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 Sep 2016
Dark n Beautiful
She had just finish smoking the ****,
Then she decided to write a poem about smoking the joint
Or was it before she wrote the poem, or after she smoke the ****
Was the poem triggered by the ****, or did the **** triggered a write?
Does it matter now, after she rolled the **** into written words and smoke her ideas.
  

Al Cash once wrote that
*My soul absorbs you, my mind inhales your essence, and you confirm my life.” *
She usually took an aspirin after a terrible headache
But thinking out loud now she should have taken the aspirin before the headache
Or before she smoke the ****, that lead to the write
That eventually brought about the poem, which causes a migraine
Now her body reacts to the Drunken Sailor Syndrome
So once again never swallow a spider to **** a fly: just purge.

Never write a poem while smoking the ****,
Poetry is life natural high, an untimely wave that never
Cease to amaze us.
 Sep 2016
Elizabeth Squires
swans and swanettes
all clamoured to dance
with the cygnet's undesirable
admission's prance

they didn't know that this male
was such a bragging exposure
and would strip their secrets
leaving them without composure

a waltzing of blackmail
was called in his revelation
the lovely feathered ones
trust divulged as intimidation

they only saw the charade
of this not so perfect ballroom chap
who'd tell all if they were unwilling
to twirl on his spin's tap

in fear lived the honeys    
of his fox trotting troupe
as their private steps
would be made an open coupe
 Sep 2016
Elizabeth Squires
should any perverts be at the site
report them it's a legal rite
of this approach there is no skite
on girls they'll bite, on girls they'll bite

innocent ones are the sought kind
those who've a tenderness of rind
the deviant holds ills in mind
sickness of bind, sickness of bind

stamp out the paedophiles online
inform police of distorted twine
the law aids the vulnerable spine
ensnare this swine, ensnare this swine
 Sep 2016
Cheyenne
Color me happy
Color me wise
Color in colors
Only seen through your eyes

Color in scribbles
Color outside the lines
Color a picture
That is quite unlike mine
 Sep 2016
Ma Cherie
****,
alluring
Petting,
purring
your eyes
your smile ....
been
awhile
sundressed
caressed
turquoise
dreams
silent
screams
sweet
perfume
dreaming
looms
dance 'round...
  lovely
sounds
come in  close
need a dose...
don't
take eyes
or try
to pry
my hands
off  
of you

my boy
blue
loving
true
sigh
I try...
said I
wouldn't,
couldn't
shouldn't
do it ...
blew it
I did it
again
not JUST
friends
getting
  drink
by  
kitchen sink
on the brink
drunken
.... sunken
loving you
  tonight
feeling right
your gentle
hands
**** man

as we move
in a groove
wanna fly....
no goodbyes
touching skin...
moving in
red lipstick
did the trick
your here

so queer
I look...
a crook
theif in the night
a delight
the empty
waiting paper
perhaps
I thought
a caper
beckoning
my wanting
haunting
skin
as we begin
lean into kiss...
can't miss

a fulfilled wish
puckered fish
waiting lips
& fingertips....
seducing,
reducing
breaking
shaking
inhibitions
down
drown...
                  i
                   ­ n
                      g
writing,
fighting
burning,
learning
I am stuck
thunderstruck
frightning
lightning
so exciting
a giant puddle of ink...
you think
you can
make me
take me..
then
forsake me?
leave me
bearing
after sharing
seductive
words
still unheard
my point of inspiration
doubting
in frustration
bleeding...
needing
just
another

...... poem...
and a beautiful burden you are.


Cherie Nolan © 2016 *smile
started this for fun yesterday and I never know where the stuff is going or where it came from really... errr yeah.
Metaphorically speaking...
point of inspiration- person..
place or thing? Was about writing poetry though thoughts, what you think?... hmmmm....food for thought anyway! Have a beautiful day!
 Sep 2016
ryn
We double over...
Curse of the weighty tombstone
tolling upon our backs.

We mull over...
If the string was pulled too taut;
If it deserved more slack.

We pretend to get over...
While we go to sleep
on a bed of scattered tacks.

