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 Mar 2015
Jacob Christopher
They say,
old habits die hard.
Don't I know it.
I put down the bottle for a while,
picked it back up.
Older now, more refined.
Bourbon,
instead of the cheap rot gut,
of my youth.
It all kills you in the end.
Still can't go out in public.
Teeth grinding,
Who's the enemy?
Who's the snake in this crowd?
Do I have my weapon?
Constantly clutching leather bound steel,
haven't needed the blade,
in a long time,
but must always be ready.
Marlb menthols,
pack a day, at least.
Smoke one to take the edge off,
there's always an edge.
Serial monogamist,
constantly striving for love,
hopeless romantic.
Hopelessly falling for women so venomous,
they could teach vipers,
a thing or two.
Picked up
a couple new ones but,
the old habits die hard
 Mar 2015
Madeysin
Kids, got a hole in their soul, in the shape of their father.
A void not easily healed, or shut up tight like you'd like it to be.
It hurts a lot, but I'll make it through.
Mommy and me, never you.
Ryan, and Luke, and kolby.
I'll never meet you, but at least he told me.
AT LEAST HE TOLD ME OF YOUR EXISTENCE.
NOT OUT OF KINDNESS OR GRACE.
BECAUSE HE PICKED YOU GUYS OVER ME.
ILL HAVE TO BE OKAY WITH THAT MOM SAYS SHE SAYS A LOT OF THINGS BUT I DONT AGREE WITH MOST THINGS AND MOST THINGS WELL, WE NEVER SEE EYE TO EYE BECAUSE MOST THINGS DESTROY ME FROM THE INSIDE OUT I WANTED TO KNOW A FATHERS LOVE NOT JUST ANY FATHER BUT YOU. A kids got a hole in their soul, in the shape of their father. Mines shaped like you.
being sappy is what I do. You're the one who reads it all the time
 Mar 2015
Mike Hauser
I see words appear in the air
I ****** them up as they're floating there
Placing them gently onto the page
They help to write, what I have to say

They're mixed together with dashes and dots
Which eventually become punctuation marks
I still have a few I keep chilled in the fridge
When I need a sentence to end I crack open the lid

Apparently I'm the only one who can see
This cache of words that swirl in the breeze
Which is fine by me cause it gives me the time
To pick and choose what's needed for the perfect rhyme
 Mar 2015
Jamie King
.          IF I WERE A POET

                             The
                     First stanza
                     would be a      
       magnatic attic captivating
            Elegant architects of
                     iridescence  
                        Vividly
       propelling pupils to edges
                 Of the schleras        
        Compelling pens to pages
                    of new eras
    

            IF I WERE A POET
                                
                         ­              The
                              Second
                 Stanza would
             Mirror Zues's
          spear slicing through
        tears drowning in clouds
         striking fields of pens
                        Egniting the
                    capsules of
                 Variegated
               Lands


            IF I WERE A POET

                            The
                     Last stanza
             would sail summers
           tame winters bathe in  
         springs of autumn praise  
           deeds of the monarchs
           reigning over raining
           rainbows nurturing the
         clouds planting wings on
       the ground giving free will
          to plants to seed the sky  
           with warmth and love
                of nature's heart.
Hello poets
I haven't written in a while hope I'm not rusty
 Mar 2015
Joe Cole
Yes they brought me home
Torn in body and mind
Claimed I was a hero
On the day I should have died

They carried me on a stretcher
So they could pin a medal on my chest
But was it really a tribute
To a man now close to death

My body now a shattered wreck
But a mind still so sharp and clear
I can hear their whispers
Resonating in my ears

This was the girl I married
The one who said that she was mine
She's still with me but with another
Living in a world of lies

Why? It wasn't my fault
That the I.E.D went up
And turned my fragile body
Into a mess of ****** pulp

So I can no long perform
Can no longer be a man
But was that a good enough reason
For you to find another man

You think that I don't know the truth
Shed silent tears in the dark of night
I lost my body but not my mind
On the day I should have died

What worth the marriage vows
When things don't go your way
What now the worthless words
She spoke to me that day

I left here as a man
Kissed my wife and said goodbye
Got blown up and shattered on a foreign field
I lived but wish now that I had died
This is all to often the bitter truth. I have never been to Afghanistan but in my 24 years of service I saw this so many times
 Mar 2015
SøułSurvivør
---#---

there's a big dark smudge
where your heart has bled
rubbin'out stains with my eraserhead
puttin' in what I want instead
I ignore the scarlet,  rusty red
don't want it soakin'
my daily bread
innocent people
in whiteness wed
I forget all that I've read
all is fine... don't count the dead

can't see the jungle for the trees
we're all dyin' by degrees
we slowly boil... we slowly freeze
we sail in boats
that chug and wheeze
just go on... life's mysteries
are too much for our minds to seize

could you pass another paper please?


soulsurvivor
(c) 2014
rewritten
(c) 3-18-2015
we are all in our little bitty boats
afraid taking another problem
aboard will capsize us

we don't realize at times
THIS IS THE PROBLEM!

