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I don't have a choice anyways.
A poem every day.
Panda Boy Nov 2017
I want to see a grown man cry.
Mother doesn’t approve of a psychology course.
Hatred to swallow only to erupt again.
To see all sides of that person
But no one knew.

You can grow like a tree;
Tall and strong,
Old and wise,
But a tree doesn’t go anywhere.
Alpha and Omega,
The vastness of space.
Your life will come to an end;
Don’t let it go to waste.

I give you a smile;
Genuine warmth.
Look at those around you,
Must you curse them?
Instead love them.

A needle can sew,
But it can also *****.
Use that wisely,
Be gentle I say,
Put it to good use.
reel it in. look at it. get it out.
Panda Boy Nov 2017
Well it’s been seven years,
Fighting fire with firewood.
How could you begin to face
These ice cold tears
Of which drift upwards?

Just give it some time to waste.
Roll onto my bed
As the crew cycles through the night.
Unwilling adults never
Cease to amaze brick walls.

Let her come by some day
So friends can hear the doves better.
Nobody said this was okay,
But please know
At least I want you to stay
With us.
Panda Boy Sep 2017

   A pink rose.


  Distant piano.


  Cassette tapes.

  City nights.

   A cheap cigarette.

   Three white stripes.

    Couple of camera flashes.

    Wearing a face mask.

    A spontaneously special moment.
Panda Boy Oct 2017






sad and true
Panda Boy Oct 2017
We met at a beautiful park bench;
“Hello.” I said,
“It's really good to see you!”
“Hey.” she said.

“How are you?
How has your day been?
Did you have a good weekend?”
I asked.
“Yeah, I did." she answered.

“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes, I'm fine.” she replied.
“Good.” I said.
There was silence for a moment.

“How are you?” She asked.
“I feel great.” I said.
“Good.” she said.

We went to buy a drink;
“What do you want?” I asked her.
She said “Just water.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yeah, I don't mind”

Ultimately, I was glad.
Meeting this girl
Some reassurance
To last year’s me.
the girl was as boring as this poem
Panda Boy Sep 2017
Nowadays, is this a world for poetry?
Anyway, I suppose there couldn’t be.
And this may seem like a promotion
But I assure you people
It feels more like slow motion.

If you were to write poetry,
Say now.
What would you write about,
And more importantly, how?
This audience of children
Surely cannot understand
They couldn’t possibly comprehend.

Well the reason I write
Is because my voice cannot sing
Nor rap or any other popular thing,
But back then it was great
To write a verse, a perfect stanza
For the Greek meaning of ‘poetry’
Is to merely create.
So I do ask this generation
My most important question;
Why wait?
It saddens me to see so much youth being consumed by meaningless things with minimal effort. This is my response/plea.
Panda Boy Nov 2017
The way a man can be herself
As the eyes and mouth
Twitch in a silent breeze.

He starts with a lukewarm
Ginger beer and the
Local newspaper
Or black coffee and low opinions
Whilst listening to the bird
Morning song.

Yet, he could be listening to you
On the radio.
Terry Collett Jan 2016
While Marcus
is talking
of some war

some campaign
he's been on

in their bed
beside him
wishes he

was still there
(far away
in some war)

they'd had ***
two or three
times during

the night
in which she

to enjoy
making noises
but really

it was ****
she hadn't
liked it one

little bit
but when he
was away

and Amy
was in bed
making love

it was one
big thrill ride
small kisses

soft touches
doors opened

places kissed
bodies hot
and o that

do not stop
do not stop
but Marcus

tells his tales
of war games
who killed whom

she sensing
in her heart
a dark gloom.
Terry Collett Jan 2016
Marcus sits and asks
for wine to be poured.

His man pours and hands
him the wine and waits nearby.

Annona looks at her husband,
his eyes, his hard stare,
his hands holding the wine.

Where's your Amy? he says
gazing at his wife.

Busy as usual, Annona says, why?

He dismisses his man who walks
off and out of sight; I’ve heard
that she shares your bed, Marcus says.

Annona tries hard not to blush
or show concern, who says?

Brutus replies, it has been brought
to me on my return from my
campaign on Ceasar's cause.

She looks past him, the seascape
beyond the wall, gulls in flight.

She keeps my reputation sure
until your return, she says, some
may rumour that other men may
share my bed, and that may cause
jealousy in your manly head.

How so? he says with furrowed brow.

If she weren't there, who
knows what rumours may
take root of other men being
there while you're away, but
while Amy's there none may
say, plus she keeps me warm
while your hot body's far away
in battle's swarm.

He smiles and sips his wine.

She breathes in deep and keeps
it to herself just how much her
Amy keeps her warm and hot,
and how they make love
while he's away.

How wise, he says, that is good
to know, but is she clean, I'd hate to
catch a pox where she may lay?

As clean as air around our heads
and lambs fresh born, Annona says
recalling Amy's lips upon her brow,
her hand upon her ****** bush.

Then good keep her near while I'm
at war, better to keep me happy
and sure no other man may share your bed.

No thought of such had ever entered
her head, just Amy and she with their
rough and tumble as a storm breed sea.
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