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Mercurychyld Feb 2015
Agnes was certainly no beauty by any
standard of the day, not even 'pretty'
really. Not the type anyone would
notice as she'd scurry through a room.

Surely her stress ridden life added to
the many wrinkles and dark circles
that plagued her face, and the weathered
look of her eyes and skin, and sunken
posture.

To meet her gaze was to witness a far
off, blank expression, where once
emotion and thought were reflected.

Until the day she came toward me with
a box. She sat by me, looked into my
eyes, and spoke in a manner and voice
I'd never heard from her...almost
animated.

She explained how she'd saved and
saved, secretly, with the hope that
one day she'd find something she
believed in strongly enough to invest
in...and, that day was today, and that
'something' was ME!

As she spoke, I came to see her in a
different light. With each passing
sentence carried by her voice, the
wrinkles and ravages of time seemed
to fade. With each passing minute,
the years in her eyes seemed to melt
away and her light shone through,
and I could swear I saw her once
young, vibrant self, smiling at me.

In that small, significant pocket of time
she had looked upon me and found
someone who needed her, once again
truly needed her, and I had found in
her someone who believed, finally truly
believed...in me.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
SBN.
Why do us poets
always let these jerks
who do not even
have an atom
of creativity
decide the value
and level
of our creativity?

ES.

Given that us
but meek poetic folk
have a humbleness
to our line of yolk
we permit these ignorant jerks
a liberal latitude
to openly express
their aimless platitudes

SBN.

Why do us poets
fall for the trends
and applause
it occasionally brings
knowing full well
it is all merely ephemeral
and what is permanent
is our depression so dismal?

ES.

We are cajoled
by the transient ovation
which resounds with much
brevity in its adulation
thence follows our
despondency of wretchedness
that descends into
a despairing grimness

SBN.

When will us poets
ever decide
that we do not care two hoots
for cheap popularity
and that our creations
are too valuable really
for some **** to **** on them
and make and mostly break them?

ES.

Oh for us true poets
to be admired with a fervent zeal
by those jerks who've
not a scrap of poetic appeal
unto us they can
dollop their excrement pile
for we shall surpass them
with our flash penning style

SBN.

So let us take in our hands
our own poetic destiny
lets write on time's shifting sand
and ensure our poetic integrity
  Feb 2015 Mercurychyld
Michael Humbert
I write poems on post-it notes to remind myself
That occasionally you can be just as disposable
  Feb 2015 Mercurychyld
SøułSurvivør
---$---$---


Hi there! Want to be my friend?
I'm a very popular girl!
Welcome to my dream!
Welcome to my world!

First of all we'll have to change
Your clothing and your hair.
I'll put on your makeup.
Right now you're just so... bare!

Now... you'll need to
say some things...
I'll prompt you. Just recieve.
Cuz right now your conversation
Is silly and naive.

Those friends of yours?
They're LOSERS.
They are not OK.
Just think and talk like one of us...
... we're happy as can be!

You have another problem.
That POETRY lacks class.
Just take all that writing
and throw it in the trash.

See! Now that you are not yourself
Now that you're unkind
Now that you're my
Queen Bee drone
and you don't have a MIND...

You are My Creation!
Oh, c'mon... don't be blue...
We welcome you to Stepford...

... where you're no longer YOU.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/22/2013
I suggest you listen to:
Edie Brickwell &
The New Bohemians
"What I Am" as you read this.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=tDl3bdE3YQA

It's PERFECT.

If you are not familiar with my
Reference to "Stepford" rent
Movies made in the 70s.

The Stepford Wives
The Stepford Children

I would recommend the first.
It's better. I won't tell you the
Plot as that would spoil the fun...

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