Tomorrow will see us
keeling over...
Unfound...
Undiscovered...
Hidden along uncharted tracks.
 Sep 2016
Roger Turner - Poet
Last night I went out for a beer
Down to my local bar
While I was there I do believe
I saw a falling star

I ordered up a beer and shot
Sat down, to waste some time
When I heard a gruff voice rumble
Two seats down from mine

"Shut that juke box off barkeep"
"I can't stand to hear that voice"
"I'd rather rip my ears off"
"If I truly had the choice"

The barkeep wandered back a bit
Turned the sound down for a while
I kept on at my beer and then
I ordered two more, with a smile

"Send one down to him" I said
"Let him pick a song on me"
"He can choose whatever song he wants"
"And tell him, this one's free"

The barkeep served the beer on up
The man turned and looked my way
He said "I thank you for the beer, kind sir"
"But there's nothing there to play"

About an hour passed before
The band took to the stage
They broke into an old, old song
And the man, yelled out with rage

"I don't need to hear that song"
"I hate it, don't you know"
"Play anything else you want to play"
"But, cut that from your show"

The band continued playing
The man got mad as hell
"I hate that song, I told you"
"You can all now go to hell"

I watched the barkeep move in
He whispered close so none could hear
The man, sat back in silence
I wonder what was whispered in his ear

I ordered up a beer for me,
With two shots, and then moved stools
When I got beside me
He said "Do you think that I'm a fool?"

I said, "just have a drink bud"
"Let the band play what they want"
Then he turned and looked on through me
With dead eyes and face so gaunt

"Son, I wrote that ****** song"
"I sang it all my life"
"I wrote it for the one I loved"
"She used to be my wife"

"While I was  singing songs for her"
"She was flat out on her back"
"For everyone who came for me"
"She had two more in the sack"

"I used to play the music boy"
"And I used to play it well"
"Now, I'm just a stinking drunk"
"With one foot set in hell"

"I used to have a tour bus"
"Play two hundred shows a year"
"Now, I sit and wallow"
"I live on charity and beer"

"I started drinking on the road"
"Couldn't sing, I couldn't feel"
"I couldn't sing the words I wrote"
"The feeling wasn't real"

"I fell into a bottle, son"
"About ten years ago"
"I haven't reached the bottom yet"
"I've still a ways to go"

"She took my words away from me"
"Stomped my heart and made it dust"
"She took all I ever had"
"My words, my love, my trust"

"I thank you for the beer boy"
"But, I am just a hopeless case"
"I used to be a someone once"
"Now, I take up space"

The barkeep, set up two more beers
He said "These one's here  are free"
"Your words, they still have meaning"
"At least they do...to me"

The band struck up another
It was one that we all new
I could see him start to shaking
I guess he wrote this too

He told me boy "it's kinda tough"
"Knowing all I had is dead"
"I keep hearing myself singing these"
"But, only in my head"

"Three nights a week I spend the night"
"At the lockup, drunk as hell"
"Because, I just can't stand to hear my songs"
"And the stories that they tell"

I finished up, and shook his hand
Paid my tab and turned to go
From behind me, I heard "thank you"
"I just thought that you should know"

Tonight, I went out for a beer
I went to my local bar
Two seats from me I guess I saw
A real life falling star.
Once upon a time
Lived a princess of golden hair
Fancied by creatures of every clime
For she was but so fair

One day whilst in a wood
There came an angel of death
smilingly disguised in a hood
Fervently craving her breath

Being in a deep slumber
She couldn't see this beast
For it thus marked a number
A death spell upon her wrist

Ding ****, castle bells rang
Slumbering she couldn't hear
Despite they were loudly bang
Soon the realm buzzed with fear

With a voice so hard and cold
Need her here! Roared the king
She's but more precious than gold
Said the queen! Thus you must bring

There were blowing of horns
By huntsmen alongside trumpets
Accompanied by crying of hounds
But still she was as deaf as a puppet

She'll never hear! Said one witch
Despite how loud you ring the bell
You must be daft! Insolent *****
Cried the queen! you deserve in hell

She has a death spell thus haunted
whilst simpering yelled another witch
Dummy gorgon! She must be hunted
Cried the king! Thus dare not screech

Soon she was found laying on grass
With not a single bone of her broken
Though she was as pale as a glass*
For her breath had been taken*



©Kikodinho Alexandros
29th August 2016

Honestly, I thank a poet friend so dear to me "Stephanie Stoychevska" to have inspired such a colorful piece!
Tale of a princess who went missing and later found dead by the edge of a Moor despite for she still bore a smile upon her physiognomy as though in a sweet dream!!!
 Aug 2016
Elizabeth Squires
from the pile of ashes
the figure arose
in a Phoenix
like pose

his wings were blackened
by the fire's torch
the feathers bore the marks
of an inferno's scorch

forever he'd wear
the burn's scarring
as a reminder
of his marring

from the pile of ashes
the figure arose
in a Phoenix
like pose

on spread wings
in the heavens
he again soars
ascending above
the flame's
raging roars

his being flying free
a mythical flight
rising to cast off
the searing's blight

from the pile of ashes
the figure arose
in a Phoenix
like pose
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