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Day turns to night
The faint yellow glow
of the streetlamp
Illuminates the-now deserted
Roadway

A quiet hum of birds
Are the only thing filling
The silenced city

The sun now sinks low
Dusk to midnight
All goes mute
The flicker of
house lights
Are only visible
In the soft mist

all goes to sleep
In bed- without a peep

Day to night
Dusk to midnight
Midnight to day
The cycle continues
Waiting to repeat
Another day
Free write :) -- no Grammer fixes for now
Tell me your secrets
Tell me your sorrow
All of your regrets
Your dreams of tomorrow
If I asked you to stay
What would you say
Would you tell me right away
Or make it a game we play
"ladies love when they sit on my face and I tell them I love them"

-Pinnochio
this is not poetry!
clouds were blue and skies were white
we laughed and told stories all night
when the lion saw its prey
it stopped and thought twice

sweetly, you turn to me and say,
'from the moon or millions of miles away
I'd come to you, it would be the only way
to bring meaning to these days'

jumped 30 feet, unbound from the ground
you picked me up when I was down
when you opened up your heart
love was all I found

the amazon became devoid of rain
the musicians had never suffered any pain
the painter's shirt didn't have a single stain
the ocean silent, bereft of waves
an oldies jawn
In every room
I've lived in,
all the dilapidated shacks
over the years that I've
stayed in, always had a
brown spider that crawled
the walls.
It had a little suitcase.

I thought to myself that it
planned on leaving, moving to
someplace better.
It never did.
It always just set up shop, and
spun a web in the corner and caught
flies, and occasionally a small moth.

On drunken sad moon nights,
I sang dirges to the trapped bugs.
They smiled and laughed, even though
they were dying.
Here is a link to a brand-new poetry reading I did.  It's available on my you tube channel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cz70MOS_JX8    I have three books available on Amazon:  Sleep Always Calls, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse.
Have you ever seen a pair of Nine West Folowe Pumps in Red Blooms Floral - or ever held a feathery pair? They offer the pure pleasure of perfection.

You can see them popping up lately, in streetwear silhouette, matched with Dolce & Gabbana’s floral-print leggings, making a duet of blooms—petal upon petal, like a garden in motion, or paired with the new, high-waisted barrel leg jeans, lending a flash of elegance, a bright flourish against dull denim.

They’re visions, wrought as if by the hand of Michelangelo, who once from marble freed David’s pose, or da Vinci, whose brush summoned the Mona Lisa’s secret smile.

In form, they’re d’Orsay cut, sporting curves as deliberate as the Sistine vaults arch. The stiletto heels rise with the ambition of a cathedral’s spire - neither too proud nor too meek, but balanced, like the symmetry of a butterfly’s painted wings.

Upon their surface, blood red blooms unfurl - petals as vivid as spring’s first flush - each blossom a testament to an artist’s hand, in riots of color and romance that dance with the same spirit as a flowerbed at dawn.

No flaws mar their making: the stitchings are true, the fits precise—as if tailored by the muses themselves. Each pair offers its own unique foliations, bespeaking the freedom of a craftsman’s careful art.

Lastly, of course, they’re marvels of harmonious function, lightly cradling and lifting each step - comfort and glamour aren’t adversaries here, but partners in making each step a sonnet and each stride an artist's brushstroke.

Now, maybe you aren’t into fashion - perhaps you’re a male - oh, poor you, I’m sorry, but maybe, just maybe, in times of chaos, you long for the pleasure of inexpensive perfection.
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Songs for this:
Glamour Girl by Louie Austen
This is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 06/26/25:
Sumptuous = something luxurious, magnificent and probably very expensive.
If only there could be
If there could ever be a “we”
I know you have enough
And you can live without
Me, I’m not so sure
Always been left outside

It feels so hard
It’s so hard how you make it easy
I know I have enough
But I don’t have what I need
And maybe I could live without
With you, I feel so sure
I’ll never be alone

Maybe I didn’t pray enough
For it all to become true
It’s miracle enough
That I’ve found myself in this room
But the door will never open
And we can’t transfer

If only there could be
If there could ever be a “we”
I know you have nothing to gain
And everything to lose
Master of manipulation
Do it for the children
Do it for the child
My worries are weak
Yet pipe dreams for some
I sob over leaks
they sob in wet slums

My roof is above
I’m full when I feed
They don’t eat enough
I’m stuffed as they bleed

Their bullets bone break
They beg for their meals
Their hunger won’t sate
Their fates, soon sealed

Still, I dare complain
While warm, homed, and safe
While they wash blood stains
With drains that drip late

Our savour and scents
And lavish plate stacks  
Their sorrow and cents
Soon spent on scraps

My fears are content
I sleep still each night
I’m scared to present
They’re scared for their life  

But them I can’t free
For them I can’t fight
So I’ll sit with my peace
And keep shutting my eyes
I feel so guilty knowing how lucky I am. People are suffering so much right now while I’m living so comfortably.
superfluous wildflowers
too many for the insects

our Island blooms
with the generosity of love.
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