Poetry Mondays – Potential is a Lake by Ryan Fu

lake-in-desert

Potential is a lake

in the desert.

Slowly evaporating

away until

there is nothing. 

Nothing but

the remanence

of what could

have been.

Only the dead

live there.

A vessel

filled with

the might-have-beens.

Surrounded by bodies

of regret

&

guilt. 

It dries up

&

blows away

until it becomes

dust in the wind.

RYAN FU

Unknown

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WE AT BE LIKE WATER BELIEVE THAT WE ARE ALL PART OF THE LEARNING EXPERIENCE, SO WE WANTED TO REACH OUT TO OUR FRIENDS & FANS TO SAY WE APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT

AND WE WANT TO GIVE BACK BY SHARING YOUR OWN THOUGHTS, STORIES OR IDEAS ON OUR SITE.

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I Dream Of Imperfection by I Wish I was Called Steve (BLW Contributor)

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Lucid-dreaming

I Dream Of Imperfection

I dream of an imperfect world
Where everything’s free to be broken

An i dream of an imperfect circle
An uneven line
An ain’t nothing on time
I dream of an imperfect world
Where everyone’s free to be open
I dream of an uncovered world
No masks no disguise
An it’s all a surprise

I wish we could all live free
From the infection of perfection
To which society measures its reflection
I wish you could see
What becomes when all you dream
Comes to be reality
No need to work no charity
Now you can greed openly
You’ll lose hope an you’ll lose faith
When every smile you see is fake

I fear a world that tries to stand
7 billion souls upon a single grain of sand
While one is left to rule and reign
While one is left to fuel the flame
And write history inside a single name
The use of truth becomes profane
The proceeding youth are not to blame
When they’re born into a world
Where all are not measured the same
And equality equals an unspoken shame

I hope for freedom to be
Something we all can obtain
No matter your wealth
No mind left on the shelf
I hope that all get to live
Before its too late
An none shall exist
In a state forced too wait
For your turn leading the line
Whilst you’re burning through time

I dream of an imperfect world
Where everything’s free to be broken
An i dream of an imperfect circle
An uneven line
An ain’t nothing on time
I dream of an imperfect world
Where everyone’s free to be open
I dream of an uncovered world
No masks no disguise
An it’s all a surprise

“imperfections are the soil upon which perfection grows”    – NotSteve

Check out other great articles from I Wish I was Called Steve

 

Forget Me Not – The Notorious B.I.G. (Christopher Wallace) – “And everything you get, ya gotta work hard for it”

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BIG

Christopher George Latore Wallace (May 21, 1972 – March 9, 1997), better known by his stage names The Notorious B.I.G., Biggie or Biggie Smalls, was an American rapper.

Wallace was raised in the Brooklyn borough of New York City. When he released his debut album Ready to Die in 1994, he became a central figure in the East Coast hip hop scene and increased New York‘s visibility in the genre at a time when West Coast hip hop was dominant in the mainstream. The following year, Wallace led his childhood friends to chart success through his protégé group, Junior M.A.F.I.A. While recording his second album, Wallace was heavily involved in the growing East Coast/West Coast hip hop feud.

Seventeen years ago today, Christopher Wallace also known as “The Notorious B.I.G.” was gunned down in Los Angeles, marking the end of an unforgettable era in rap history. 

Although the gunman has yet to be found, Biggie’s memory lives on in the hearts of hip-hop fans everywhere. He stuck it to every prominent lyricist in the 90’s while solidifying his name in the underground and mainstream music charts.

Arguably the best rapper to have ever lived, Biggie made hits that have shaped the flow of many of today’s most popular rappers on the East and West Coast alike. 

Here is one of our favorite songs from the late great artist:

Poetry Mondays – Spring by E.E. Cummings

1

Spring_Breaks_Images

Spring is like a perhaps hand

(which comes carefully out of Nowhere)

arranging a window,

into which people look

(while people stare arranging

and

changing placing carefully

there a strange thing

and

a known thing here)

and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps

Hand in a window

(carefully to and from moving

New

and

Old things,

while people stare

carefully moving a perhaps fraction of flower

here placing an inch of air there)

and

without breaking anything.

Poetry Mondays – On my mind by Not the First, Not the Last (BLW Contributor)

1

Robin

Mind over matter,

Is that not the saying?

I’m trying to get this,

Constantly praying.

Right now I’m lonely,

And everything hurts,

My mind takes the matter, 

Can’t get any worse.

The matter goes through me,
My bones start to shiver,

My mind takes more matter,

And I start to quiver.

That sadness I’m feeling,is slipping away… 

Along with my mind, in the matter..

Ok.

I think I now get this.

It’s easy to see,

My mind is against me,

It won’t set me free.

So the matter- it helps me,

It makes me feel whole,

My constant delusions,

are taking their toll. 

On my mind.

A few years ago, I did a personality test and found myself in the ENFP box – along with Robin Williams.

All my coworkers were with President Obama and Oprah, so they laughed at me. I didn’t get why? I was with one of my heroes, so I was honoured.

When I heard about his death, I wrote this poem.

I wish he was still here. Yup.

Check out other great articles from Not the First, Not the Last

 

THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO POST ON BLW!!! – SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS, STORIES & IDEAS WITH US!!!

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WE AT BE LIKE WATER BELIEVE THAT WE ARE ALL PART OF THE LEARNING EXPERIENCE, SO WE WANTED TO REACH OUT TO OUR FRIENDS & FANS TO SAY WE APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT

AND WE WANT TO GIVE BACK BY SHARING YOUR OWN THOUGHTS, STORIES OR IDEAS ON OUR SITE.

SO, IF YOU HAVE A STORY OR TOPIC YOU WANT TO SHARE WITH US, JUST LEAVE IT IN THE COMMENT SECTION WITH A LINK TO YOUR TOPIC AND WE WILL POST IT ON BLW,

OF COURSE THE TOPIC HAS TO BE SHARED WITH OUR OWN PHILOSOPHIES. THANK YOU AGAIN!

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Artsy Fartsy – Banksy does Gaza (The Power of Art)

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gazaaa

Banksy revealed the locations of the pieces in Gaza in Palestine. Inspired by a sculpture of Niobe, a Greek mythological figure, the first piece is entitled “Bomb Damage” and obviously with Banksy, the placement is just on point. Niobe’s children were killed out of spite and then in her mourning she turned into a stone that was constantly weeping.

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Two quotes were enclosed with the images of the new stenciled pieces:

Gaza is often described as ‘the world’s largest open air prison’ because no-one is allowed to enter or leave. But that seems a bit unfair to prisons – they don’t have their electricity and drinking water cut off randomly almost everyday.  – Banksy

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A local man came up and said ‘Please – what does this mean?’ I explained I wanted to highlight the destruction in Gaza by posting photos on my website – but on the internet people only look at pictures of kittens. — Banksy

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Poetry Mondays – The Journey by Mary Oliver

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hikingalone2

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

“Mend my life!”

each voice cried.

But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do

determined to save

the only life you could save.

Poetry Mondays – Macavity – The Mystery Cat by T. S. Eliot

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Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw–
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime–Macavity’s not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no on like Macavity,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime–Macavity’s not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air–
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!

Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square–
But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!

He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.
And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair–
Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!

And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair–
But it’s useless of investigate–Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
“It must have been Macavity!”–but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macacity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place–MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!