 1-12-2018 by olaru12 because: oralje brenda



posted on Dec, 17 2018 @ 10:58 PM
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hush baby, it will be
alright
the solitary snowflake
still holding us
to keep our slide into
the shadows.

Do you have number
four? then eat it and
put down your fork.

I am the poet
I am Mary Magdaline
I am a breathing ghost
the color of dried tooth
paste fallen on the floor.



posted on Dec, 26 2018 @ 08:29 AM
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in my cave of
forgotten dreams'
the poet stares
down on Joy street.

January's breath is
upon us and I remember
my father, the aviator,
the voice.

At the 7/11, he buys
a paper, and a 6 pak.
I'm just giving you
the trailer before
I head west for
the ritual.



posted on Feb, 3 2019 @ 10:48 PM
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play the dark chords
of human dreams,
seek the gypsy gal
her sad eyes and
and nervous breasts.

I praise her with
the paper doll body.

She says "listen to it,
the cold breeze in
heaven" "it pulls down
the cloud"
"now I weep for the
beggars and children
of bone dust and diamonds"

I start the Volvo and ask
her if she needs a ride.



posted on Mar, 3 2019 @ 01:52 PM
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Words as sharp as knives
Used to minimize the defensive wounds
Tears bubbling over like boiling water
In a pot of anger we’ve become consumed

Two sides of the same coin
We match each other blade for blade
You runaway, I have nowhere to run
Left here, reflecting on how our love decayed

I tried to build a fortress around you
A fool’s errand, I see it now
In my attempt at protection, I created resentment and
Your progress and evolution I did not allow

I hope one day when the memory of war has faded
That we can both see the love that was once there
Because s life without your light and beaming soul of fire
Is a life that I am not so sure that I can or want to bare



posted on Mar, 5 2019 @ 09:33 AM
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i love the legend
of the blue light.
out on hiway 550
orbs dancing along
the fenceline and
the Zia guys not
speaking.

You can see the
pueblo from the road,
double wides and 1k
yr old adobes side by
side. Rap and drums
mix in the Rio Grande dust.



posted on Mar, 6 2019 @ 06:19 PM
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a reply to: olaru12

cont.

put away your things
and remember your mothers
sleep. It's nothing,
it could have been worse,
without the beautiful
sweet things, lounging
around in the Doll museum
and the cinema.

I wedge my fingers
into the resurrection,
sliding from its light
without to much ceremony,
just the air pocket of
Saint Felix.



posted on Apr, 22 2019 @ 11:57 PM
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I pay with coins and jade,
to buy the smallest of sins.
Maybe I will come back,
and we can look at
the picture book and
listen to the overhead
noise.

We go down under
the Buddhist moon
and feast on bread
fragments and the
jam made by John
Glen where the cemetery
birds just sing and sing.

My madness settles slightly
as Consuelo gets in the volvo
and mumbles "man, when
are you going to get some
sleep"







 
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