Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  Sep 2016 Doug Potter
AD Snail
Sweet Hummingbird how you haunt my dreams;
That soon turn into nightmares.

Hummingbird sing me a song,
With bittersweet words that burn the very soul.
The humming is ringing inside of my brain,
My hummingbird please stop your hurting me, can't you see?

You keep on flapping your wings,
Making me scream and fall to my knees;
Wishing and begging you to stop those repeating sounds that echo through my mind.

My sweet hummingbird I do not mean to be rude;
But please just be silent forever.
  Sep 2016 Doug Potter
CA Guilfoyle
All day from the canyon
the wind birds hover
the dance of pines,
the free water.

The long grass that flows,
green seaweed of the river.
September's early leaves
paper, gold upon the water,
wild yellow petals.

The river's edge
shines with flowers, fully petaled
looking out upon the water
all day the blue, green, yellow of the water
all day until the red, gold of the evening sun.
Doug Potter Sep 2016
We  do not have to know the man who  walks
three hours northside to southside  of town
past green bluegrass lawns, over white
picket fences, around chains of
snapping curs and through
vegetable patches to his
home willed him by
his dead mama;

knowing him is not necessary,
helping him is our responsibility.
About a local man I have know most of my life.
  Sep 2016 Doug Potter
kiera
this world tells us to go to the bedroom
but i want to follow you to the park
i cannot see your face ahead of me
but your eyes are my two round worlds
and i know they are sparkling
you reach back for my hand
and pull me into you
sharing warmth between clothes
and as the sun kisses us goodbye
our lips take its place

i think you wanted the same things as me
we grow up being told that *** is the end goal, that it is everything we should strive for...i'm not sure if that's how i feel. i'm just trying to figure things out
  Sep 2016 Doug Potter
JidosReality
Every letter that I write seems to be burning JidosReality my poetry started learning, that letters become words and words become meanings.


Memories are never lost they awake but day dreaming, sounds searching and screaming my poem book is drowning silently shouting.


The genius in the words as I write when I think, JidosReality was as twisted as an apple refusing to fall down from a tree. Like a shadow afraid of the dark scared to be lost.


A pen with out ink! Oh how hollow can I think? Words come out rushing the poem cuddles my pen as it starts blushing. 


My fingers are tingling buzzing to the words my thoughts are speaking. Sun shine filled with rain drops cold misty days trying to warm my heart up.


I crush and break every word I can't tame, there's a name for those words every word has a name! Poetry as I write it will never be the same.


JidosReality hears my pen pick my brain, hears the book I write in write down what you see. 


But the pen has no ink a "Blank Page is all I can see.


JidosReality 20.3.15
#JidosReality Só much mneanung in this põem look into it hard and The põem will start speaking to you.
Doug Potter Sep 2016
She sat on the carpet with a bowl of Lucky Charms
on her lap watching ******-Doo when she
swiveled and asked, “Why do I have
a cleft palate?” Before I could
respond she sang,  “Frosted
Lucky Charms, They’re
Magically Delicious,”
and flipped

to the Flintstones.
Next page