Something different

If you’re reading this right now, go listen to “Broadripple is Burning” by Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s

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The Absence

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Oh, how noise-free
Are the days of annoyance free

My hair no longer itches loudly
Like chewing sugar cane hungrily

The flies no longer have marching bands as they fly up.
Oh! Would you just shut up?!

The car engines no longer have furious discussions
As people in the city find themselves in the same situations

The trumpet is no longer capable of penetrating house walls
Like the screeching of teenagers after seeing sales in malls

The pillows are no longer broken in half like bread
And squeezed on ears like masks around your head

No more aggravating noises and ears claps shut.
Oh bless the day, when noise can just disappear.

IG: Sircharlesthepoet

Above the River

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Don’t listen to music when on the train.
You’ll find different conversations
Between the rails and humans
Or the silent angers,
Slight annoyance by others
That never escape the heart
Until the train escapes the tunnel
And light rushes in through the window,
Giving the rails much reasons to scandal
Rosetta Stone couldn’t understand them.
But they understood us
Leading our way through the serio-us
Escaping the hole of shadows with glee
Above rivers imitating the sea.
Then anger calms down to a blissful cheer
With the river humming, “Home is near”

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

Common Beauty

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In perfect worlds of
Imperfect beings,
Explanations of common beauty
Is long lost
To the subconscious.
So the shape and sizes
Are taped as prizes.

Nature, at times,
Sneaks in,
Tricks sin,
Seeks through vein
Then, attraction is found
In the colors. Their brightness
In the unexplainable. Its art
In the different. Its authenticity

In a world of blinds crossing skies,
And the limped crossing rivers,
Very few take the time.
To see <
Converse ’till it’s late;

Ask clouds of their beauty:
Free falling; filling rivers

But those who do
Are blessed
With a third eye. So skin,
No longer,
Holds pockets-full of lust
It holds beauty: something to map the lost.

Clothes are no longer framed by Finance
To honor chance,
But are
Intertwined simply
Inter the simplicity
Of none other than art—commonly viewed as beauty.

@sircharlesthepoet

I CREATED A YOUTUBE CHANNEL!!!

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Hey everyone!

I don’t have much to say, but I just wanted to stop by to say: I HAVE A YOUTUBE CHANNEL!!!

So one of the many goals that I had this summer was to perform more at poetry events. Not only that, but I also wanted to record my performances and upload them somewhere: YOUTUBE! So I created a Youtube Channel for my work!

Okay, let me give some fair warning. When it comes to media, the only thing worst than my knowledge on recording equipment is how to edit my videos. Haha. Therefore, I am recording with my phone and just posting it up on Youtube with no editing or anything. But things have been going well so far! If you have any advice on good recording equipments (cheap ones too because, you know…college student here) or ways to become a better Youtuber, let me know!!

That is all that I have to say today. The link to my most recent Youtube video is below. Besides that, check out my page for my other videos here, and LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!! Subscribe, like, comment, share with your friends and family (and enemies too).

Comment your thoughts on this post, please. Thank you! (I’m so excited!!!!!) 😀

Classies

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I never asked for the girls to snap my neck:
Why I never made it to class.
I never asked for the bus driver to be funny:
Why I always miss the stop at the student union.

Digging clouds to find my destiny,
Each hit, breaking a piece of different shape,
God never blessed my consistency.
Or was I in the lecture hall,
My head higher than the projector.
So it was hard to see

Maybe the optimist
(and I mean the proud)
Are begging for pity
In their rich successful laughters,
Fists bumping in the air
And voices penetrating
As if they’re the only ones there.

Learning math teaches
There’s a different way to solve every problem.
So you can get lifted, or settle with buzzed
Don’t know how, but this part of life is solemn.

The assignments mean our life is due—
Why they call it a deadline
We’ll be dead if we cross that line.
So we dance all near it
Then, entertainment down right before the second.
Not yours, but call it our lifestyle

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

These City Boys

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Sometime, down the road in your life,
You’re going to meet another guy
A City Boy.
Then you’ll remember:

These City Boys!
They always tend to their phones
Face planted inside the screen
Like caring for a baby that screams
Asking for an endless attention

These City Boys!
They are never doing
“One thing”
Their full attention is never present.
It’s texting while “paying attention”
Working while watching a movie
Listening to music while…Just living!
So the radio in their head
Never. Turns. Off.

These City Boys!
Never have they never ever
Not take a breath at the stars.
They’re used to big lights on poles
On all streets.
As soon as the timing hand strikes six
There is no such thing as late night walk
Through sticks.
Have they ever tuned to the melodies
Of crickets before?

These City Boys!
So busy staying connected
That they all are wireless:
It’s Snapchat this
Facebook that,
Instagram now
Make time to tweet later
As heartfelt connections disappear further

These City Boys!
Would they please listen!
Lacking the most basic skills to navigate
A fluid conversation
Flowing observation
To what the partner might have truly mentioned

These City Boys!
Their sight of trees resides in public parks
That are rarely clean.
It’s only buildings here
Towers there
Skyscrapers everywhere!
So chins are raised to the heavens in awe
As the environment becomes non-existent

These City Boys.
They’re so Conserved…
But the ones who are free, damn are they infectious?!
A personality so contagious:
Like Gold dripping out of the mouth
Of a triumphant Elephant wearing the Divine crown.
Their freedom is treasure
Not of this world.
They are struck by that peaceful joy
And, it’s as if you were witnessing
The skyline of a million stars in your eyes

Except, it’s not stars.
It’s the City Lights.

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

Language

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Leaving class

I leave my math and science classes.
Everyday
Convincing myself to switch.
Majors

Each class: a different language.
I don’t understand
One that mixes my sand,
Over stretch my brain
Far passed too sane to know.
I am now insane

Languages my whole life-hood
Was never prepared for.
Not to any extent

Like setting fire to a saint,
My knowledge, intelligence:
Control center
Is dumbfounded…
Or found itself dumb

Too ashamed
To be astonished,
Too puzzled
To resolve
The Greeks and Romans
I am expected to resurrect,
The ideologies and theories
I am expected to real-eyes.

Because real-eyes realize
These numbers and letters and signs and cosigns
Don’t sympathize.

So I’m left with black-hole eyes
Convinced.
I don’t speak the language of my demise

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

My Life, in My Sight

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girl on trainToday, I saw the girl of my life…
The music slowly faded and felt like wings,
The artist didn’t sing;
The drums didn’t bang
I couldn’t even search for an explanation on Bing.

But the song turned into a symphony,
So possessive, so lovely.
My soul held on and flew with each note,
Giving the tune 100% of its vote.
To fly it out of the train station,
By her side, to a vacation

Her hair;
Her curly hair
Swirls like the tip of ice cream,
After escaping the machine.
Like a child seeing ice cream, controlled focus was gone.

“Moma, I want some ice cream.”

She was wearing a “skater” hat, backwards
But everything about her was forwards

The straps in her book bag
Captured my attention, and my motion lagged.

Today, I saw the girl of my life…

The song that did not know of an end, forgot its rhythmic pattern

The music notes couldn’t bat their wings

My soul was lost in some Caribbean island resort

The kids held their ice cream, carelessly, in the humidity

The ice cream forgot it has to melt.

Today, I saw the girl of my life…
That afternoon, my breath parted
While my immobile body admired her from afar
As she walked, out of my life.

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet