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 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Crimsyy
You are nicotine to my lungs,
so what do you expect?
I can't breathe next to you.

You're only toxin for me,
you were the chain
wrapped around me,

Now I've unlocked your secrets,
and your smiling face
is a fake journal on display,

Your game is not one
I like to play;
*You will lose.
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Crimsyy
Soon enough,
you'll catch on,
soon enough,
you'll see,
soon enough,
you'll be sober again,
soon enough,
you'll realise you've lost me.
Dangling on strings in an old wooden shed,
the puppets wait with hanging heads.
Dust filters through a shaft of light.
Everything's still and silent as night.

Suddenly the door opens with a boom.
The Puppet Maker enters the dusty room.
His smile is wide; he’s dressed in his best,
as he grabs the puppets from their rest.

The orange sun sets as he walks along,
The dusty roads, whistling songs.
The puppets are tucked in a bag underarm,
while they pass through the town and reach a farm.

A stage is set up for the puppet show,
They’re pulled from their bag and lowered below.
The quiet wood shed forgotten and past;
Replaced with bright cheering and many laughs.
Teeny, tiny dragon—he’s not quite like the others;
He’s the smallest little dragon, compared to all his brothers.
Colors so bright that you can see from afar,
His skin is so bright—as bright as a star.

He’s the most colorful dragon that I have ever seen.
Oh, how I wonder just where he has been?
He has bright blue eyes with a very short tail,
Very slow-walking, almost like a snail!

He huffs, and he puffs, and he breathes out candy.
Much to the delight of the elf named Randy.
Truth be told, he’s a joy to the land,
They all think of him as a dragon so grand!

Take a look at him, you surely won’t forget,
A dragon like this, I’ll make you a bet:
More different than him, you will never find,
This little dragon is one of a kind.
Laura the Leprechaun lived in a forest,
Of all the Leprechauns she was the smallest.
But she didn’t care, as she was just happy,
Because she was loved very much by her Pappy.

Laura sat at meals with sages,
She unearthed truths hidden for ages.
Her unmatchable strength is her courage,
She is a budding plant of greatness.

Laura had a friend called Jane,
Together they played hide and seek in the hay.
At dawn, they roam the street with glee,
They fight at dinner over bread, butter, and tea.

Laura happily played around in the woods,
Picking the fresh nuts and fruits.
The leaves breathe freshness into her bones,
The pure air from the woods nourishes her soul.

Laura’s beauty was peer-less,
With a tender skin that was spotless.
She cheered the world with her lovely smiles,
And her happiness went on for miles and miles!
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
CharlesC
In morning sun
yellow-green leaves
black branches
such contrasts flow..
yellow sun warmth
seems to pull..
pulls the sensations
fullness and growth
and makes nature
luxuriant once more..
hidden chirpers note
the dawning of
summer...
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
CharlesC
The day is coming when
a single carrot
freshly observed
will set off a revolution.

-- Paul Cezanne (1839-1906)
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
CharlesC
it is said
are the measures
gradations of fib..
more white more truth
more black is worse..
with such entangling
where is found
purest lies and truth..?
then further
does truth birth lies
and lies the truth..?

are such words
to each
a mirror...?
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
CharlesC
finding this morning
awareness of loss
the obituary entry
this physical sense..
those lesser deaths
portrayed as loss
fill electronic news..
Approaching loss
or loss Approaching..?
loss seems woven
into our fabric..
our morning Nutrition:
approaching is longing
to locate disclosures
of buried light
under the garments
we wear...
Enter discreetly, and proceed to take a pew;
Artsy fartsy culture camo lines the wall
like morning dew. A raptured window
sits atop a glazing gall, enthralling all;
As fetished hook propels, sinks in and pulls you through.

Decked obsequis with dire strands of self set, alight;
Mixing murmers; Churning, gurning grunts and groans,
stoking sight. Essence blossoms
effervescently, into warbled drone;
Symphony of souls, atoned, erupting, blood accrued might.

Dark set eyes behind the counter, counts another crop;
Foppish foolery as skin set sore adored
by boorish mop; Head of hair
aligned, entwined, principle annulled but ******;
Evoked Muse's invocation, released enormous slop adored.

Finally a noise devoid of touch, howls reified;
Chair despair sets into tumbled, mumbled call,
plea defied. Shoddy surgeon's hand
demands, gropes alleyway to shadowed hall,
Sits abreast infernal mechanites for deified brawl.

Creeping shadows come'a'peeping, Uncle Tom'a'weeping wonder,
blunders through the choice of sticky sheen
Resists the proper plunder. Whirring warrior
begins assault on castles primly stoked for seen;
Seams amended, blackened blood serene provoking chunder stream.

Followed Zeitgeist back to Black. Slow daunter back to blue;
Repairs conceptions of the Self within the mirror visored stew;
Anew the reckonings of where and why, Oh how freshly do they die
As left to see another in thyself, and loudly to decry:
Decry the aspects of bad health, no longer put upon the shelf
Stealthy pox and watermarks depart to leave aesthetic wealth;
Dealt in depths and crepts of cunning folk behind the trademarked lens
Obssessed with visibility, maneuvures us towards our end(s).
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