Didn't, to foretell?
Have and need soon, the exaction in a pace
We foretell is peace, a looking wish, well...
The reach of a new passion, seldom in may?

Choices
Staring ours, to win the pardon
Here is my, courtesy in new sources...
That collect a need, with calm as a problem

Hatred, is a role to finish a thought
With a deed's chaste...
Welcome it to a liberty, with no future, but a whim...?
That worlds have claimed that no man may pass...

Up
In heaven, them and tows of charisma
Curious, enough to understate love?
With another use, in the corner with its own; enigma

Here indeed...
The irony of response, kindness, to wrap a frank finger
About the succor of purpose, the identity of becoming heed
Been whether a bit lip, a changing season and a breeze to linger...

In your soul, with a boding craving...
Peace was a simple friend, that you sent to a lovelorn ghost?
Speak your piece of a puzzle, none the less a work in saving...
Another way, from the spoils of worlds, that has come to host:

Us
The praise of angst, for a belly of conscience and mere?
An awakening hindsight to love, to remind in certain voice, thus
Is its own reward when a callous promise shines; is, was never fear...

pocket puppet
people in power
hands in pants
razing the tower
climbing thoughts
clinging ivy
emotions a-twitter
prey for thee
my country
'tis of these

There were dividing lines
between Springfield
and Mariners Gate
soft, subtle lines
that spoke of origin
and code
and biting union

it was all
the reason
for being;
alive and living
dead or dying
deep in a pack
of pint size resistors
hell bent on the
marsh crow
and cannabis tower
jumping the rush
with *** shots
and anchors
and tribunals

camouflage creepers
and transient floaters
marked rebellion at the gates
(skullduggery and taunt
high on their favor list)
jack straws and flat paddles
for the evening charade
beakers and flailing hands
from the foot washing baptist
(the Pleasant Street conservatives with their
own something to say…“there’s gonna be hell to pay!”)

there's a
lingering effect
to this sentiment
(evident in the pump house stride)
the river winds
blow gently
into the night
as the huddling packers
and **** backs
chase the evening hours

it’s a bitter sweet
end of an era;
those traction bars
hood scoops
and nickel bags
will always
be the rage

Do you pledge allegiance?
With patriotic dalliance,
Like most things I guess,
We can be too patriotic, no less,
But we should be proud of our land,
Here in Oz, the great Southern band!

16 | 31 Poems for August 2016

How can we proceed with ease when we can hardly trust each other?
I have scars that run deep like still waters do – only the ocean can fathom what I’m going through.
I hope the bridges we burn illuminate our paths because the darkness tends to distort our vision.
But you can hardly notice the difference because you always have your eyes closed.
If the truth hurts when I write it, imagine how you’ll feel when you hear it.
I have pain that runs deeper than still waters do – only the ocean can fathom what I’m going through.
You always remained well-composed like a Mozart classic but if the world is your canvas then who’s your muse?
I used to dream about the Grim Reaper driving a Phantom in a graveyard littered with my endeavours of trying to be someone worthy of your love.
My friend Charles once told me that things would change but not always for the better.
But as long as you’re a King then you’ll eventually find yourself someone as phenomenal as Coretta.
No amount of morphine can ease the pain; it may seem insane but I still take pride in the scars I gain.
I have pain that runs deeper than still waters do – only the ocean can fathom what I’m going through.
I hope the bridges you burn illuminate your path because the darkness will distort your vision.
But you will hardly notice the difference because you always have your eyes closed and never really pay attention.