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brandychanning Dec 2023
so now, do I, I do,

he favors the the top of my breast ,
where the spaghetti strap leads
his eye lower, to the fulsome swelling,
curves he favors in a linear

these magnets of human flesh are
attributes of me, unsolicited, part
of my “collegial endowment” and
no denial,
this egg of my accent,
a fullness employable, knows well,
full employment

ah, mon oeuf d'accent,
the accent of my accidental,

for lives are just linear lines
warped occasionally, nicely.
swelling in wonderful frailty,
the curvature of the human
eyes, that draw curves of
human spirit,

thar are drawn by sprites
with wickedly humorous
I'm that girl with the Australian accent
I'm the poet who writes in the corner
When the party is getting boring
You'll find me with my journal writing scribbles with my blue pen

I get easily distracted
I tend to feel fat most of the time
Sometimes I seem to lose my passion
Until I hear Ani DiFranco and my heart is set on fire

I fall in love so ******* easily
I'll see your ocean eyes and fall upon my knees
Suddenly I'll see your face on every street
Secretly hoping that one day you'll want to marry me

I'm that girl that got bullied all through school
I think that being different is a fun activity to do
I might get rejected on a regular basis
Rejects tell the most interesting stories

I'm that girl whose got bipolar and anxiety
I've been hospitalised for both of these things
I lost my faith in the mental health system
I know that no one has the decency to fix it

I'm that girl with the Australian accent
I'll always love even if I don't receive it
My best friend has always been Jesus
When I die I'll leave behind the words I write with this blue pen
a little poem about me
Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
Aristotle at my fingertips,
not locked in soliloquies I may perform,
but heard from an Oxford don I have
in my pocket,
as I lean into each lesson and trudge
up and down my morning
where the firebreak meets
chaparral alive with cottontail
this morning, when I almost said, "it's too hot."

C'mon, walk a mile with me… like
on the road to Emmaus, but Christ, no;
this character,
a soldier in me, about to salt out, bids me,
walk a mile, "not two, one
does the trick."
The thought comes
as a dare from the Ralston Purina guy,
and I stepped onto my trail.
I dare think Aristotle's thoughts after Plato's,
I could have known this when I was younger,
but not to this degree,

if I had not dropped out, and never knew,
by rote,
to pass a test, that
"All men by nature desire to know."
This is
Curiosity, right? I suspect it is a gift.

The joy we find in sensation, proof
offered the gainsayer,
I say again, that which is good for nothing
naturally exists, so
what tool forms an eye to notice that…

see, through the window
of my poetic-pathetic e-thoughtic soul
a feathery
family of phoebe birds, flits by,
if that is the proper name
{Tufted-Titmouse, my AI replies},
tails reflecting a smokey blue hue,
they swoop and flutter past;
I see
in a non-imaged flashpast pattern
from a time in the summer of 1969…

Disneyfied trails
from Cinderella's dressing room
scene, not seen, but reminded of seeing,
the pattern, in this phantomind dance,
being witnessed now, as
this old soldier once saw it
performed by bluer birds than these…

Time skipper
shifts to another bubble intersecting mine

I hear a worried neighbor fret about the fire.
I almost say,
"One of the benefits of being
backedup to the cloud,

nothing to lose."

But I remember, she collects purses and shoes.
Ah, I share an edge dwellers accent if I talk about tech to myself. I suspect I always have sounded like Little Luke McCoy, and now I hear Walter Brennan.
Dan Williams Apr 2020
Here’s hoping that you never lose that accent
That once brought me so much joy
That I forgot all about the war outside-
No guns ringing in my min,
Just words of yours blowing in my ear
Like a cherry blossom wind
In the morning
With the sun climbing up the ivy
And pressing his face against window
To look in envy at how you love me.

Here’s hoping you never lose that accent
That I knew when I was just a boy,
Oh very young
Playing in your room
And there were lines falling from you mouth
Like orange water from the jug
All over my chest
You froze my heart, baby,
Froze it so I couldn’t breath.
Something about the way you fed me
Made me want to believe.

I hope you kept that accent you had,
The one that used to drive me mad
When we were both eighteen
And you were the only woman I had ever seen,
In the days when I would lie with you
Knowing in my heart that I would die with you
In the days before I ever knew
That I was, in fact, only born to lose you.
annh Nov 2019
Did you decide who I was before or after you spoke to me?

Did you decide to speak to me - or not - because of how I was dressed, what I looked like, my job, my education, my choice of beverage, my height, my accent, or my scintillating conversation with your plus one about the benefits of suburban parking spaces?

And who are you? Do you know? Are you sure? Did you dress yourself or did your date choose that sweater for you? Did you grow that ironic beard for her? Are you happy in your work, or just pretend to be to keep the peace? Did you miss taking up that scholarship because your family moved out of state?
Did someone ask you to hold their glass while they whipped to the loo? Do you slouch to compensate for those years of dance lessons which make you look too...straight? Are you trying to hide that southern twang? Do you talk ******* when conversing with strangers and tend to come across as a complete *****?

I thought so, go figure!

The more I think about it, it becomes clear to me - ironically enough - that who we are and how we communicate, interact, love and live is based on a pancake stack of impressions and fragmented contexts; a continuum of sliced-and-diced perspectives, learnt behaviours, and erroneous assumptions. Life is a veritable rabbit hole, thank goodness for poetry! :)

‘Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won't come in.’
- Isaac Asimov
Aa Harvey May 2019

What's the chance of anything changing?
Rearrange it; rediscover how to say it
And maybe we could avoid failing and aging.
Become immortal, or never thought of.
Chuckle, chortle, show the world your prose.
Your vernacular, may sound peculiar,
To those who speak another language;
But these words are yours, the accent your own,
Do not allow your soul to become languid,
By those who only criticize.
Take a chance and maybe you could say something right.
Maybe you could find a love to believe in
And maybe you could learn how to fly.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Makayla Jordan Dec 2018
haaaay you???
you must got me some kind confused?
i mean
did you think i was ever gonna love you,
trust YOU.
better gon'on find another little TRICK
to play cause i ain't no trick.
by gollie you better find you 'nother one.
Aa Harvey May 2018
Speak to me.

Your accent brings a smile to my face.
You make the words more beautiful.
I could happily listen to you talk about anything
And I would be amazed at the language you speak,
As it appears to be tangible.

I want to pluck your words from the air before they drift away.
I want to lift you up from any despair;
No harm should ever be sent your way.
I want to save you.
I will try to amaze you by telling you my truth;
I dream about you.
Well, not exactly you; just the image I have formed,
Of the ideal woman.  She stands out from the norm,
For she is rather extraordinary.
I hope you are her; I have been waiting patiently,
For love to find me; I’m oh so ready to embrace love.
Are you made for me?  Because I am love in human form.

If I were to become yours, would you want to be adored?
And cherished and kissed and merry and picked
Ahead of all others?
My chosen, let’s watch Frozen,
So I can hear the voice of an angel.
I have no need to change the channel.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
money speaks in an accent
few can quite

there's a certain inflection on
the cash forked out by
a hand

a tongue knowing
how to enunciate
will garner favors
which nicely inflate

the dialect is foreign
and of an unusual
those having an ear for it
receive a likeable

talking quids requires
a most refined voice
where the buyer has an
*unfair advantage of choice
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