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pandemoniac Apr 2021
silent poet thinking words,
never i must write
lucid wretched loving words
all bark and half the bite

silent poet thinking thoughts
the ink refused to make
mind and pen are separate
an unyeilding opaque

if i tell the tale to you
of love and praise and good
you'd laugh and laugh and laugh some more
naive misunderstood

my mind a chasm of infinite good
the world dichotomous strange
the vines do seize me gently
to a velvet padded cage

my head is a bed of roses
the thorns pierce me not
i am safe and free and happy
delusional, deep in thought

**** me softly
make me smile
your intoxicating
rapt exile

silent poet thinking thoughts
writes symphonies in his head
the writer and the audience
will dance until they're dead

silent poet thinking words
is struck by stockholm syndrome
perfect captor perfect world
illusion is his home
why am i not a good story-teller if all i do is daydream?
mark soltero Feb 2021
it’s what’s done
that can’t be said
stupidity you can see
it’s just me
can’t tell you all the things i see
cause i don’t really know it all
i cry and lament of whats uncanny
sensibilities for unnecessary
points of grandeur
don’t help me
all they do is keep me awake
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Sumer is icumen in
a modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is an update of an old classic for those of us who suffer with hay fever and other allergies ...

Sumer is icumen in
Lhude sing achu!
Groweth sed
And bloweth hed
And buyeth med?
Cuccu!

Keywords/Tags: spring, summer, hay fever, seeds, pollen, med, meds, medicine, achoo, stuffy, nose, blowing, ragweed, congestion
KajK Jun 2015
Jeg forbyder en morskab
Med for mange principper
Som ingen rigtig forstår

Jeg selv tror, jeg selv ved, med ved det egentlig ikke

Et sats
Pest eller kolera
Som for andre
Blot er chancen
Den der tages
Hvor der gives
En kyklopisk spandfuld af egenskaber

Egenskaber jeg er blevet for gammel til
Eller måske er jeg blot for ung
Men ung og dum
Gammel og klog
Jeg finder da ingen mening

For hvem ved dét
Dét som ingen ved
Her i søgning efter mening

Hvorfor gør jeg det ikke
Hvorfor bliver jeg ved
Med at tænke
Det utænkte
Duggede øjne
Giver mig ikke
Alt det hende du
Måske
Kiggede på i går
har
Hende du
Måske
Faldt for når
Jeg ligger
Her
Alene med salte
Kinder
Og du lovede
mig
Du ikke ville
kigge
På alle de andre
Kvinder
?kun
når jeg har salte
kinder

— The End —