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Larry Potter Jan 11
Thespians and thieves
Dressed in pitch black robes
Hiding egos beneath their sleeves
Drunk in their own monologues.
With nations for puppets
They pull invisible strings
Behind bloodstained carpets
Of dead bodies and dreams.
Playing god at their podium
Waging wars and pointing fingers
For the proper decorum
They conspire to pull the trigger.
A buffoonery of reporters
Fiddle the media screens
A game of smokes and mirrors
To stage the perfect scene.
They dance with politics
While half the world burns
Amused in the devil's antics
While war-torn cities mourn.
A soiree will soon follow
At the pounding of the gavel
The jury will watch the gallow
While they sip oil from the barrells.
Larry Potter Dec 2019
Blazing thru November moons,
The twelfth month frolicked down;
Devouring vespers of the Halloween monsoons,
And rained fire to dim-lit towns.
We brewed gunpowder haze and caught thrill fever,
While we stripped our calendars bare;
We saw houses and streets collect the cinders,
To make verdant trees with flickering hairs.
There was an ember glowing beneath our beds,
That burned brighter with the days that came;
We hummed the tunes now etched in our heads,
And amused our kins now we only know by name.
We stuffed excitement in our pillows,
As we're dying to open our holiday loots;
Our happiness was still too shallow,
But our smiles lit up the kitchen soot.
The cold winds kept fanning the flames,
The one which fueled our childhood sun;
Until we stopped playing our parlor games,
And our feet grew too cold to run.
Holiday season is never the same when we get older.
Larry Potter Sep 2019
You fiddle with colors and make them bloom
Like cherry blossoms in a dismal room
You stitch the tatters and make it work
Into a masterpiece of various quirks.

You see the world as styles and hues
An artist mixing her reds and blues
To create a lilac sky with a sun that sets
Into a supernova skyline where flamingos nest.

You must keep that passion and hold it dear
As it burns away many doubts and fears
If Midas' touch turns all things to gold
You make lifeless objects into stories told.
Larry Potter Sep 2019
Let the morning breeze
Carry my warm embrace
Between cities and streams
Beneath blue skies and sunbeams
And find its way to our veranda
Filled with succulent aloe veras
Let it wrap around your arms
Just like how you'd keep us from harm.

Let my gentle kiss
Flutter like the busy pigeons
Homeward-bound like the schoolkids
Eagerly skipping by noontime
It'll descend through the sunshine
And greet your tender cheeks
While you prepare the table
For some very important people.

Let my prayers ascend
Adrift with the monsoon clouds
May it be touched by God's hands
And rain upon our home
It will pour upon your head
While you hurry to the hanging clothes
You're our daily grace and I know
You'll be blessed a thousandfold.
Dedicated to my loving mother. Happy birthday ma! :)
Larry Potter Jun 2019
Ma's other half,
Our chief of staff,
The house custodian,
His grandkids' guardian,
Always the humorist,
Seasoned saxophonist,
Spiritually rooted,
Retired but lauded,
Champion of good reason,
Father for all seasons.
Happy Father's Day!
Larry Potter May 2019
Served warm,
Like your love for us;
On a deep bowl,
As bottomless as your trust.
A bit spicy but healthy,
Like your lectures on things;
Seasoned with care,
With your sharp instincts.
Calm like a river,
Of your boundless patience;
In waves of flavor,
Like your ocean of common sense.
It's a dish I'd long,
Surely from time to time;
Because there's more to it,
Than these verses that rhyme.
Happy Mother's Day!
Larry Potter Mar 2019
I keep hanging by these tangents
Of your dashes and curves
Trying to figure out how every
Version of your twists and turns
Unravels into a canvas
Of visual perfection.
It's perplexing, really
How you mend your schisms
Into waltzing polygons
Every time I break you down
Into fractures of your selves
I end up lingering in your angles
Of oblique abstraction
Turning vertices into suns
And edges into horizons.
Then I reconstruct you
From your purest form
This brush provoking
Both palette and palate
For every stroke and spatter.
Your beauty didn't mind
What madness to this method
The monochrome requires
To finally become free
And shackled at the same time.
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