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Julie Grenness Oct 2016
In our land of golden wattle,
I'll unstopper a bottle,
Uncork a magic genie,
Appearing cute and teeny,
She looks quite delicious,
Granting us three wishes
For Oz, quite ambitious,
What'll we wish for today?
In this magical genie way,
First, let's wish for full employment,
Then, an end for our youth deployment
In the Middle East, futile beast,
Last, we'll all wish for global peace,
Our wishes the genie does release,
I shall unstopper this magic bottle,
For our land of golden wattle!
Feedback welcome.
Cody Veal May 2010
that laugh. what i wouldn't give to bottle it,
so that when i am alone,
i can unstopper her happiness.
(c) Cody Veal 2010
nothing-for-something-poetry.blogspot.com
md-writer Apr 2019
Perfidy,
traitorous brother of mine
unseen like splinters
and deeper than mines
unloved, unlovely
a speaker of wind
blow on the coals and
destroy every
friend

crashing far below upon
a shore of molten ore,
that symphony of silence
stares and swiftly
takes the gore

laughing gods of
cruel men,
take and leave no rest
for them
to slave for in the night.

Heart's beat fast
like horses
running from a flood,
to lift all other dangers
far above one burning sun.

Agony lives in those souls
with dry and crusted tears,
layered by the thousands
for the simple
earthen spore.

Life or death, it's spreading
and there's nothing left to do,
unseeing eyes have turned away
and listening ears are
through.

Spitting gods of fire,
sparks,
the infinity of war,
simmers slightly, spatters,
roars,
while scented candles bore.

Deeply into nostrils flared
the sacrifice abhorred
by man and all the kindnesses
of aelven daughters
******
to please a god.

This doubting rustic
truth obscures
no dragon fuels his love
for dreams;
but listing warily
that ship's a parchment breaker,
gone
a far, long way from home

Desire, sweet god,
defining every ordnance,
every lyre's sweet undoing
with sicknesses
of the heavy-laden soul:
deep delight in all
forbidden things
well up, and godly grief cannot
unstopper such a harsh
and human
drugging of the mind.

God! Above! You sit,
we sink; you smile,
we wilt, into the cracking
hopelessness of helpless other men.
Devour us all, you light of glory!
Let the fire of your spirit
shine.

Disgruntled murmurs,
death's gaze green
- the envy of his duty
slipped away by soft
divinity.

All wrong, the world creaks
around the miracle imposed
like so many crystal shards
pressed in and yet
not bleeding.

One of us, you say,
He's come and living,
a miracle of flesh and bones
and spirit-filled
desire

No, you lie.
I won't believe such nonsense,
for the aloes are away,
no sweet syrup salve exists
to balm my broken sores.
You lie.

Devils laugh in whispered
shadows,
lurking just behind the mind,
undoing tiny winglets
from the bodies
of God's flies.

Unimagined terror, and the
worst of your bad dreams,
fall like heartless bits of honey
on the putrid flesh of
these...

...these broken children
sitting huddled up,
bitten off on every side
like the cookie crumbles - gently -
when you **** the sweet
insides.

Happy little dancing feet
will never come again,
not now or ever near to me
I'm dragon-born and
thin.

It's my own curse come back,
my sensible defeat,
the folly of a tongue unchained
with hideous things to speak.

Tearing ribbons off my hand,
I reach up for twinkling sky,
for one last breath of sweet
dear light
before the grant to die.

Unknown above, the stars blink out
the universe is winking;
and false-patterned light comes
closer to the wreckage of my
soul.

The eyes of angels glowing,
the scent of suns unseen,
of walking in the forests of the
long-forsaken sheen.
Planets breath their last - expire -
and stars are broken clean,
but still they slip like shadows
towards this darkened piece of
green.

It's all the last things
that long followed,
all the final thoughts unseen,
as the miracle of flesh and bones
is lifted up and freed.

Lift your eyes up to the heavens,
let my goodness filter clean,
open all the cracking corners
of your god-forsaken being
till the end.

Laughter sounds a bell-toll,
listen for the second strike,
yet the hammer never falls
for I have travelled
into night.

Confusion cramps its
elbows in the corner of my
mind
and the god of heaven's thunder
laughs beside him. He is mine.

Cherry-red,
his wounds are flowing freely,
the ****** balm sweeps over me.
I gasp - the burning agony
of every sting revealed.
Blood for blood and
stripes untold,
every fraction that they hold,
weeps into the ravening
of unforgotten, unforgetting

grace.
April 5
Fay Slimm Sep 2016
If Only.

No tonic compares to dawn's
best rewarding
blackbird-sweet melodies spilling abroad.

Silence drips with his chords
as his daring
leaves shards piercing the crystal clear air.

If only my pen could capture
each little droplet of rapturous
sound I would bottle the liquidy
trilling of notes and unstopper his
solo and pour this potion on wounds
brought by neglect of listening to food
from the heavens suffused with freedom
by angelic singing that brings hearers ease.

Of all nature's symphonies
ever been heard
nothing out-betters the notes of this bird.

With tuneful soliloquist
stirring my sleep
I willingly rouse and mean to drink deep.

— The End —