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Samantha Cooper Jun 2018
The tree with leaves of fire
Stood in the centre of town
Our feet sunk into the muck and mire
We slowly sunk further down

The owl warned us with a shout
A snake with a benign hiss
We didn’t know what the fauna were on about
But this was one thing we could not miss

The moon floated in the sky of stars
Like a lost ship in the cold sea
We were brave like the settlers of Mars
Standing strong around the burning tree

One by one we began to sing
Quiet and then loud and proud
Grandma brought her sticks and string
And Grandpa watched from a silent cloud

Hand in hand we thought in voice
While the volcanic tree listened
We soldiered on: this wasn’t a choice
Our eyes were red and glistened

We confessed our wrongs
To the tree with leaves of fire
In somber sing-song
This must be done; we cannot afford to tire
MHC Writers Group
March 4, 2016
Samantha Cooper Jun 2018
Anyone out there?
Guess I'm an early adopter of the
Internet is not a big truck it's a
series of tunes. Tubessssss.
Samantha Cooper May 2011
Someone lit the couch on fire
And lined heads on the windowsill

God protects his wifi with a password
But gives out free coffee and cookies
To the people who listen to him

Parking lot stoop sitting
Dressed in black, looking back
Anyone can run me over

You are god and I'm a table
Weighed down by the heavy red book
Tuning my guitar and summoning strangers
Playing off-key in a room swimming with caffeine
The aisles are too narrow to let the
Broken pass through

It's all part of the plan

Church kids fight to say hello
Push push shove hi
Push push hi

All of their songs sound the same

It's all part of the plan
Samantha Cooper Mar 2011
there is beauty in the breakdown
and love in the breakup
with legs over shoulders
and reflections in the mirror
Samantha Cooper Oct 2010
i want to be born a norwegian
and have snow in my heart
and ice in my veins
and magic in my eyes
and colour in my brain
just a wish
Samantha Cooper Sep 2010
need  bees  things  just  skin  want  love  world  warm  waiting  mirrorimage  life  hated  time  like  live  feelings  hoped  storm  space  places  feel  look  sky  create
this is the list of words from my profile, so i guess i didn't actually write this. i just like the order they're in.
Samantha Cooper Jun 2010
woke up not knowing what time it was, looking toward a sewing machine instead of a clock on my desk, still reeling from hypersexual dreams of celebrities, old friends, fast cars, thunderstorms, video games and social experiments, mutual ******* without contact, floating in a nothingness world of bliss, then, thinking about sewing the right way, with seam allowances, wrong and right sides, and cutting out pizza slices from curves, wondering if my forlorn yellow polka dot shirt with the holes in the yoke would look nice as a giraffe, or if it's still worth mending. shades of marigold and dandelion pouring through my hands, buttons touching down on my great grandmother's old flowered quilt, taking their places over the holes. a needle threaded with delicate string weaves in and out 'round the tears, the negative space, the flaws, closing them up, sutures administered on a long forgotten corpse, breathing life with every stitch. open the curtains and it looks like dusk, though i'm sure it's morning: dark clouds, lightning, mist, fog, grey, gloom; promises of a storm, like in my nighttime mirrorimage otherworld of chances never taken, experiences that never, can never, will never, present themselves in reality. taste tests of who you want to be, but without the risk of ruining everything you've worked for. secrets you can keep, burning through eyelids, wanting to get out, but staying just below the thin layer of skin and lashes poised just right, painted and black and reaching toward the heavens, before flaking off into tears that confuse a happy face, slow dancing to the sweetest music, smiling to the words, the motion, the what will comes and the what might happens and being carried away with the love in the room and the sun in the sky and the warmth in the wind. no dreams, no mirrorimage otherworlds, no pretend existences, could ever ever ever be as sweet as these feelings, this love, the beating of twin hearts, the warmth of skin on skin, the colours of sun-shone sea and land irises looking at mine, through me, into places only you can see, only you know, only you've ever been. my comfort, my rock, my anchor in the storm, holding the moon tight in orbit, even when it pulls, even when it wants nothing more than to get in a boat and never see land again. heavy weathered metal from the earth digging deep into the ground under wires and waves and crashes of the sea, tethering the melancholy man in the moon to the only place that makes sense: helping sailors see the way on clear nights, reflecting sunlight from china to the seven seas, shining through dark windows to light up blushed faces of lovers and dewy tangled limbs, twisting sheets and straining steel, singing quiet songs of familiar feelings only we know, never wanting, never needing, to write the lyrics down; they whimper, weep, wail, cry out with passion, from every pore in our heaving entangled bodies before laying down to rest, to visit the nighttime mirrorimage otherworld that will never ever be as real, as sweet, as warm, as this real world life we share.
copyright me june 27, 2010
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