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Aleena Sep 1
Muddled
Reticent
Sloth and slow
Unable to quaver
yet,
Full of life
Eryri Oct 2018
The boy and his dog,
Went for a walk in the fog,
They got really lost,
Tripped up on the frost,
And ended up deep in a bog!

The boy shouted for help,
As his dog barked and yelped,
Still nobody came,
And so they remained,
Up to their knees in the bog!

When the fog disappeared,
They suddenly cheered.
"Soon we'll be seen!" said the boy.
Within the hour a girl did walk by
And rescued them both from the bog.

The two arrived home,
To soup and a bone;
The girl they forgot,
For her help they cared not,
So she plans to push them back in the bog!
Realised halfway through writing this that no one, let alone children, really uses the word 'bog' anymore! Oh well.
James LR Jul 2018
Spilt upon the breathing tide
The shadows of our former pride
Stained with gilded, rusty gore

Songs upon the breeze still scream
From barren bog and skylit sea
Once were sung but nevermore

Clouds cry crimson in the lake
The moons and stars the sky forsakes
As darkness falls on ****** shores
zebra Dec 2016
pretty pearl anklet
adorning your foot
tiara crown
princess ***** cow
all dressed up in a dark red
cherry sequined
come **** me dress
black lacquered nails
body beautiful prepped
for ordeal by *******
and pretty girl strangle
torture blood ****
wiggle wiggle
**** pink aglow
glistening hive
your mouth piece
bilingual
fucky and baby talk
all manicured and bejeweled
glitter and tears
***** food
inch worm lover
little bludgeon

your excited
for a bed of nails
what a luxury
legs spread wide
***** drool melt
your scent
a silk **** cocktail
in thick puce
stained pink milk pom poms
****** beyond tabulation
come sweet cow
its time for slaughter
down on your haunches
you look up
thrilled
dark dreams do come true
i love you
like the bog loves bones
embalmed in spice
Let me say for the record i don't think women are ******... that they adore suffering but that my poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story not judge me  although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean .glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...you might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about
mannley collins May 2015
One Son of 'god'
Kills another Son of "god"
and the bombs explode in the 'side of the bog'.
Let me tell you brothers
I can feel it in my groin
there are strange goings on in Old Ardoyne.
Were ringing in freedom sings the Fighting man.
Mr Politician gonna put you in a Can.
Mr soldier boy you better go to bed.
Wake up in the morning with a hole in your head.
Verse from a song (unrecorded)that I wrote in the middle 1960s when the IRA(Irish Republican Army) and the British Army of Occupation in Northern Ireland were fighting each other on the blood drenched streets of Belfast and many other places elsewhere in Northern Ireland.
Terry O'Leary  Nov 2013
The Flame
Terry O'Leary Nov 2013
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets

           APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog

The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan

The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A ****** bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak

The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear

The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu

The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled

           EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Alex McQuate  May 2018
Threshold
Alex McQuate May 2018
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.

The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.

The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.

A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.

Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.

The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.

The rain is cold upon the faces of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.

The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegience given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.

A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.

These things ringing out dispite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warriors words.

After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the embattered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
patty m Sep 2015
The woofers and tweeters
stood ready to commence
the cool cats stage center
had sounds to dispense.
A hot dog up front was ready to wail,
but the crowd closed in and someone
stepped on his tail.

A basso profundo swept out of the bog,
while a haunting aria was performed
by a frog.  

An eerie mist hovered, but the moon
tried to peek
as a mother bird warbled her babies to sleep.

A huge shaggy dog, a lumbering brute
serenaded the moon with his magical flute.
A cow in the field uttered a refrain,
while a horse in the paddock sang a
chorus from Mame.

There were dancers and singers
an acrobat or two, a cowboy cat
and a dog named Blue.
They jived and jammed
gave a hoot and a howl,
driving critters wild and waking
the old owl.  

There were rock groups
and folk singers
musicians and bell ringers

The grass was eaten they preferred it that way
because animals aren't people
so they munched the night away

The show was a success
it received great acclaim
the performers though amateurs
enjoyed their moment of fame.  
I'm here to tell you in this final summation
that the audience gave them
standing ovation.
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