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 Dec 2014 Alice
r
Dogs know
 Dec 2014 Alice
r
We take a shortcut
through the narrow walkways
of the old village

across the cobblestones
and by the white-washed tabby wall

to the waterside where slave ships
once plied their trade

My dog lingers nose down
as if each stone has a story to tell

and ***** an ear to the wall
where the auctions were held

She looks at people differently now.
r ~ 11/29/14
 Dec 2014 Alice
r
19
 Dec 2014 Alice
r
19
when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.
r ~ 11/30/14

Hey, Son. :)
 Dec 2014 Alice
rufus
Everyday,
in each sense,
I send a message.
A text;
whether it is hurting,
or a secret,
a feeling,
or a thought -

I send a message.

You talk, I stare.
I listen, you tell.
I pause, you can't hear -
In silence, I swell.
I send an eerie quietness
I say good luck
I say okay
I say that sounds bitter
In my mind it's different
It sounds more of like
*That hurt me better than the other
Muffled
 Dec 2014 Alice
Mike Hauser
Better don your leather chaps it's going to be a rough one
Pack extra roll caps into your Six Gun

Ask for double shots to compliment your Starbucks
All that's left now is to wish you good luck

Bring an extra pack of Bottle Rockets if you have them
Monkey wrench and needle nose pliers if you can find some

This could read as the last page to the final chapter
In what we anticipate as the Happily Ever After

Do all you can do to bring the water balloons
A cassette if you could of your favorite Show Tunes

Add extra sugar in your Slurpee from the 7-11
This ain't going to be easy is what I am guessing

Get a tight grip on your Thingamajig
Loosen the top on the Pickle jar lid

We're about to go through another life lesson
Which ain't nothing new if I was a man betting

Pack your bags for another day in the life
Extra padding would help for the bumpy ride

Think we've thunk of it all there's no more to say
We're now more than ready for another day
 Dec 2014 Alice
curlygirl
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
 Dec 2014 Alice
SG Holter
The sound of her voice when
she finally calls.
the sound of the night as it
giggles and falls.

the sight for these eyes that are
bloodshot and sore;  
the sight of her eyes, saying
lonely no more, that

hold me with gazes across
any space, that trace this old face,
holding smiles in their place.
the holding she does with her arms

as I drift into slumber and sleep,
can both cradle and lift any man's
manly heart needing comfort and
rest. they keep any secret and

stand any test. I am drunk on her
skin, I am high on her smell. I am
demon in Heaven, she's angel in
Hell.

now fallen has night, and it fell on
its head. its lack of awareness  
envelopes our bed.
drifting off first, as so often I do.

it's the day's final words:
-I love you.
-I love *you.
No idea what the point of this is, other than fun with rythm and breaking lines.
 Dec 2014 Alice
Creep
Burn
 Dec 2014 Alice
Creep
Can I burn Fahrenheit 451?
that irony >~< nah i love the book, only a few ppl will understand where I'm coming from... just hate the hw assignments that go along with the book... ewwwww ms.kumar's long-*** hw....

city
by hollywood undead
^^one of my favorite songs... u must listen to it!
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