I love to be in love,
I love to be in love,
I love to be in love with you.

I love to be in love,
I love to be in love,
I love to be in love with you.

There was a time
We did not know.
There was a time
We let the music go
Without ambition;
Without guidance to flow,
And it rocked right out of our soul.

I love to be in love,
I love to be in love,
I love to be in love with you.

I love to be in love,
I love to be in love,
I love to be in love with you.

There was a time
We forgot to see
Where it comes from;
Love for you and me.
We let it run
Too wild and free
Cause rock and roll
Just had to be.

There was a time
We gave it all away
Without surrender
And we did not save
There came a time
The account was raked;
Thank God in time
We discoved grace

I love to be in love,
I love to be in love,
I love to be in love with you.

I love to be in love,
I love to be in love,
I love to be in love with you.

Another song. I haven't set it to music, yet.
It isn't a love song. It is really about how music should come from the soul. At some point, music seemed to come from the ego. That's when it suffers the most.
A Yorks 2d

Flavour that I desire,
Taste that drives me wild;
She's got the things I need,
All that gets me riled;
Milk chocolate rose of mine,
Coffee stirred with cream;
Brown sugar, oh so sweet,
Taste you in my dreams;
What makes you so delectable?
What makes you so sweet?
Mixed flavours come together,
Tastes collide and meet;
Nectar of asters black,
And of roses white;
Her petals display all shades,
Hues of day and night;
Sweeter than caramel,
And confiture de lait;
Brown sugar, oh so sweet,
Crave you all my days;
What makes you so desirable?
What compels my urge?
Mixed flavours stirred together,
Tastes, they do converge.

Tommy Randell Jan 10

Is a person who has been
A Has Been?
Is a duck that is dead
A Dead Duck?
How far down does one go
To be a Down & Out?
Or falling for a Star
Become Star Struck?

Has a plaice on a plate
Found its place?
Is something not written down
Worth the paper it's not written on?
Can a Dead Beat
Be beaten to death?
Can something not poetic
Be a Poem?

Ines Rose Dec 2017

Pity you didn’t stay away
Shame you came and didn’t stay
Pain, a boomerang, it goes both ways
You’re gonna have to learn today

I told you to run
Away from the sun

Pity you had to lose it all
Shame no one picked up your call
Painful desire to drop the ball
You’re gonna have to take the fall

I told you to run
I’m not the one

Pity you didn’t fear the flames
Shame you hadn’t learned my name
Paintings of every life I’ve claimed
You’re gonna have to lose this game

I told you to run
A girl is a gun

A Girl Is A Gun by Ines Rose is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

jdotingham Dec 2017

.      vate me;
                     put simply, just because you look
                                                            ­                    down
                                        ­                                                 on
                                                              ­                                me
                                          doesn't mean i should look ^2u
                    put simply, just because you love me,
                                             ­                !you'renotspecificenough!
                     put simply, dis/approve of me, either/or it shall
                                                            fi­ll a me^

just a little excersise of concrete technique.
Adrian Supetran Nov 2017

I saw a God crying,
With tears turning into silver.
Curious, I started asking:
"Why does a God quiver?"

He looked at me with strange eyes.
Inside those depths are dancing dyes.
I could see a fatal sign
That this God is intoxicating; so divine.

I cannot make this God mine.
Someone so broken, needs the blessings of time.
But let me show you a crime.
Let me embrace you, hoping it will be just fine.

R Nov 2017

Let's review some history
on sins long thought buried.

Caesar ruled absolute, upon his golden throne
They tell tales of him now,
His rise and fall,
How they hated him, and how they would bow

But what throne did Caesar sit,
that gave him all his power?
No book nor tome no page nor sage
could describe it from his hour.

The truth is...

His throne was propped by the people
who claimed to have loved him.
The base a set of knives,
Each knife a claim to their devotion
to someone they never loved.

A knife by one who thought he was a genius,
Another by those who came for him for advice,
One by those who thought the world of him,
And another because they thought he was nice.

Some by those who were simply his fans,
And others who just tolerated,
Some who stood in silence as
Others came to talk to him.

One who came to him for ideas,
and another whose heart he buried in
with another he gambled nights away with
as one more he looked out for.

One by one the knives seep in as the throne collapses,
And still somehow, he could yet stand.

But despite the pain, the treachery and woe,
t'was Brutus's blow that hurt the most, in ways he could not know.

No divinity, no loyalty, no love.

jdotingham Oct 2017

which hit the ground first:
the lead or the head?

Save me? &
there's a T a P - T a P - T a P-ping at the door;
i wish it was a raven whom quoth nevermore (for nevermore seems to be a lot more adored than what i endured, with more than five whole minutes with sweat dripping from poures)...
instead, it's a |piece| of |metal|
which causes the lead and the head to fall upon the floor^ T a P T a P T a P

bang¿ bang¡ save me? bang¿ bang¡
take!-mybody, but not my soul
take!-mylife: stop me from g r o W I n g old.
save me?
save me?
not at all/
\the innate fear of[never"nevermore"]; as the lead and heads
                     H I T
                     C O L D
                    F L O O R

the body lay upon; wait, it:
                      H I T
                     C O L D
                    F L O O R - 32/origin/2017


{taken souls from paper plates,
taken lives from wisdom days
taken away those velvet dates
self-defence from what they say
taken away from binocular'd dreams
taken away from mysterious means
taken away into make belief
seduced by a violent tendency.

it's no one's fault, it's written with words... or so i've heard. it's our right for this bird!
just because.
don't trust anyone, even the sugar-salt mistakes itself in the mirror for it twas--
but you trust a personified raven with lead coughs of molt-
(countdown from)ten.


when metal spreads like jam
                                                  and when flesh is cut like ham
what a sham. want some more?
bam! bam! bam!
the % screams louder than Beatlemania's crowd, man
context of fear and loading screens of physical machines.
sticks and stones break bones, but faith will only hurt me,
god of death, raven, heck, meth & an uprising of beth! all against the proclaimed defensive offence.

                                                    s­tars&stripes&&splinters&knives&masks of spite&cocked bites&directed strife and crowds disbanded by a sound of...
            nevermore! - the metal raven brings a room alive, before....
age only comes to those who die old, warmth only comes to those cremated toes, rest only comes with the eternal bed -
laws need to entangle the lead fired with thread,

which came first, the raven or the lead?
life or death?

jdotingham Sep 2017

where's the romance? where's the mystery> where's the slow dance? and where's the symphony?
it comes... eventually.
i wait for the bus, endlessly. waiting. waiting? waiting! slating the lateness of the bus. so I wait longer. and lloonnggeerr. and lllooonnngggeeerrr.
i didn't realise this is the wrong bus stop. shut on sundays.
so i walk to the other bus, passing the resistance of waiting.
there's the romance! there's the mystery! there's the slow dance! and there's the symphony!
it came. just on time.

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