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Brother Jimmy Mar 2015
I fall gently and surely, like dandelion fluff,
Stuffing my face, lungs, and veins with that junk,
Funky, fat freak, I, want to transform,
Normalcy ***** so I'm packing my trunk.

That shear inevitability though,
Flow of time guarantees multiple falls,
Calls to mind fresh bright blood spilled on snow,
O who would know snow?  I'm up to my *****...!

The joints are beginning to sear and fry
My seasonal torpor is at its peak
Seeking now a warm word, and smiling eyes,
Sigh, for the sun sets, and smothers the meek.
Seasonal affective disorder anyone?
The peacocks dance and trees sway to the sweet songs of the birds that playfully fly away,
The woods speckled with the golden , summer blooms.
The fresh green carpet takes away the glooms.
Reminiscing in the beauty of the clear water streams ,
Nature is at play creating picturesque dreams.

Sweet Nector on the dew dropped poppies,
Buzz of the bees and the charm of the humming birds nesting in style .
Oh! Nature is at play all the while.

Sunray's penetrating through dark clouds ,
Colourful little birdies , chirpy , synchronised , repetative and aloud .
Crispy mornings under clear blue skies , Nature is at play as the time flies.

Basking in the beauty of God's creations is a life full of positive aspirations ,
Lo ! behold ! Do we notice the nature's beauty , as we go on in life performing our duty ?
Take a pause !
While you remember your purpose and cause.
Breathe in the fresh air ,
Admire the surroundings,
Sit back ,Relax and smile ,
As nature is at play all the while .

© Mrunalini .D. Nimbalkar
Nature #beauty #environment #birds#play .15.1.2019
Toothache Jan 2020
Passing around a fatal flaw like a joint in a hot box,
Refreshing baths of Coca~Cola and regretful indulgence.
I'm wasting away in a paradise of my own creation!

Poems tinted grey through abstinent romanticism,
and an inexplicable undertone inherent to my prose.
As everything starts to return to a drumming constant.
It all sounds the same.
Like ashen trees and factories which procrastinate and suffocate.

We've been sunbathing in porcelain skies and lonely daydreams.
I know it sounds dramatic but as is the nature of reality.
Drab and dreary and acid washed.
Interrupted like a beach by the sea,
By the little peices of honey soaked warmth that act as comforting distractions.
A smile or a shoulder or a sunny day to drink from.
Summer and solitude, the likeness of warm bodies in a cold pool.
Compose me an opera of Soda Cans and of choral song. Of coffee and two bass lines and pollen and folk.
Make it for me so I can watch you as you work.
Let me listen and bask in its ludacris vanity, and clean shallow waters.
How I would relish the time spent muddying the current. Destroying the tide out of boredom.
And black hot frustration.

Flowers painted in acid and acrid accounts of repetative revalations in the context of rude rosy cheeked acceptance.
Blonde haired ignorance and one dimensional delusions.
Blue eyed terrorists armed with air and arrogance.

Give me seatwarmers and handholding
Or corvettes and convertables.
Give me arrowheads and heart attacks
Humble my bones with a cardiac

mumble rap
four letter words with little context or meaning and selfless expression that's often demeaning

Its September in January and it rains for a day
And despite our efforts
We still waste away
ky  May 2014
ky May 2014
its hard to
move on
when everyone is
the same.
you think you
can catch a break
but all you catch
is your tears
with the back
of your
Alex Apples Mar 2010
I hate to be phobic
Or repetative
Hate to be petty
But I worry
That one day
It will all run out
The words, the thoughts
The pictures
And muses
Swirl and slip
Down a sink in my soul
Like a vapor
That I'll sit down
With a pen
And have nothing
Nothing left to say
Worth saying
That hasn't been heard
Or spoken
It doesn't make sense
But still
The gremlins ****
Leave me be
Let me write in peace
For as long as I can
skaldspiller Jul 2016
Its 6 am
The cicadas fill the air
With their repetative songs
Of lust
Just out of time
With the ticking clock on the wall
Its just enough
to keep and insomniac awake
But so is silence.

Its 6 am
and i wish i could lace
My pink running shoes
And chase the bats from my head
With the sherbert coloured sunrise
Yet they are burried
In my back seat
Under all the things
I somehow aquired.
And dont want anymore

Its 6 am
And i like the silence
Of my own breathing
Filling the strange room
And i dont know
Despite being half mad
And displaced
I find a smile on my lips
A kind of bliss in the solitude.
And now:
I have so much time to read.
Isty Apr 2016
I want to be
so far away and a blaze
so i dont have to think about shade, a gain
i could get lost in for hella days another gain, a win
trynuh maximize the ways i use my brain to feel the pain
and watch it cease again within
then i get lost in this double timin thought
i need repetative rhythms to rock  
so that i can feel
that i part the seas
of my own free will and breeze
trynuh get closer to whats real
and we all reel
in this
digital information, with a sharpened skill
to witness and be the object of this process the arrangement
to make a sleepless nation
to busy setting paths forth for the young and sheepish raytion
ration, is the majority and the plus that make it
so, faction out you and us
and at times lately ive made it such
but it really never seemed to matter
as much as this does

— The End —