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Nigdaw Jul 2019
We sit in manicured silence
A sterile, germ free environment
But still we share the air
In this room,
Breathing and rebreathing
Our own and each other's fumes.
I can smell your eau de cologne
With a hint of toothpaste,
Though not enough to disguise
The lingering fug of cigarettes
In hair and on clothes,
Unchanged since yesterday, telling
Of that drink on the way home in the pub,
Your hands shake a little, yellowed fingers
Giving away your nicotine addiction;

So doc how's the state of my health.
The date
The train is left
It runs very fast
Who can stop?
I have an appointment
A date with who I loved
I wore the most
New and expensive one
Of my well-made suit
I had troubled
As I lost my tempered
When I remembered her shiny
Smile that was seen
Over her shiny
I could hardly tie my neck tie
Which I tied before in ease
My hands trembled in fast
What had happened to my tempers?
When I wore my shoes
I suddenly saw my socks
Beside on the carps
What a luck
I became very smart
I walk out in fast
The rain was downed
I still smiled
But a speedy car passed
It distributed the water
Everywhere like storm
I had bad storm
I was downed
I remembered one
Told if you want
To get high rank
You must be patient
And able to ascend the mount
I must be patient
As I remembered her face
Shining with elegance
I went back
I washed up
In fast as I could
I wore another one
The time spent
As the blink of the eye
I tried to stop a car
To transport me so far
The cars were busy
What a bad luck!
Finally I found one
I took it in fast
Argued the driver to run
To get the train before he had gone
The driver drove not fast
I argued him with weak sound
He told he couldn't
As the land filled with water
He hardly controlled the car
I looked to the heaven
The sky was filled with dark
What a bad luck
I prayed to my God?
You know I don't want harm
Please help me my lord!
Finally I was in
The watch moved
Clicked with high sound
I became in puzzle
Which sound was heard
The watch or my heart sound
I stayed on the chair
Beside the window
I wiped it to have a look
To green garden to compare
With her wide eyes
Which looks good
I opened my note
Looked at my watch
Asking my heart
"Why she didn't come?"
The time for the train came
To move up
The moving is like a death
Comes on time without late
Not be stopped even
By the walls
High and strong
Even the doors are closed
But it did know his road
I opened my note book
To look why she is not
Here up till that time
She didn't be late
I adjusted my time
On her time as she did
She looked like have an adjust clock
With her body as I thought
She walked up the ****
On the morning to wake up the sleeping
She walked the birds
To sing harmony songs
She went to her work
On adjust time without late
Why didn't she come?
Here is the time
I wrote and keep on my heart
I reminded it every moment
Here is the respond
Oh! Oh! What luck
I opened the small letter
That it might be sent
But I forgot for my happiness
Or speed, or my thoughts
Who could stop that?
Or could return the time?
To send that letter
To meet my lover
The time is passed
As the train passed
My love was lost
one needs to read everything ,he can get
Mystic Ink Plus Jun 2018
Till 12, I was with the Moon
By 6, appointment fixed with the Sun

And, the diary repeats
Genre: Self
Theme: Autobiography || Being Naturalist
Clive Blake Jun 2017
Tell Dr Blood it's Mrs Bloomsbury;
He always sees me right away;
He's such a wonderful doctor - so much
Better than that Doctor Day.

What the devil are you incinerating,
I consider your tone a right cheek,
I've not bothered you for ages; I've
Not phoned for at least … a week.

But this is an emergency;
Yes of course it's serious,
I'm sweating, shivering, sneezing
And feel quite delirious.

I'm running a terrible temperature,
I'm covered all over in spots,
My body aches from head to toe,
My muscles all ******* in knots.

My heart's got the palpitations,
Though I've still got a pulse - it's quite weak;
My poor throat's ever so red and sore,
It's increasingly hard ... to ... speak,  

My eyes are all glazed and weepy,
My ears are infected and blocked,
I think there's a chill in my kidneys
And my joints have all stiffened and locked.

My stools - are alarmingly liquid,
My water's grey, misty and strong,
I'm suffering pins and needles, in fact ...
I don't think I've got very long.

He can see me on Thursday morning,
An appointment for half-past-ten,
But that’s no good at all to me ...
I'll be better again - by then!
Ann M Johnson Jun 2016
Had such a busy week
so exhausted I could barely speak
Needed to get up early on Friday for an important appointment
much to my disappointment my alarm glitched
maybe even caused by a power outage
Instead of making it to the appointment I was dreaming about it while
asleep in my bed.
Perhaps maybe I needed the rest really bad and that is why I overslept.
It might be my body's way of saying that I needed to slow down a bit.
Apparently blessings soon wither
Where your star shone

In the darkening sky
There's a Taj Mahal!
Undulating endless
Asimetry of

Floating above
The placid

Glimpse ~
My wet hands
Kyoto protocol
Hair in a Thankfury
Violet Versace

And your smiling coasts
Me wrapped in a black coat
Lush lucrative dynamics
Zarathustrian imperative!

Covering your manly

Dig a grave in my
Hollow submarine
Diminishing distance

Was I, to call your firm hand's
Grip ~a lesser degree in Hiking,
Or a postponed poetic height
Thumbs entwined. . .

Spirited as a killer
Eagles mudra
You stare at
My profile

Well ~we stand
Opposing as a lovers
Of A grand Poetic

Name surpassing the time
Awaiting, courting, questioning
Via simile to the blood under
The Bask's barret

No, the ring I've put aside,
My hands are bare tonight!

Bewildered, I´ll stumble forth
within a bright new day to
complete your sermon.

You usually brake the cliche
Walking hand in hand
With Affar Authors
With Dead Spirits
With Alive Authors
Playing dead, unknown
Within the journalists eyes..

When they whisper

Wisdoms to your son's father

When they sturm und drang my sweetest

The softest spring is coming forth and
I know where to find you. In southern sighs.
Dreamy. Uncatchable.

For one very special poetic lover of poesis.
Nina MacDonald Aug 2014
I think what sickens me most,
Is the way you fear the way I think,

Because had I been a man
You would praise me for it,

Rather than taunt me.

— The End —