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John Beetle Apr 2014
As the flowers give birth
To more flowers

As we and it slowly goes just to I
And it is better that way

As soldiers come back from the greedy ****** war

As the stranger looks at her and there is something strange in his eyes

As the heartburn comes back, I kneel and almost feel like death punched me

As the only books burn to keep you warm in the winter

As it is so cold, the birds didn’t even make it south, they freeze in mid-air

As it soon ends for us

As it comes

As the rich get more money

As you eat because you aren’t hungry

As it ends

As we end
prose
John Beetle Apr 2014
There is no time to relax.
No love around to get me to relax,
No woman dancing on the
moonlight stage,
blowing kisses, slapping her *******.
Good enough for others
It makes my eyes ache,
The words I type everyday,
can’t seem to fix my troubles,
My mind snaps,
Where to find the easy way?
Where to find her eyes again?

It will get boring without these
sounds in the stereo floating
around and to get me going…
Fuel.
Give me words to spread on
the white page.

Don’t relax tonight
It may seem you’re losing it
Writer’s block attack
I’ll write-

To smile with fear
is the greatest accomplishment of all.
prose
writing
poet
John Beetle Apr 2014
She wasn't doing good on my bed, with the

night rolling on and I could see

it all come out of  her.

It looked like a tear, one little

tear, she was going down

but soon we became lions

fighting in fire

we became two lions all

over my bed

the kissing was ferocious.

How do these relationships work?

one hour we are fighting

the next hour we are one again
prose
love
John Beetle Apr 2014
all the good papers were out at the store

and the fruits were looking to rot,

the plane is still missing,

migraine bells hit my head.

the day was becoming dull,

I saw outside

over hundreds of people.

people in front yards dancing

and the strings of heaven

were playing.

It sounded like Strauss.

Soon it started raining

but the people stayed

in their places and danced

it seemed they didn’t notice the rain

they just stared into each others eyes.
prose
John Beetle Apr 2014
she lights her favorite candle and then pulls her cigarette from her lips and lights it from the candle

she goes to the kitchen and starts cutting the fresh mango and sees some blueberries and grabs a handful throws them in her mouth and chews

she is always talking and sometimes when I talk she talks over me to talk for me

after the fruit and how I wonder what it tasted like mixed with cigarette smoke she kissed her lips to me and says let’s go for a walk

we go out with the growing back trees beside us and no cold wind

she isn’t talking

she is looking                  

she wants to go to the gym and I tell her for the hundredth time I don’t do the gym  

observing the life of nature

there is peace in the wombs of the road

as always she is hungry and we go buy

a chicken shawarma

outside with her smile and we see Bobby the hunk

with his Wanda who looks like a lion


she wants the park and I want a bed

I want her

with awful love blooming

I can’t find her love
prose
love
city
John Beetle Apr 2014
Look

look at those children swim in cyanide

look at the men whip their wives with a spine

look at the animals that starve and

they ***** their shadows

look at the clock, how it slows us down

look at those birds, I think they know something

look at those women chewing on their own breast

look at the newspaper and the journalist has something

real to say.

look in my world and your world

how close, how different.
prose
John Beetle Apr 2014
Oh mother
You poor soul
So inclined to waste long ago
By the death of your children.

I watched and I noticed
But i was in my own haze of
A mind to look away and
Be myself while pondering
And seeing images of the baby’s
Grave.

You tried and just like the millions of other babies that tried
But never saw the light and your tears and the silence of the baby coming out of you
doesn’t haunt you anymore.

It’s alright mother
You finally survived.
prose
death
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