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 Apr 2016
taia
a rose oh so pure
blooms in the garden corner
all too overlooked
 Apr 2016
Ja
It’s so easy to be pleasant
If your life, flows like a song
But, it’s hard to be so cheerful
If the lyrics, have gone wrong
WIZDUMBs BY JA 457
 Apr 2016
martin
He was cruel
was old man Venn

He'd tie two cats' tails together tight
Hang them on the washing line
Stand there laughing
Watch them fight

Different folk, different times
different days back then
But he was cruel
Was old man Venn
 Apr 2016
Peter Cullen
Darkness hiding in the tree's.
A lonely crossroads.
No man's land.
Ancient rituals.
Ancient tortures.
Blood,
upon the soil
and sand.

Through the hills,
a shadow seeker.
Seeking out somewhere to lie.
A lonely soul,
lost with the seasons.
Underneath
a blood red sky.

And as the blood dries,
on the tarmac.
A winning smile, a wicked fate.
Gypsy ghosts,
no longer vocal.
Shadows waiting
at the gates.

Through the hills,
a shadow seeker.
Lost upon the darkness still
A lonely soul,
Lost with the seasons,
Forever lost
and wandering.
 Apr 2016
Ronney
Eventually we all burnout

To wear the mask is a work out

But it's comfort in the form of a hideout

Used to lockout

All self doubt

But we all break down

As

thick skin, thins out

____

be aware that the people that seem to have the
thickest skin have the softest hearts holding all the  feelings in waiting for a time when its okay to Break apart

That's mostly on their own, so that no one knows  *how Much they hurt
 Apr 2016
niamh
You're not gone.
You just live
Beyond a thin curtain
That one day
I will pull back
And you will take my hand
And guide me through.
And the days from here
Til then
Are the blink of an eye
And a slow rolling tear.
 Apr 2016
wordvango
But I was at times a loser
all caught up in self obsessions
feeling life was
a game to be played
take what you can

Kind of thing
Get high at every chance
a hyper active poor white boy
who had several Homeboys numbers
they took every cent I had

I earned my respect the day I hit
rock bottom, though I was still labeled by the
police, as a rotten toothed addict,
now if I could just gain

what respect anyone who has the will
power to change, is deserving of,
had my run-ins with the law,
had them spit in my face

act tough, I caught on, they have to,
a job is a job, but I have noticed
we all, the police the crackheads the dealers
are mostly hypocrites.

Except one or two cops, and a few dealers,
and one or two addicts
who are just trying to survive.
Inspired by Mark Cleavenger's poem 'Wasn't Always a Cop'
There are good people on both sides of everything!
 Apr 2016
SøułSurvivør
I sketch a face
strong of bone
'tis my love
'tis my own

planes of cheek
line of jaw
insistent flesh
sinews raw

something female
in your long curls
but it's plain
that you like girls

I consider
as I mix the paint
I wish to render,
captivate

your sweet fleshtones
rich and warm
The tan quality
of arm

mixing pink
burnt umber, gold
I use brushstrokes
deft and bold

a touch of green
'round your eye's fire
black pupils swollen
with desire

chestnut hair
and eyes of blue
I have finally
captured you

won't put this painting
on my wall
'nor place it in
an attic small

I'll place it in
my heart's museum
a room where
I will always see him

he'll be near
I'll bring him hence
always in remembrance

in him life
I will embue
he is the imagery of

YOU


SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/10/2016
For my love

I'm sorry I haven't been reading!
Life is hectic for me these days
I want to rectify this today!
 Apr 2016
Paul Butters
People like that I speak plain.
They don’t like when poets are vain.
Hope they love this little refrain.
Think I’ll do it, again and again.

Flowery language isn’t always for me,
I keep my verses wandering free.
Simple words do hold the key,
So a sapling becomes a tree.

Paul Butters
A few nice rhymes.
 Apr 2016
wordvango
just a leaf left
on the pillow next to me
now, a whisper of smoke
vapor tracing your path

out the door
going back to the
limb I stole you from,
the place you must return

I rake my bed for more,
try to make
a place
for you to fall

again, next time.
 Apr 2016
Denel Kessler
I am a borrower
collecting things that shine
all stashed in cracks and hidey-holes
where the rafters meet the roof
in the basement floorboards
lift one and you'll see
the treasures I've collected
two gorgeous glassy eyes
seven gilded antique buttons
a bouquet of sweetly fragrant lilies
a gleaming jar of pixie dust
three noble barristers
an Irishman netting butterfly dreams
a sorceress of the endless prairie
windmills like soldiers all in a line
the saddest porcelain doll
a small brown bear
trains screaming by on underground rails
a sprinkling of desert blooms
six jack-in-the-boxes so I'm always surprised
the hairless stuffed dog that bit me as a child
a Rickenbacker bass softly riffing the blues
a farmer's Ovation to accompany my woes
seashells that sing the ocean breeze
a merman from the Northern seas
tucked away in every space
packed within each sweet hollow
these simple pleasures I have borrowed
 Mar 2016
ryn
.

He doesn't realise...
The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground.
Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound.

He doesn't see...
Past the darkened lenses that she dons.
She wears them,
not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken,
but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations.

He doesn't know...
Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her.
The rivulets of tears...
She had quietly shed without a whimper.

He doesn't hear...
The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head.
The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said.

He doesn't care...
To think of the devastating waves that come.
Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures...
This frail wall that she prays for nightly.
Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour.

He doesn't feel...
The need for empathy.
For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower.
He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments
and his fists as sceptre.

She doesn't live...
To see future suns.
For her day finally set when it all came down.
The wall she had feebly held together with her life...
Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife.

.
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