Another midnight Dear john letter, flatters in the morning before the hand delivery. She is satiated with this action. Her intensity met, another soul is down sized because of their trusting humanity, no winners or losers just a time waster.
I met her picking apricots from the wayside. She said her name was Rita, and she sang sweet songs to mellow my heart, where she went afterwards was only told as a legend.
the deep ocean matches your eyes. I cannot quite fathom their depth, many soul plundered sailors, have met their steely death by the wayside of your smile.
They tried to crush me with boulders until they built a misshapen temple to mark my tears, they tried to chase me with words until I lexiongrapher had the last word.
like a novice June appears with powder blue skies and the longest day of the year retains its light, coupled with those balmy early evenings. Delphininuims and oriental poppies sway jewel like in their dense hues, while Lupins make their best display. All at once this early summer gap gives spring its last abundance.
you're too average to marry Meryl Streep you should use a razor rather than a shaver too cheap to get out of bed for €10 but at least you've got Leeds for a cheap bed and breakfast
Gone are the days we spoke truth by the river bank. All your promises were never meant, and I lament your sudden change oh you siren; a wind of remiss.
Croydon, Greater London is the place to live. Labour other than the South. Its got 2 poetry groups for your perusal, and a World cup Box park for your delight. plus 12 libraries.
At night Georg pangs blue whisper for the lonely boy's return , with a red cloak worn to sunset. Crimson for the harlots shadow, and narcassis for the loss of innocence.
our emerald princess graces the night, banquets with the Lilly's, her heart is pure as the snow no darkness pervades in her accustomed company. She dwells by the sea in her esteemed shell house.
Who are we to judge plants? a dandelion is only a flower in the wrong place ! Who are we to judge birds? A pigeon is not a winged rat it is dispossessed ferternity. Who are we to judge foxes? they are land locked creatures of habit.
The skyline disappears once again as blackness returns the night. The outsiders bath in the squalid moonlight, abluting their good intentions. The metamorphosis is complete. Darkness will reign supreme. They gather by the smithy opining with a wild lament .
My name is Michael O'Brien. I live in the woods, with squirrels for my only company. I've got no need for anyone, im a crusader for loneliness although im not the only one. There's Peter ORaugherty, who lives in a cave with rabid bats only for company.
Eyes interlocked, like a M1 car crash this is the effect you have on me. Your hips are perfect like a manquerin, your moustache like a cad, but any bad boy behaviour could lead to a discipline.
I went through the snow and ice, with sleatting rain, to become the class of 96. Without a woman in sight we were rats in a sinking ship, made worse by our task master taking 50% value.
I am a suggestion about to be sang, a harpie awaiting the midnight. I was an allurement before your birth, a whisper stored hellwards. noting your worth.
Dragonfly days are wishful bucolic times. There are blue clouds to match their wingspan and cider with Ruby on merry go rounds, promises of love and heirlooms set aside
i am the raging truth I've been ruthless for eternity . i am father to a 1000 children but begot 100000 more, what of all your dignity? now washed on the shore, i only safe unbelieving sailors who one day lay in un- lamented graves, that i sanctify as my own
I am early morning you are the aurora together we easel a wondrous sight. I am the evening you are the dusk, cossetting each other in our urbane delight.
I was around when someone shouted "Judas" to Dylan for going electric. I was the ink in Paul Simons North of England sound of silence. I was the muse for David's "Space Oddity" all those pink moons ago.
Penelope Tree lived in a house with servants by the score. She was already the "it" girl at 16 with luxuriant eyebrows, for someone like David who saw her as forbidden fruit. He made her feel kooky cool but with the event of teenage acne coming back, he de- mused her from his company and now shes zenning her demise in some fashionable pied a terre
Novels are great, reading is more than a treasure, its a pleasure entering another world, Empathy with the characters is the be all of it. Your inner voice, the heard sanctum.
I am wilderness set out in stone a journey never taken to its end. You were hope and a wayward glance remembering all that was cast. (is paved with good intentions)
Lord our maker, who gave us the Garden of Eden and choice to commit original sin grant us your understanding and shower your love and kindness leading us from temptations
Incorrigible unwilling to change, i say tomatoe you say tomato. Welcome to the blues. You say go for broke I say stay frugal. You say BMW i say 2nd hand? different strokes for different folk.
There was a song such a beautiful one that we danced to when we were young, but now we are older we listen to the gentle nightingale that way I see you as young
Lady Marshmallow in her thatch hut scoffs at convention, she remembers her past lovers, and with her wax candle she offers prized thoughts for their spirits, with her calico cat Emerald.
I was in the audience when someone shouted Judas to Dylan for going electric. I was near Paul Simon effected by the airs of dreary northern towns. I was the ****** you smoked on bequest of some forgotten Zanadu. I wrote the songs you merely had to hum them.