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 Jul 2014 Poppy Propper
Jack
A heart waits

While sifting through the questions
piled high in a mountain of doubt,
reaching heights beyond belief
and scraping ceilings of torment

A heart waits…

Now tiring quickly, loosing strength,
finding the walk longer than you expected
Closing one eye to find the other does not see
and falling to dark corners of fear

A heart waits…

As volume amasses upon weakened shoulders,
and pain breaches the avenue
of store front sale signs
on locked door close outs

A heart waits…

When it all seems too much,
memos become lists of forever paper,
words scratched in blood ink
of empty pens spilling

A heart waits…

If you have found that point
where your mind says no more
and you feel that nothing will ever be enough,
please remember…

A heart waits…and that heart is mine
 Jul 2014 Poppy Propper
Jack
~


And the skies find blue

On this morning in the city

With the temperature so warm

As I stand to find the meaning

Over asphalt centered lanes

With the street lights set on twinkle

When a billboard reaches out

With a message for the masses

Still my every thought is you

And I dream



~Chosen by my eyes to see the wonders love is bringing

Floating in my mind like endless butterflies a’ winging

Melodies of love as every meadowlark is singing

And I dream…oh I dream~



People rushing by

At an endless rate of hurry

With their boot straps in a bind

You can see their frowning faces

That new watch upon their arms

Flashing minutes changing hours

Till the meetings that they meet

And the notes they will be taking

Still my every thought is you

And I dream



~My heart it skips a beat within the rhythm of your smile

Sea shells on a beach now dance in ocean waving style

Meadows filled with green where we may lay a little while

And I dream…oh I dream~



Traffic jams ensue

Waving fists and shouting plenty

Driving slower than a snail

Move along we’re in a hurry

But the radio does play

I ignore the mass confusion

For the song that I now hear

Is the one you like to dance to

For my every thought is you

And I dream



~Cotton candy clouds project the colors of the evening

In and out of life with all the happiness now weaving

I am coming home, your open arms so soon receiving

*And I dream…oh I dream~
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.
 Jul 2014 Poppy Propper
Louise
□   ... he tried to piece together
                               her
                                  soul
                      ­  with words

          they were scattered
                                   poetically
                                     'clinging'
      
            in an attempt
               to occupy the hollow darkness□
 Jul 2014 Poppy Propper
Grez
Yes

   You are wonderful

            These words were for no one
                          About nobody

But take them, now they're yours.
Believe them stranger.
Wear an unforced smile, with pride.
Believe those words strangers.
If I make you smile, I guess I'm wonderful too.
Every single one of you are wonderful, for everything I've read and related to, laughed to, thought on and welled up on. You're all wonderful.
 Jun 2014 Poppy Propper
SG Holter
Cash, card and mobile, please.*
Had his hood on and made a tough

Face of some sorts as he flashed
What looked like a blade, only

Smaller. Sorry, mate. My phone
Is in my hotel room, my money is

All somewhere between my kidneys
And liver, but I have these two

Fists, and I'm losing my girlfriend as
We speak, so PLEASE come closer

With that pathetic excuse for a knife,  
So I can use it to pick what's left of

Your heart from my teeth after
My anger is vented.

I don't care if it's Islington;
Did you hear about the Viking at

Stamford Bridge? I'm back.
Don't
Ever mug a Norwegian.

Don't ever try to mug a Norwegian.
Don't ever try to mug a Norwegian

Poet. I still have £200 in
My pocket. And a tongue as sharp

As anything I've ever been
Threatened with. Boy.
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