---#---
I never knew how the roses you grew
the myna flapped again broken wings
soils thirsted for touch of you
longed for your gift of saplings!

I never knew the depth of your eyes
reaching to the densest of bush
I only snapped the mating butterflies
the day end’s scurrying mongoose!

I never knew what hidden key
was in you to unlock the door
to be in a world yours only
with a sky for limitless soar!

I would never know why said you
when at dusk I pointed afar
*your eyes and my eyes together make two
please never show me a lone star!
 Mar 2015
CA Guilfoyle
This valley, belly and backboned
a blanket of snow - stitched and gone
textured trees, willows wind blown
here where an early moon heaven still hovers
here amid the last smoking sky of cold
a chirping of morning birds unfolds
singing a gleeful goodbye to the moon night
winging before the sunrise
the blooming of daffodil springtime
and too, wisteria tangled vines will climb
reach for the calm of violet skies.
 Mar 2015
Francie Lynch
On the Emerald Isle when the brier's green,
Occur strange sights seldom seen.
There's golden rainbows and small clay pipes,
And wee folk dancing every night.

I've heard stories of the leprechaun, but
Before I see 'em they're usually gone.
Yet one green misty night in the brier,
I saw them jigging round the fire.

Sean and I were in green Irish woods,
Gathering shamrocks and just being good.
While searching near a hidden creek,
We heard faint giggles from fifty feet.

Near the giggles grew a small green fire,
Perhaps six inches high - no higher.
We crouched low for a better look,
To our surprise we saw a small green cook.

He wore a tall green hat and pulled-up socks,
And stirred a *** of simmering shamrocks.
Smoke curled from his pipe of clay,
Why, I remember his grin still today.

A band of gold encircled his brim,
My little finger seemed bigger than him.
He had golden buckles and a puggish nose,
Glimmering eyes and curly toes.

Sweet music floated on wings of air,
Fifty-one leprechauns were dancing near.
They passed the poteen with a smack of their lips,
As each in turn took a good Gaelic sip.

Suddenly the gaiety quickly slowed down.
Sure we were that we'd been found.
But they all looked north with reverent faces,
Bowed their heads, stood still in their places.

The banshee's wailing was heard afar,
O'erhead the Death Coach had a full car.
The wee folk respect, it must be said,
Erin's children when they're dead.

Soon flying fast through the green night air,
We spied King Darby hurrying near.
He rode atop his beloved steed,
O'er dales and glens, woods and mead.

His hummingbird lighted on a leaf,
And all the wee folk knelt beneath.
With a golden smile he waved to all,
To officially begin The Leprechaun Ball.

Tiny green fiddlers fiddled their fiddles,
That sounded just like ten thousand giggles.
Dancers danced on mists of green,
Pipers piped, but none were seen.

They danced and ate and passed the ladle,
And kicked up their heels to Irish reels.
We enjoyed the sight late into the night,
But suddenly they gave us a terrible fright.

They saw us cowering behind the trees,
So they cast a spell which made us freeze.
We'd heard what happens to caught spies,
That now are spiders, toads or flies.

Well, old King Darby drew us near,
Sean and I were in a terrible fear.
With a grin and a snap he made us small,
And requested our presence at the Leprechaun Ball.

We reeled and laughed with our new found friends,
'Til the green mist lifted to signal the end.
With a glean in his eye the good King said:
"'Tis sure'n the hour yous be abed."

He waved his shillelagh to return our height,
Wished us well and bade good-night.
And as they rode the winds away
I suddenly remembered it was St. Patrick's Day.

I'm sure the lot of you think me a blarney liar, but that night I assure you
I danced 'round a green fire.
 Mar 2015
SøułSurvivør
^¡^

/\^/\/\^^/\^^/\/\


like a wraith your smoke doth rise
into sulphur yellow skies
a fiery raptor... awesome sized
where the sultry brimstone lies.

from the ash... so grey and dry
erupting with a piercing cry
as volcanoes steam and sigh
dancing on the sparks you fly!

the devil mounts your back to ride
over molten rivers wide
his golden spurs dig in your side
on the thermals... up you glide!

then you turn and make a dive
into the flames
where you may thrive
born of fire you survive
you were dead...

but now ALIVE!!!


soulsurvivor
(c) 2014
rewritten
(c) 3-17-2015
^/\/\^^/\/\/\^^
 Mar 2015
Tiberias Paulk
Small minded bigots with slack jawed reflections
howl haphazardly at the front of the class
slurring and spewing thoughts cultivated
by the bowels of ignorance their heads in the sand
and yet gallantly grasping at things far beyond them
will mix their agenda in with **** and mud
 Mar 2015
Hayleigh
I miss the way my name slipped through your lips the way water slips through finger tips
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