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 Aug 2017
wordvango
it's gonna be dry one day
when it finally stops raining
down here in old Alabam'

seems to be either drought
or tsunami rain forest ****
down here these places

Outside the puddles
are taking over, the farmers
always proclaiming catastrophe.

like drug dealers, I used to know
they don't want you to realize
their prosperity

or find their two ounces stashed
buried near that peanut plant
in the field

or the fifty thousand cash
 Aug 2017
Daniel Irwin Tucker
You don't give a glass of water
  To a drowning man
And you don't throw a thirsty man  
  Into the deep blue sea

Yet I drank deep of that glass
  Though my lungs were full of water
And thanked you for the refreshing swim
  As I gulped the briny down.
©2017 Daniel Irwin Tucker
All Rights Reserved.

just fill-in-the-blanks ------ ------ ------

"Ok, thank you. Now just stand there while i move this nice showcase of our Royal Dalton outside. Good bull. Now slowly turn around  (crash) ... thats ok, I'll clean it up later. What's that? Oh, it's just stuff to eat and drink out of ... bone china is just made of old bones anyhow; don't worry about it...
 Aug 2017
-
Funny
I guess this heart
is a parking lot

Sometimes full,
often empty
 Aug 2017
Jonesy
I* remember it like yesterday ,
The sun was shining brightly,
Birds were singing gaily
And bees were getting their daily lunch from their neighboring flowers.
Nature took its place on the throne with its beauty.

I remember it like yesterday,
It was an important phone call,
The one I wished I never answered.
Like on cue,
Grey clouds began to cover the sun's yellow face,
And the butterflies disappeared for the day.

I remember it like yesterday,
Nature and I were one.
We both cried that day,
Filled with gloom and looking grey.
Tear after tear kissed my cheek,
As rain drop by raindrop splattered on my roof.

I remember it like yesterday,
Something went terribly wrong,
How could it be?
She was never able to see the beautiful sunlight that I have experienced for these seventeen years now,
Never will she be able to breathe air,
Walk,
Be loved.

I remember it like yesterday,
It was so dark,
And it was only morning,
A bright morning turned as dark as night.
A day like this was to be joyful,
Seeing my new born cousin,
But I'll only be seeing her,
Dead.


Jonesy 2017 ©
Today my cousin died
 Aug 2017
Jonesy
The skies cry, and the winds howl like wolves on a night of a full moon,
The waves shout with thunderous sounds as they try their best to comfort the sky with their high jumps.
Boats and ships alike hideaway between tidal waves as the fish living underneath them scurry away,
Bracing themselves for the storm up ahead.

Clash Boom
The bipolar sky seemed to give way to the sun,
But she soon started to cry again.
Her wrath beat down on all of those who begged her mercy,
The trees cleared her a path.
The houses obeyed her presence and gave her their roofs as gifts.


Jonesy 2017 ©
They bring with them the baggage of men
the lost children attempting pathetically
to recreate the aura of time long gone.

If you discount the roughness of skin
travel past the thick hedge of beard
penetrate the silt on the eroded eyes
you can delayer the hardened coats
and get to see  faces barely recognizable.

Some were once too close to be missed
their names and all
but most you could hardly recall
and it agonizes your thought
were they in the same class or not.

You smile till your jaws ache
fetching stories from the blue
dazzlingly colored and half true
for they are all in the mood
to joyfully succumb to falsehood.

You could tell from the body language
who's  in the backburner
and who on the front page.

Forty years break and make men
but they feign happiness
to be united again.
 Jul 2017
Jeff Stier
A questionable son
the one
who chose auto repair
and serial monogamy
finds the golden road
to Washington, D.C. respectability

What does his father do?
He buys him a briefcase

And everything followed
and flowed
from that mineral moment

A career
a wife, in time
a briefcase never used
but full of good wishes
murmurs
and marching orders

The road ahead
seemed wide open
stretching west
into a golden glow
and open it was
purged of hindrance
by the workings of time

So here am I
that golden road
now behind me

Life seems a sand castle
on a castle of sand
with the tide pouring in

It is that last ember
glowing as the fire
goes dark

Tomorrow and tomorrow
beckon from a fabled future
they bid me adieu

I can smell the scent
of decay in this
warm summer's wind
kiss the sweetness of it
on my lips

I do not part willingly
hold out my hand
for every shred of
summer's light

But at the end of it
pack my poor bag
and make a crow's march
home
where I belong
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