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The World Wide WebAll this information at our fingertips
Yet we choose to look at cats?
Freedom to voice our every thought
A privilege left unchecked
A steaming pit of tricks and trolls
Accessories now abused

Drowning in the vanity
And self obsessed depravity
Our lives uploaded; digitalised
Essence poured upon the screen

Entitled to an opinion
Set up for a response
Like throwing a lump of meat
To a pack of wild dogs

“Ten years ago, these people would not be allowed crayons,
Let alone use of the internet”
Morei.
my phone might be
already smarter
than I am -
"What do you think, Siri?"
"I agree."
but that doesn't mean
that I don't need
the newest one
(it's not just a phone
it's a lifestyle)
ii.
Life is for using.
Use it as much
as you can.
iii.
they need more
than can be given
it's addictive
look at us -
we have become
something impossible
to satisfy
iv.
(I am always hungry)
(sorry)
v.
maybe we already
have too much
too much money
too much glitter
too much
we don't need
vi.
We put the needle
to society's veins -
but still it's getting worse,
so we keep raising
the dose.
vii.
we are wasting
worlds
and ourselves -
need more worlds
need more selves
need  m  m  m    m    o    r    e
CollapseWe stepped into Dystopia Land,
that midnight place
one bright September morning -
no doubt it was already coming,
yes, already we were on the brink,
but still,
do you remember that day
the lumbering dragon awoke,
twisted by the falling rubble
and fire,
symbols of what we were
pancaked into smithereens.

I remember,
I remember
the dust of our dreams,
tasting of fear,
the lost looking for those
they would never find again,
and we tasted the dust
of our perceived vulnerability,
discovering
that we too were open
to the dragon's bite.

For some, the dust
was opportunity -
looking with grim satisfaction
as the dust drenched the fleeing figure
of
Our Mother, Her Lady Lordship Our Mother, Her Lady Lordship

Her Lady Lordship
Fabu-ravishing temptress of the night
And Zena-esque Amazon by day
Enthroned and entombed eternally in crowds
Flowers, flour, children, chipmunks
All of it and none of it too.

She doesn't rest
E'er the wind blows and the heart finds something fond
Or the tempest throws a fit and a home
beneath waves of blue blood

Tar-poison ichor lymph
Shouting, fiery, "keep away!"; it does little
to sway the eight-legged creeping bloats
Tick-lodgers

Mutants
Half termite too are they, filthy little buggers
And part black mold as they exhale death and misery
What's worse, they breed rabidly

Never since Oedi
All That GlittersHeart etched in stone
fickle beauty
shallow symbol of love
HandsI gave my hands to a palm reader,
and she saw through winged glasses,
through the etching of lines like hairs
like dancing spider's footsteps on my palms
what caused the feathering in the crossroads
of my heart line, and the ever present hangnails
parasitic on my skin.

She saw them soften in sinks, soap and hot water,
the persistent blue smudge beneath the third finger's
joint, the freckles painting me: Irish Spanish
Gypsy and yet somehow still English rose,
the lone marriage line telling how I'll only love once
(and myself thinking once quite optimistic,
with my innate selfishness) and all the while

seeing the way that, sometimes, my hand
Privacy Is DeadThere is no such thing as a secret
Privacy is a right no one can now obtain
Through acts of selfish maniacal arrogance
They used tragedies and deaths to restrain

Those in society who dare speak out
Are threatened mocked and scorned
While the very things we take in
Become the foot-piece of voices adorned

In power and vanity with our lives
Being the games they twist and claim
So when the darkness clouds come in
No one can speak out and denounce the name

Of the darkness rising higher
Choking the life out of you
Feckless in it's power and vice
It is the face of everything you do

Deepening and darkening they spy
Upon us as we go about our mer
Layer CakePeeling back pieces of history to find the boy I used to be…
So much has changed, but I feel the same.

I seek sanctuary in the imagination of the man I have become.

