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I am cold, the chilling winds.... the feeling ever so old
Told from the bottom of my heart, an endless story tears me apart
Like a sharp pointed tip from the end of a dart
Did stab through the pit of my cold black heart.

I'm alive on the out, but inside I'm dead throughout,
from the cold bitter wind continuing about
it numbs me to the point of a desperate feeling
wishing that I wasn't feeling so beaten.....

Now I wish I was Happy
Something once as told by my pappy
"Find your smile for something, you'll find that millionth mile"
and with that said there was no more denial.

Like a lonely pile adrift
Floating on the bluest seas, my conscious begins to drift
pushed by that cold chilling wind
discerned on an ocean discovered only in myth.

My broken body and mind freezes
Like a broken record that never stops rephrases
I'm alive by the cold biting wind
that never stops blowing
.....Or so it begins
 Nov 2017 Crandall Branch
Iska
have you ever said a word
over and over and over again,
until it sounds like a jumble of sounds
or read it over and over so much that
the letters swim and blur
until the word looks and sounds so ridiculous,
foreign on your ears,
like it suddenly doesn't mean anything..
its just a pile of letters and a gurgle of your voice?

that's what your name is now to me.
its been so long....
that i never had to say it over and over
or read it a million times....
you just faded away.
A butterfly winks at a rose
Attracted by her perfumes
Tweaks fine filament nose
Lady likes me, he assumes
Her flaming pink petal lips
Enticing him to land a kiss
Hovers wings flickers flips
Lips, closer, closer to meet
He retracts, no, maybe not
Sorry love he couldn't do it
Fooled em all the time a lot
Go fly you flirtatious tweet
The pawns are lining abreast shoulder to shoulder.                     The King the queen rooks knights and bishops are ready and both side are ready awaiting for the mysterious hands to lift them up from their spots. The ancient game can commence.
The papers neatly stacked. The pen in the olden days is inked poised for a poet's hand to place it onto the blank piece of paper to begin its journey.
The pieces are moved in turn one after the other until a player concedes and defeated.
The poet placed words one followed by another until the work is completed.
Whether one play like a patzer or grandmaster depends on one's knowledge and mental capacity.
Similarly a poet through experience will write according to the level to a given technical know how foresight and mental ability.
Poetry is the art of expression of mind with words through every known emotional state. The art of crafting words with awe.
Chess the art of intellectual intelligence of territorial *******. The art of war.
Poetry and chess are like art mathematics science and music and both are life.
The attitude in chess is to play well and mine is a quest to write my best. To write what I like and to like what I wrote.
And to write till my pen ends its traveling
The King is checkmated the game is over
I won't be a Hardy a Frost or a Browning
I am but a pawn and an incorrigible rhymer.
Poetry and chess needs the faculty of the human brain to manifest a desire to create something beautifully tangible.
there's a lone seal swimming by the sea
hunting for silvers with heartless glee
a fish shy there, another one wiggling there
who really cares
for his table always set for one
darkness his day in the sun
still he takes to the rolling tides
lone, but ******* in his pride
one day his eyes pique a double look
as a mermaid pops out of his storybook
stunning as a little light filters in
as she swooshes by, waving her fins
she's a sparkled beauty from head to toe
her consonance and shine, lighting his mojo
growing hunger and his drive keep following her
on the ocean floor she shimmers
between the rocks she dances
one step she be in harmony to his glances
he drives a barked out calling
so raw and appalling
shivers crawling down her back
as he arf, arf's another attack
alarmed with his lack of renaissance
like she should be, she didn't offer a response
as she keeps shimmering past the rocks
racing, racing away from any further talk
broken, he retreats to his mind
the missing piece he'll never find
there's a lone mermaid swimming by the sea
and a lone seal barking of what could be

Logan Robertson

11/13/2017
This could be the story of my life. Some say my delivery is bad. My tone is worse. Ha. I'm just a seal that loves bobbing a ball on his nose.
C.     Escape.      my.     rage .         C
A.             its                                     A
N.                  breaking                   G
'T.    .  Out.         of.        this           E


The
animal
within
is
ready
to
win
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