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 Jun 2015 Paula Lee
Poetic T
"Knock,*
"Knock,
"KNOCK,
As a head went against the door,
Then a noise akin to a squashed melon
As their were no more tapping,
As crimson seeped under the floor.
"Breath,
"Relax,
"Look,
Through the eye hole, not like anything will
Be looking back,
Pausing,
I slowly look through this little portal,

"Eye spy with my little eye,

Really not the time to think of that,
I breath,
What it white?
Like piano keys, but with red tints,
Then pulls back, I see lips that are smiling forward.
I lunge back as a where eyes once spied,
A door splinter's, a thousand tooth picks litter the air.
I turn as I no what comes next,

"Run little piggy,
"Run as fast as you can,
"I'll peel you flesh while squeal and cry,
,
,
,
,
Beads of sweat pour from my brow,
I can hear it behind me
Don't look behind, don't look....

"O' ****, what the **** its dressed in a suit of white,

It laughs as it luges forward, lips curled
As if this was a demented game of kiss chase.
Dam fool not with that breath, here kiss this
As I grab a vase,

"I didn't like it anyway,

A jaw and flesh, like a stone ripples in a pond
It stalls for a moment, and smirks,
I have that saying from a Hanks film,
Run,
Forrest,
Run,
As I do in to a room I leave the door ajar,
Was that a mistake, as footsteps heard outside,
It treads closer, inquisitive to why not locked, shut
While I sit on a chair waiting inside,
The Door splinter as shards embed in the cheap wallpaper.

"Welcome white taker,
"Do you know that saying,
"A spider is ever patient ever waiting,
"For its dinner to entrap itself,

Well I have waited a long time do you know there are
things older than
Light,
Darkness,
Time,
Has a way of needing, and this time is to feed,
I could taste your essence from miles away,
Luring you with whispers in the wind,

"Didn't you wonder what urged you here,

As a fist flies forward, and a finger greets this enraged
Moment, thing of white, I smile as
With but a finger on corruption a fist does turn to ash,
Like butterflies it floats around the room.
I inhale consuming this nourishment, but more I must have.

"My time is now to feed,
"What were your words,

"Little Piggy,
"Little man in white,
"Your time is ending and ash you will become,

"I am not food for you,
I am darkness personified,
"I will not tremble in your presence,

And in a closed room, in a home nowhere special,
A scream of darkness* is heard enthralled in its demise
Butterflies of ash floated in the room,
Then they were gone, consumed in the blink of an eye.

"I do like these little games of chase and hunt,
"Mmm,
"What to eat next a feathered friends,
"Or feast on a city of those children of dust,

A figure is seen walking out of that area with a
Toothpick in his mouth,
People swore that he Yawned as if a big meal ate,
Rubbing his belly,
And that a black  butterfly flew out,
Licked his lips and ate it??

"I have a hunger,
"Be hopeful that the urge never takes,
*"In those dwelling you call home.
 Jun 2015 Paula Lee
Poetic T
Nectar is tasted upon
Awaiting lips, fingers
greedily licked dry.
This can be taken a few ways naughty or nice :)
 Jun 2015 Paula Lee
Phil Lindsey
I hate dull poems with no point
That makes no cents at all
I intend to laff it off and
Blame the alcohol.

Yes, Jaegar Bombz and Jello Sots
As far as i can tell,
Are fool fuel to propel my work
George Strait to Poem Hell.

I was gettin’ almost sober, SO
Had another Jaegar, and a beer (or two)
Lean closed to George and whispered in his ear
I’m here for a good time – juss like u

Yeah Iss country singin’ at is best
If u king n rite the kind that sell
But I get;n kinda sleepy
Stink my peom bombses swell.

SO moreally the story, if you right pomes wen yur drnuk
Beddter wate till til the mmornnimg lite
To post it post it post it tooo
That Hallowed Pomes site
LwP$@Qx)911 ^^(
the last couple were pretty serious, needed a laffer   ;-)
 Jun 2015 Paula Lee
Phil Lindsey
Soon, the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And maybe in your dreams discover
Words and lines to keep.

For the darkness is a tunnel
Straight to Heaven’s door,
There a thousand poets wait for you -
A thousand gone before,
Before their works were finished,
Before their jobs were through
Now creation of the masterpiece
Is solely up to you.

Hear their spirit, poet!
Listen very close.
You’ve been chosen as the protégé
But do not brag or boast
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like hell-fire, burns you up,
Leaves you thirsting for some water
And reaching for a cup,
That crumbles when you grab it.
While the water turns to dust,
But still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.

Feel their breath, oh poet!
Cool upon your skin,
Though sweat and perspiration
Reveal the torment trapped within.
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like a pen that’s out of ink,
Leaves you reaching for a pencil,
And needing time to think,
But both ends are erasers
Now your passion turned to lust
So still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.

For the darkness is a tunnel
A tunnel straight to Hell
There a thousand poets wait for you -
At a long abandoned well,
Before their works were finished,
The waters all ran dry
There will be no masterpiece
If all the poets die.

Shh, soon the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And a thousand poets after you
Will search for words and lines to keep.
Phil Lindsey 6/9/15
 Jun 2015 Paula Lee
Phil Lindsey
I read and find the bestest lines
Are like novels on a shelf,
I read them over several times
And wish I written them myself!
PwL  6/8/15
Happy June!
 Jun 2015 Paula Lee
Phil Lindsey
I’m the whether man, I love you;
Whether you are happy or you’re sad,
The whether man will always know
What kind of day you’ve had.

I’m the whether man, I love you;
Whether you are cold or you are hot,
I can always tell your temperature
Whether you like it or not.

I’m the whether man, I love you;
Whether it is night or day,
I’m always gonna love you whether
You choose to go or stay.

I’m the whether man, I love you;
Whether you are rich or you are poor,
Whether you are down and out,
Or good luck’s knockin’ at your door

I’m the whether man, I love you;
But whether I’m happy is up to you
Whether I’m happy depends on
Whether or not you say you love me too!
pwl  6/7/15
wrote this for my girlfriend, Karen!
 Jun 2015 Paula Lee
Phil Lindsey
Skillful poet still in shock
He / She suffered writer’s block
PwL 6/5/15
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