But it all feels empty and numb.
I scour the night, eyes unadjusted and pupil’s enflamed.
I can feel my blood as it flows, each pulse blackening my vision
each thump deepening, burrowing deeper into my chest.
Headrush, blocking out all thoughts that irrationally flood my mind.
So many...
Too many, so that I keep drawing a blank.
Disconnected from my own reality.

… Who is this man that lacks conviction and desire.
Where is the confidence that could stare thro
in the absence of a protesta piss-warm week-end
and the flock of quasi-contrarians
ambles from square to square,
girls, visionaries -
sundae heated ground/wading through the excrement
and scrubbing pigeon droppings from
white hair. (nothing
happens)

absurdist conceptions
surface and resurface and
subside again,
like a herd of
curious seals they
flash their latex muzzles.

when they scatter,
crowds will scatter too,
skewered in the comfort of the wheel of history,
(branded with a fried-black hole that is called
confidence
and "you can't fight distrust")
used to being used.

so we laugh
we laugh as we're being led to another bloody golgotha

but it lies so far
Freeverse #2Distant hands reach out,
And grab unsuspecting victims.
Entombing them in a veil of mist,
And mysticism, enhanced
By the internal void ever
Present in the collective heart
Of Humanity.

As hands grope, explore and touch,
Their unfortunate prey finds itself
Shivering in selfish delight, bottom lip
Clenched not by forced desire
But by a desperate longing
For a feeling; to be wanted
And lusted after.

And so the veil loses its mysticism,
Its mist and its ‘distant hands;’ for
They are replaced by a lover’s touch,
A kind whisper in your ear and a selfless
Friend whom will always be there for you.
A friend who will never let
Glass: A Criticism of SocietySome laughing and some crying
Born living and leave dying
The pale reflection on a dusty window pane
Of a cluttered damp room
By the light of the moon:
Possessed by misery's refrain

Some perceive life as an amber glass that's filled
Its golden ichor bustles all the way up to the brim
While others see it watered, weakened, and distilled
To inject their auburn glass with sin

And to sit at the throne created by conceit
The shattered glass, the rusted iron,
Corroded, cracked: ruined concrete
And as you sit upon that sullen throne,
You ponder: "Is my consciousness alone?"
Free to roam the universe
But no script nor written verse
Will ever offe
youI gave myself away
you didn't ask for my innocence
but took it freely
WishShe had more freckles on her hands
then there were stars in the sky.
Her eyes were like broken glass
colored green by a sharpie.
When I saw her I knew I loved her,
but she was not capable of loving me.

The light in her eyes was distant
and beautiful like the moon’s.
When she spoke her words curled
around her face like smoke.
When I saw her I knew I loved her,
but she was not capable of loving me.

She forever smelled like cinnamon
and lost time.
Her smile was soft,
but as ferocious as a lion’s
When I saw her I knew I loved her,
but she was not capable of loving me.

My heart did break.
It shattered, when it slipped from her han
dustdecay rust and love
this is what the universe comes to
we are the hollow men
especially me

abandoned highways
america the beautiful
three hundred years and
Katrina she spoke (un)to me
“Moses, forty years has come too late.”

my girl she knows not
    her own strength
my generation
    gods and monsters: end of times
they’re what I’m talkin’ ‘bout
wub-wub
wub-wub
wub wub to dirty ears

pre-view apocalyptic post-men
neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the
winds of change
and I know not

her, majestic blue eyed dove
outstretched arm, fingers reaching
towards her sisti
BlindAny pure ideology realized

is a disaster

Like all things in reality that are successful

they are a mix of ideas

shared offerings

Crowing about the failure of Communism

we refuse to see the horror

that is unfettered Capitalism
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More from ~Panther-Nora

Buzy
I'm busy, it's true
But when I've a minute to think, I think of you.

My sigh when I finally go to bed
The first half, true is tired,
But the second half is lonely for you.

I remember what you say about clouds,
But to me they never look painted
When I look at them
For a minute
Before getting back to work.

