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 Nov 2014
Abbi
I believe there is a destiny for everyone
I believe there is someone out there for everyone
We spend our lives looking for both

But at night
When everyone sleeps
My mind wanders

And I ask myself
Do these things exist
Or are we spending too much time looking
When we should be waiting
 Nov 2014
Poetic T
It hung delicately upon it,
Yet not touching.
All was surrounded
It was like clouds had
Wished to kiss the ground,
Moisture,  
Condensation,
Breath,
Suspended between
Heaven
&
Earth.
Each so close caressing between each,
Condensing into a lingering touch,
Dew
Mist
Haze
A gentle breeze like breath.
Exhales, the beads between both
For this moment removed, they nearly
Were one, caressed a lingering never touch.
And moved on, till the next time
Sky gently caresses upon the *Earth.
 Nov 2014
Amitav Radiance
The salty river
flowed over the wound,
healing it
-the scars remain
 Oct 2014
Poetic T
Testaments wrote in language
Of old
Incantations,
Spells,
Elixirs,
To put hair on your chest,
"But accidents can happen"
Never sniff the jar full of mystery
Or you'll nose about it for weeks,
Platting,
Braiding,
Partings,
Upon it, styles just to hide the sight
Its growing from your nose in fact,
Do you like my
Moustache,
As you
Sneeze,
And then the secrets are out,
Mischief with papers of old  
Noses shouldn't go
"Where noses shouldn't go"
Incantations,
Spells,
Elixirs,  
Are for professionals, not those
"Nosy individuals"
Who should put things
Where they should nose they shouldn't go..
 Oct 2014
Hayley Cusick
the problem is,
I never really wanted to be loved.
held and kissed,
maybe.
but my heart has always been my own.
cherished by no one.
only crushed when hope was
left to roam.
 Oct 2014
SøułSurvivør
po r tr. y. or t.  r y  o.   y po  e t.   r
p.e d  et r. y po  e. t. ry po.  e.   try
p.   o.  e. t.    r. y    p.  o.  e.   t.  r. y
p .   o    e.         tr.     y
///\//\\//\\///\/////\\//\/\\/\/////\///\//////\///
poetry gives roots to your hearts
The little lines under the
Raindrop letters
Is supposed to be grass
 Oct 2014
Musfiq us shaleheen
/
When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly

When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity

Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme

Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm

You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically

You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously

The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic  

Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Tribute to Robert Frost, my beloved poet
Based on the theme and thoughts of Robert Frost.
 Oct 2014
Xyns
It truly amazes me
That after so much

All the words you said
All the things you did
All the feelings you caused

That you can just stop
And you can just leave
And, to you,
I never meant a thing

..........................................................­.............................


It truly amazes me
 Oct 2014
Kite
If only I could get
a breath of fresh air
A telescope through the sand
Sifting through grains of unwanted thought and unwanted feelings
To the cool, clean, crisp air.

Air would be so nice right now.
 Oct 2014
Exposed
Do you love me?

It's been less than a year
Since I met you here.
I didn’t know you well
But well enough to know
That I loved you.

Yes, you’ve broken my heart
But I want to give you another chance
To fix it.
I still have those old stitches
But when you pull them away
It will be a new slate
Fresh with no pain.

Love me back or not
At least I know I fought.
I fought a war to gain your love
And though I may have lost
It was at no cost.

Only a few more stitches
Hi Guys! My first poem because I felt in the mood to write. I don't know much about poetry but I put this out there anyways. Any and all feedback is welcome!
The dreaded Halloween Dog

Teamed up with Franken-Frog

Along with the Vampire Bat

Also the terrible Zombie Rat

The world would be theirs

As long as there were no bears

Because that is what they feared

Grizzlies that were long earred

Now the hero called Mister Toad

He was with Brave Kitty the Bold

Toad said "these fiends we must stop"

"Come with me, time to hop"

For days they battled the four

Until battered bruised and sore

Mister Toad had a trick up his sleeve

Something they would never believe

Vampire Bat was the first to fall

A giant robot bunny hit him like a ball

No one knows if he will be seen soon

He was last known to be orbitting the moon

Zombie Rat tried to put up a bitter fight

But that robot bunny held him tight

He never did make a sound

As he was buried far underground

But Franken-Frog battled to the end

Then robot bunny became his best friend

They went on holiday on a plane

Now enjoying the sun in Spain

So Halloween Dog stole all the gold

Waved at Mister Toad and Brave Kitty the Bold

Decided it was time to run away

Then come back and fight another day
 Oct 2014
r
artifacts arranged
chronologically -

flint and wood
allied with cordage -

sharp-edged bronze and iron
- a skull with cut marks
beside a copper
-tipped alloy bullet

on the shelf between
war and peace
and anthropology -
an anthology

- details emerge
in the painting
- killing is our nature
and dying

- a still life.

r ~ 10/26/14
\¥/\
  |     •
/ \
There once was a mime
Who committed a crime
He spoke just one time

But people out for a walk
They heard him talk
Down by the corn stalk

Then the mayor said
We will make him dead
Off with his head

He ran as fast as he could
The mime knew he would
Be killed if he should

He came across a fairy
Her name was Little Mary
She smelt of strawberry

Silently, he started to cry
The fairy wondered why
People wanted him to die

She took his hand
But he could understand
It was time for another land

The mime was never found
For he lives under the ground
Where he never makes a sound
Copyright Chris Smith 2014
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