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 Jul 2013 Samantha
Nat Lipstadt
Elect, select and write it down!
Stare at it for 60 seconds, no more,
Then write the first thing that comes along!

It matters not if it is
Inferning or just churning,
Cold or hot,
Matters not to anyone
On this site,
Even if it is explicitly ***** (alriiiiiight!)

Hell, matters not
Even if it is absent from the
Dictionary's stock!

Matters not
If it is two or letters twelve,
**! **! **! reserved for Santa Claus,
Rambunctious, reserved for his Elves!

Put, pick a word and work it well,
In fact, give it hell!
Squeeze it, free it, and when you're done,
Just leave it the fk alone.

Milk it for all the silk
In it,
And if its only cotton,
Turn it in to cotton candy,
Which rhymes with dandy,
But I refuse to use that rhyme,
But thinking about using randy!

Put, walk, nay, run
That word, now single,
But soon to be married,
Upon whatever you write,
Chew it up and spit it out
After, but a solitary bite.

Taste it,
Run the  tongue's buds upon it,
Make it a flavorful word,
Then fool us with the saddest funeral dirge!

Vanilla passed away today,
The Chocolates, mourning, both,  dark and white,
By celebrating  and laughing long into the night...


This will not be the hardest poem I e're wrote,
But if there is no inspiration
For you to smote,
And armpits refuse to provide perspiration,
To source juices for a new creation,
Try this trick,
I promise you
No one will lick your ice cream cone,
Nor mistake you for Leonard Cohen,
But when you are done,
You will be High Priest of
Hello Poetry for the rest of the day!
The high priest of Israel in the Temple was the called the Cohen Gadol.


https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&hl;=en&q;=cohen+gadol&spell;=1&sa;=X&ei;=WwvbUeTQGLLJ4APy9ID4Ag&ved;=0CCwQBSgA
 May 2013 Samantha
Wang Wei
In a happy reign there should be no hermits;
The wise and able should consult together....
So you, a man of the eastern mountains,
Gave up your life of picking herbs
And came all the way to the Gate of Gold --
But you found your devotion unavailing.
...To spend the Day of No Fire on one of the southern rivers,
You have mended your spring clothes here in these northern cities.
I pour you the farewell wine as you set out from the capital --
Soon I shall be left behind here by my bosomfriend.
In your sail-boat of sweet cinnamon-wood
You will float again toward your own thatch door,
Led along by distant trees
To a sunset shining on a far-away town.
...What though your purpose happened to fail,
Doubt not that some of us can hear high music.
The king says with a long grim face
My wealth brings me no happiness
With all the courtesans around my throne
There’s no fulfillment and I feel all alone.
My courtiers have only good words for me
I know they’re not genuine but mere flattery
They smile at my smiles and frown if I frown
They wouldn’t have cared a fig but for my crown.
You may not know but my crown feels so heavy
With the curses of my people for the taxes I levy
They suffer to see me in wealth and affluence
The king’s might make them bear it in silence.
You may envy me for all my treasure trove
Not knowing how much I pine for little love
Crave for freedom and life’s little pleasures
That cannot be bought with all my treasures.
 May 2013 Samantha
R
Spiraling
 May 2013 Samantha
R
Oh Ashley,
You care so dearly for me.
Why?
What's so improtant about
Me?
Why should you care if
Blood pours out of me?
Why should you care if
My dad doesn't visit me?
Why should you care if
I **** myself?

Living is alot to ask for and
I'm sick of asking.
You pay alot of debts and
Fall in and out of love
Who wants that?
That feeling of a constant downward

                  s
p
      i
          r
a
               l
that never ends?
Who wants to feel so
Alone
And
Dead
And
Useless?

I'm scared of death sometimes.
But I'm not afraid to wish for it.

My thoughts at night are
Frightening.
I see different ways to end my life and
I actually almost did.
At least in my dreams,
Not in real life.

I hate falling and
I'm afraid of heights.

Why isn't the people I love
Willing to catch me?
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