I feel the touch of the wind and sun,
And it's nice,
But I want your touch.

My fork traces your name on my plate
At dinner.

I shiver into my chilly bed,
and wish you could help keep it warm.

My muscles ache,
but my heart aches more.
It misses you,
And the muscles just have an unoxidized buildup of acid.

In a room
VERSUS   Summer
To stop, and be cradled in the arms of the trees. Lean against one and feel her support.
  VS
They claw at life, desperate to live, to survive one more year, one more day. Lean against one, and feel your energy begin to drain away, sucked up by the tree's enourmous need, it's desperation.
  VS
  Fall
The sensual, full-bodied celebration of season's end. A fiercely friendly competition of hue and vibrancy. Flamboyant laughter and color in a drunken dance across the sky before winter's sleep.
  VS
Defeat. The frost has won and stolen the summer away.
  VS
  Winter
Sleeping – waiting.
  VS
...we will all die...
Epic... And still they struggled on.

The immortal still was fighting strong
but his doubts grew, this fight too long.
He thought he should have won by now
But the mortal persisted, he knew not how.

... And still they struggled on.

The mortal was tired, his body ached
Fighting with thought, and speed, and all his strength
Against a foe no one could beat
He had to be quick on his feet.

... And still he struggled on.

In the fight, beneath the ponderous moon,
The two were locked for ages
And for the mortal, it must end soon
Or the turning of the pages
Of life's book would leave him behind
Out of sight and out of mind
Having done noth

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Somewhere it's Raining

:iconpanther-nora:

It seems that not a day goes by
Bullets and bombs dont fall from the sky.
Pray to Allah every day
Make it rain instead so I can play.

Somewhere it's raining. Somewhere it's raining

Day by day this war goes on
I'm left no choice, I write this song.
See fighter planes soaring by
Think birds are all that should fly.

Somewhere it's raining. Somewhere it's raining.

We're living poor the fields are dry
But bullets are all that fall from the sky.
So many soldiers marching through
When I'm grown I'll be one too.

Somewhere it's raining. Somewhere it's raining.
Where is it raining?
:iconpanther-nora:
I nearly feel as thought I cant claim this as my own work. sure, I had the pen, paper, and guitar that brought it to life... but... It was too darn easy! The lines were fully formed in my head... all I did was jot them down.

It's from a perspective other than my own, so it's kind of weird, and I think it sounds better than it reads.
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:iconverso2020:
~verso2020 Apr 16, 2005
This sounds like it's from the perspective of someone in the middle east right now.... I wonder what it would be like for a kid over there seeing all these bio mechanical men and explosions......I really hope things turn out okay over there.....
Reply
:iconpanther-nora:
~Panther-Nora Apr 16, 2005
That's kind of what I was going for. At the time of writing it I was stuck in a place where many people were pro-war, and I felt I needed to express that the people dying over there are people too, not just an abstraction.
Reply
:iconmissy-star:
~missy-star Nov 19, 2004
Once again, amazing concept - and the rhythm present is great.
Reply
:iconpanther-nora:
~Panther-Nora Nov 19, 2004
Thank you.
Reply
:icondarknesscyshadow:
~DarknessCyShadow Aug 20, 2004
Brilliant- (chuckles) I find writing songs too easy when it comes to it---but they are still the same.
Reply
:iconpanther-nora:
~Panther-Nora Aug 20, 2004
Thanks
Reply
:iconkitiin:
~Kitiin Aug 8, 2004
really beautiful. *applauds*
Reply
:iconpanther-nora:
~Panther-Nora Aug 9, 2004
Thank you
Reply
:iconkriasai:
~Kriasai Aug 6, 2004
This is so beautiful and sad. I can almost hear the tune in the words (Does that sound stupid? o_O). You have such talent.
Reply
:iconpanther-nora:
~Panther-Nora Aug 6, 2004
Thank you, I'm glad you can hear the tune in the words, it happens to me too sometimes when I'm reading poetry.
Reply
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