Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Larry B  Feb 2011
Gold Fever
Larry B Feb 2011
Here's another story that I just made up
That just can't wait to be told
About a weary prospector, down on his luck
That gave his life for his gold

He was way up yonder in the hills, they say
Just him and his scrappy old mule
That poor old mule didn't have no teeth
So he'd sit around the camp and drool

Now that prospector, who we'll call Jake
Was as secret as he could be
He didn't like people snooping around
So he wasn't much for company

See, Jake had been on that mountain
For nigh on twenty years
But he never did hit the mother load
With all his sweat and tears

Then, one day he decided to go fishing
A fish pulled him right in the river
He tried to hang on with all of his might
It's hard to do when you shiver

Jake looked up and was headed toward the falls
So he decided he'd better let go
When he dropped that line, he sunk like a rock
And started thrashing to and fro

Now, Jake was a real good swimmer
He was on the prospector's Olympic team
But, everytime his head went under
All he could do was scream

Now Jake had prospected his whole life
But now, he was getting pretty old
He didn't know the reason he was drowning
But his pockets were full of gold

When he figured it out, he had gold fever
And he refused to let it go
All poor old Jake could think about
Was he finally hit the mother load

See, when that old fish had ****** him in
He was dragging him on the bottom
There was gold just laying everywhere
And that's where his pockets got 'em

Poor old Jake drowned that day
Richest man in the world, I think
His old mule was standing on the bank
Drooling, as he watched him sink

They fished his body out of that river
The next morning before dawn
But they found both pockets as empty as could be
It was stolen by a leprechaun

Well, I guess it's time for me to go
I can see as I look at my clocks
But if you really wanna protect your prospector's gold
Then let me suggest Fort Knox
Baby  May 2014
Prospector
Baby May 2014
You know that bowl that I carry around in my belly?
Too heavy for my frame, I've carried it precariously, trying not to spill.
I've used it to catch the steady drip that's been there since forever. I've used it to catch the rocks that I hurled up like a juggler (to find where I begin). You've taken it, and now you're swirling the contents, rinsing them with your own feelings, your own words (yourloveyourloveyourlove). All the garbage, the petty insecurities and fearsfearsfears, wash out and leave behind the heavier stones and metals that I've used to construct myself, contain myself.
The material of my foundation exposed, you continue to rhythmically, relentlessly reduce me to the shimmersilt at the bottom of the bowl.
Eroding.
Simplifying.
Until you're left with the specks of gold that you say define me.
The evidence of treasured trust that remains after I've allowed you to dump out my contents with gentle, sweeping motions.
Jacob Oates Apr 2013
Sift I will and hold in path of

current's latent aftermath

heart befell, and breath in current

breath could tell, and most confirm it

Depth befell, a host affirmed of what compelled

the most determined

love's to sell and what could earn it

lust and amour, yet shift in focus

love of current, and opened play

could last it til, preferred today

now compulsion packs a passion pact

to back adaption banter tact

intact of what could help me focus

attraction stacked and traction bogus

love don't need to own possession

love just needs to show expression
Christopher Sep 2014
Give me a pebble and I'll give you a diamond.

Give me a tear and I'll hand you a smile.

Give me your worthless worries
your hopeless heartbreaks
your endless encumbrances
your inured infractions.

Stone me,
Pelt me,
Inundate me
with your misfortune.

Load me with your burdens
So at the end of the day once you're weary of these timeless toils
The mirror shows not the creases of creation
but you.
Not really sure what I was going for here, but I jokingly always tell my friends that I'm a silver lining prospector so tried to portray what I think of me. I didn't mean to write "me" there, but I guess that's what I was trying to do. We all need an anthem; I guess this is mine.
corey wilson Dec 2011
You set my world on fire you're my greatest desire.
Like a miner or prospector i must perspire as i search for the sweet sacred nectar that is of your flower.
As your nectar trikles off your flower releaseing so much power.
I can feel the nectar's calming powers  as it drips off the lips as i take a sip and a quick lick.
You're the most beautiful thing in this universe's sector there is no better not even god can make a replica or even try to make you better and nothing even comes close to being almost better.
I wish i could write you a letter but maybe this poem will be better.
Like reading it might make you shake and shiver maybe even quiver.
Like when im caressing your body with a feather  or strapping you down and playing with leather.
OOOOOH BABY!!!!
I love the look in your eyes as they fill with surprise as you force open your eyes and let out a magnificent  passionate  cry of love lust and exstasy begging me for more.
As your getting wetter and wetter and then i smell that sweet sweet nectar i know i found my prize i knew it from the very second i looked into those gorgeous angel like eyes ******* im glad i get to be your guy.
Then i remembered lifes so much better on this side of the glass that is playing with you gin and always letting you win in the garden of love
MY TRUE LOVE THATS YOU BOO YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU<3 <3 <3 <3 <3
grumpy thumb  Oct 2015
Cold day
grumpy thumb Oct 2015
My heart feels old today
it rattles like a stone in a can.
My eyes feel cold today
as they strain for gems in a prospector's pan.
My feet feel heavy today
trudging the ruts I've created time and again.
My thoughts feel tired today
they eloped with all hope and ran.
Gant Haverstick Feb 2019
the valley of gold
closer and closer, always
just over the ridge
Gant Haverstick 2019
Carly Two Jul 2013
Blush in a shade of bruise
leaving trails on collars and bones.

"Siren, siren
Body language me.
Concave me in wrong angles.
Sift through my sand and prospector me."

Every man wants to be saved by an angel
but heaven's just a mirror of hell.
Copyright, C. Heiser 2013
Gabriel Feb 2014
The steps are the steps
inward and flowing,
downward and away,
no time for possibility,
my mind has gone astray.
I chase not the chance of a certain moment,
I planned the time it took to hold it,
Not the falling that morphs the thought,
It is the telling that is yet taught,
We are rarely are own dreams,
Most times battling internal screams,
Merely a prospector of our own demands,
Turning to keep a little head above the sand,
That is thick and I am sinking oh so quick,
into a ground that devours my wit,
Making it so hard for me to state,
But I can't understand why she won't open the gate.....

— The End —