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Days of Rain
Day of tears, brings rain
Days of scented gardenia filled the open air
With perfume: Day of rejoicing for two lovers
Prince Harry and Megan making weddings plans

Happy news, smiling faces, but with broken tradition
We all love a fairy tales with a happy ending.
We love to see that love still exist,

We love when love merge and become intimate:
Still Close to our hearts, this thing call love
Jupiter merges with the moon to add luck
and understanding to love relationships play

let end this year with a little happiness.
 Mar 2014 David W Jones
Various disorders divide the dimensional drift that separates you, from me. The telling tale of loss, regret and the missing links still bury truths. Truth is told because I’ve lost my hope. Persons call my name and shout out what they think. They make insecurities look pretty **** secure. All the while, my sweet tooth is out of sync.  And my internal combustion radiator is radiating harmful soliloquies. “I still beg of thee, he who hears my prayers. It’s been bout half a century, and I have yet to pray but give me strength where it is not.”


Anyways, feelings of retribution will come a forward day. Tantric beginnings fold under pressure and again we find our futures. Oh and by the by, the only thing who saw the crime was about eight inches tall and blind. Punch drunk and sucker punched, what will us suckers find? A fetching question for the ultra pressure.

letter to a friend, who knows their grammar
One day I made a deal with 'The Devil'
I sold my soul for the bass and the treble.
He came from the flames,The original rebel,
We chilled, got blazed, Got ****** like a pebble.

It turns out that he ain't half bad,
He just went and had a fight with his dad.
I think you know we can relate,
When god got ******
And the devil got a fist in the face.
Intended to be read aloud over a beat.
 Mar 2014 David W Jones
Not raucous
not random
too bad
too safe
      waif like
soot and ashes
no smile
endless miles
no one listens,
sweat glistens
like a flooded furrowed
but brow
beaten down
by life choices
wrong voices
filling ears with corny
jokes, told to an audience of one,
choking on the
cigarette tobacco
bits in the unfiltered,
last bit of gentle
human kindness,
while all else is too safe,
looking and taking,
every rock hides a
every empty cup a
full measure of what
seems deserved
           but not
a life
is too safe.

Shopping cart full
makes one wanted,
and unwanted at
the same time as
not everything in
but all is owned,
by the one who
pushes the cart,
like life has pushed
him, around and
down flights of stairs,
with only an empty bottle
to match the empty life,
his children, his wife,
would not know him
if they saw him on
the street,
bet you he writes
mean poetry,
while mine is too safe.

He sat muttering to himself his cup empty
the coffee drained he longed more
others avoided him thinking he had issues
in fact he was lonely and depressed
no money for another drink life was aimless
with living could not careless!

It had been forever since he had lost touch
with his three young children
a career and future ended in the recession
stress became unbearable
the wife he loved left him he could not cope
for Ted there was no hope!

He was just one in a whirlpool of many!

He disappeared and was never found!

The Foureyed Poet.
Ted was a victim of modern life! How his children miss him! The Foureyed Poet.
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