AN AUTUMN PRAYER
The sun’s golden rays
shine gently down upon the trees,
And it makes me want to say,
O Lord, I thank thee.
The burnished colors of
Red and orange and gold
Stir a feeling of contentment
Within my soul.
Another summer has passed us by, and yet,
When I gaze at the autumn sky,
I feel the peace and joy
of your love near by.
The heart lost for ever
Everyone has a heart in body that sucks the world daily every moment I find the heart within me that sounds much as a morning bird became tired and more and became fired at last it got lost for ever.
Balubagan, Chapainawabganj
11/09/2015
In the darkness of night
What I know, know not at all whether it is fit or not What you do, right for me. I think you do always the same But is there any to take up from the sight of the world? open or hidden. our eyesight sparks in the darkness of night.
Balubagan, Chapainawabganj
12/09/2015
Dot
Here is a dot there is a dot no other place to stop only the glittering of eye and heart that beats the drum of the world I can see the path to walk where everything is placed with beauty and blush.
Balubagan, Chapainawabganj
12/09/2015
Pittsburgh Culture
I walked up on stage like I was a nobody amongst a timid crowd, who would have had an orgasm after a single touch. The spotlight was beaming on me, the guy who traveled from Andy Warhol’s old neighborhood to recite a few pieces of poetry.
The first stanza mentioned a vagina, you know, the kind certain woman share with the social media world via Tumblr or snap chat. They appeared to be nervous. I shifted the position of my ass in the wooden chair to begin the second stanza.
This one mentioned chlamydia, you know, the sexually transmitted disease most of the millennials carry around like an iPhone. I took a look at the crowd after that to see giant eyeballs, taken aback, like I was reciting Anti-Semitic literature, after they snorted an Adderall.
There’s no turning back now, so I continued onto the last stanza. It mentioned an orgasm, you know, the kind we all had before this waste of time, also known as the open Mic. Where people come to share their art with an uptight crowd. The same people who belittle Trump every chance they get, but then emulate Mother Teresa, ’cause that’s the type of behavior that exists in this pseudo-liberal town of Pittsburgh.
I was banned after that night for enticing people to think about their own obscene actions. Christ, if I wanted to be upset, I could’ve stopped at my mom’s house. It’s less of a walk, and the vodka flows like the Allegheny river.
Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh using words instead of violence to mitigate the suffering of life in a callous world of redundancy. His primary goal is to help other people. He considers poetry to be a form of philanthropy. When he’s not writing, he’s volunteering at the Light Of Life homeless shelter on a weekly basis. If you appreciate the man’s work, please check out his blog:www.
Brady Romberg to FilFan.com: Fractured bones don’t make up painful memories
Brady Romberg is your average stuntman. On a busy year, he gets 50-60 jobs. In some films, he does work that the actor didn’t get the slightest chance of doing. In the NBC hit TV series “Grimm 2011”, he got to be the monster while the actor didn’t wear the monster props at all. Brady suffers a few fractures now and then. Some break his back but most certainly not his backbone.
Brady handled the stunt performance business like the physics engineer he was. He studied the stunt market and when he realized he could make more money doing stunts than engineering he planned out how he wanted to approach it. He made up his mind in the very beginning that despite looking the way he did –pretty handsome, A-list star material- he wasn’t keen on becoming an actor when he could be a stuntman and make more money than most career actors and have a more exciting job at the same time.
“As long as you’re not a celebrity, being a stuntman pays better than most acting gigs,” the 32-year-old Colorado-native says, “and you can easily make a good name in the stunt business in shorter time. As an actor, you’d have to work 10 years until you start getting the jobs you wanted. In the beginning you would be getting almost no jobs, where you just show up on set and prep yourself until the star comes and then you’re out.”
what was so important at the petco
that you had to almost mow me down
was it a last minute run on biscuits?
a new chew toy for fido
or some cheese flavored treats for the cat?
i’m curious, lady
what was so important at the petco
that you had to almost mow me down
right through that intersection
like you didn’t even care
i could see if you were on your cell phone
a dick move and highly illegal in these parts
at least that would make sense
but you were staring straight ahead
eyeball to eyeball with me
as if we were up on some telepathic shit
did you even see me jump?
for willfully snatching out the stars
from the sorrow-worn face of the sky;
it eats no rainbows and won’t be intimidated
by pointy dentures of a defensive
but lion-willed night’s burning
having seen too many endless visitations
by blindness,
it does not fear bursting its concrete,
for its careless-picked
stones can only so much as fall into
the river begging by a pier
and be engulfed by a throat
knowing well the processes of deglutition:
the melting of saliva-acids
the journey towards warm blood.
(after Madonna)
bad girls wore plastic pants
the colour of garbage bags
and nails done in neon orange
hair spiked in curls smelling
like a can of spray;
in lipsticks daring black or green,
we clad in oxidized silver
straight from Cleopatra’s grave,
never called us virgins in uniforms
that dared to bare our knees;
bad girls wore block heels
with ankle straps
and invented break-dances
at parties of boys, the party
with boys,
the younger we got
the bolder we became
the older we grew
the quicker we tamed;
when tear-ruined mascaras
were no more a fashion trend,
when brown leather jackets
were no good girl games.
Beauty’s Survival Techniques
Pinned like an over-waited breath
on a shedding leaf on the verge
of falling off its faintly-hinged,
the snow rested on the protruding
bones of shoulders that bore lines
of the water husks she carried to
fields. Her life was simple as it was
a laboured joyous until the beast
happened. All of a sudden, there
were flowers, sunshine and buffets
that would grow flesh between her
skin and bones. Fountains of sweet
milk sprayed over luscious grass
her un-shoed feet thought was
like walking on air. Her heart swelled
with dreams that changed the lyrics
of her songs, and how the want
of a measly rose proved a successful
shot of a mindless arrow in the air.
Now, it was a matter of learning –
cutting away olfactory glands
for initiating closeness; puncturing
the irises for when of moments of
gazing; pasting the smile from
ever becoming a grimace; clevering
the mind for his increased diversion
elsewhere; and learning a spell to
keep him madly devoted to the ends
of time.