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Up in a tree hath a nest,
Where three little eggs lay at rest.
While mama bird is away,
The tree stands still with eggs that lay.
Up in a tree an egg hath hatched,
And then the second, and then the last.
While mama bird is on a food hunt,
The birds flap their wings and they all jump.
Up in a tree hath a nest,
But down on the ground, three little birds lay at rest.
“Up in a Tree” is a stanza from my poem “The Curse” that was published in my book of short stories and poetry entitled “Unfortunate Short Stories”
Last night, I heard the cats fighting,
raising their voices like they were singing
the crescendo of Shoot To Thrill by ACDC,
their voices scratchy
as the band’s lead singer—
and when I woke in the morning,
the next room had cat fur and shed claws,
holding true to their heavy metal nature,
they trashed the place
like only a band could.
Cats are good exterminators and mice prevention. They also come with their own challenges…

Edit. I corrected the name of the song.
Joel K 1d
I feel compelled to speak my mind—
hectic to nothing else but the air trapped in my heart.

Butterflies in the stomach, yet nothing near the heart.

Lost in thought, trying to find what’s right, this ”divine reverence.”

We have in one another—these leaps of faith similar to stockings.
Chances of increase and decrease are fixed and  100% of the time it is crashing.

Economy makes the shots, always putting synchronization first.

Individual lives are startled and judged by their apparent fans.

What would I know? Kept my mouth shut, people worked differently.
That makes us more of individualists then we claim to be.

As I take a picture of you, I sacrifice a fraction of my life—recollecting your actions and words in one picture everytime I take a look.

At the end of the day we are individualists, so to write about you is a whole different story.

Only by the components of our life could we waste time on one another.

If you could make me second in command, I would make you first.
To be with a Guppy as close as me…

Tendencies of a fish—yes.

Friendly as a Guppy—yes.

A Fish Tied To A Hook—yes.
I wrote this before any of the poems I posted on this website and I polished the end.
I was expressing a deep thought, wondering why humans are so stuck on individualism and how they are only a few people that question this, referring myself to a fish.

Specifically a Guppy since they are both sympathetic and Empathetic. Overall I was attacking the fact of not being able to spend more time with one another. I just edited the premise.
Mustafa 3d
I look at the tree standing tall
It's just standing there in rain and shine, and wind
It doesn't move,  it doesn't talk, not a sound
Sometimes I wonder, what is going on inside of it

The tree is there to serve us, asking for nothing
No rent is charged to the birds that make it their home
No sitting charge, no waiting charge, no matter
For how long you stay on its branch or under its shade

Apart from that, the tree is giving us flowers and fruits
It produces them for the birds and animals to consume
It consumes none of its output, only gives it away  
To come and take as much as you can FOC

I sometimes wonder, is this tree for real
How can you give, give, give and only ask
That you leave it alone to do its work
It's work of serving you wholly and totally

I salute you, O Tree, and I salute your creator
For all that you do, for all that you do
For the birds, animals, humans, and even insects
Thank you, O Tree. Thank you, O Tree
This poem is an ode to the trees on our planet. Trees give us so much, yet humans have no appreciation and mercilessly chop them down. The result?Global warming and the gradual destruction of the human race
Lee 4d
How can I have loans to pay,
when i can't even find a way,
to keep my guts from spilling out?

How can I save each bug,
So many small holes dug,
Where do I get little gravestones?
Struggling with life but I stop to save each bug
Odalys 6d
Eight little legs, big hearts to match, with ears that stand up proud,
They rule my world with tiny paws and bark that’s always loud.
Two black tri-colored kings at home, with crowns of fluff and charm—
My corgi boys, my soul’s delight, my comfort and alarm.

Romeo, the baby boy, a whirlwind on the floor,
With zoomies in the morning light and sass I can’t ignore.
He spins like storms with lightning feet, obnoxious as can be,
But in his chaos lives a love that’s wild and fierce and free.

Godrick, calm with wiser eyes, the older, patient knight,
He watches all with quiet grace, his mind both sharp and bright.
He’s gentle when the world feels loud, a grounding kind of peace,
A steady soul who holds me close when all I need is ease.

Together they are joy and light, a duo made just right—
The thunderbolt and guiding star, the laughter and the light.
They cuddle close, they steal my socks, they own the couch and bed,
And every day I thank the stars for every kiss and shed.

They’re not just pets, they’re heartbeats with tails that wag with glee,
My Romeo and Godrick—my perfect family.
They've filled my life with endless love, no words could quite express,
My corgis are my everything—my chaos and my rest.
Lee 6d
Residue of a storm, left behind and round.
A spa for those who croak.
Nature's water fountain for those too small to ask.
A vacation in rock. Minor invertebrate have a home.
More adding into; a ripple effect.
Bespattered by its surrounding walls, some clear instead.

A new stand laced up, a day to face.
A stride cut off by some plash, the sky!
Dark and your steps now dampened too deep.
Look at it this way, the earth had a laugh.
The best you can do is entertain it.
I actually wrote this piece in middle school, I don't write poems this long unless I force myself to do so, so it's cool to see a peak into what I can do if I focus.
my cat is crying,
crying still, and always loud.
his mouth is grief incarnate.
what name could hold you,
you feathered fury,
you opera of complaint.
April, 2023
MetaVerse Jul 3
Prepare the battle kittens!  War
     Is coming down the lane!
The Nerf ammo is on the floor;
     The window feels the pane.

When lollipops and ****** bombs
     Fall from a Bob Ross sky,
A sandwich crust of soccer moms
     Will say buhbye and by.
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