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Gabriel Girault Aug 2020
As an arrow flies throughout the sky,
it remembers its journey.
How it was
crafted,
Stored,
readied,
and launched.
He remembers the days where all he did was sit and think,
where he wished to be free.
Now that he is free he realizes that all is not how he dreamed.
He was heading towards a target,
one that he did not ever dream about.
He was going too fast.
All he cared for was life as it was,
but now as he flies through the sky,
breaking the air,
he realizes he wasn’t ready.
Bardo Jul 2020
Out of a **** he made Great Art
It was no ordinary **** no!
It was straight from the heart, that
   ****
It had lain too long in the dark
Now was it's time to start
To make its bid for freedom... and for stardom.

It flew like a dart that **** from the
   heart
Like an arrow strung from Cupids
   bow
Little did it know how luminous it'd
   glow
Becoming one of the Greats in the
   Farting Canon.

It was probably the greatest **** poem
   ever written
In my own humble opinion
It was very daring and it smelt of
   onion
It was certainly the fairest fartiest
   poem I ever seen
If it was one of the three Musketeers
It would have to have been
   D'artagoine.

It inflated like a balloon, blew up like
   a great glass bubble
Then it popped and headed off
   toward England
Flying further afield than any ****
   had ever flown
It touched people's hearts, bewitched
   every nation
Resounded around the world
Yea! was heard in every Kingdom.

It flew long, it rounded the Horn
Like a Lark, that ****, it soared and
   sung
It was no boring old ****
It was far fartier and fruiter than that
It was a King of Farts
Way above the fartiest of farters and
   all the farting Arthurs
It was the real King Arthur
The King Arthur of all farts and
   Farters.

A real Belter was that **** that came
   from the heart
That had all the Angels singing in
   their cloisters,
A real work of Art just like Mozart
Or remember... remember your
   Shakespeare
"Hark! A ****, a ****! Whereforth art ?
    Thou ****"
It played its part, that ****, yea! it
   wielded its Excalibur.

O! there's nothing I'd rather do than lie here blowing sweet bubbles next
   to you
You! on your little flutey flute flute and
   Me! on my big Bass Trombone.
This is the sequel to my other **** poem "Music a la Toilette". A bit of silliness/ fun.
Lilly F Apr 2020
shielding emotion with every arrow that slips through my chest
i would rather pull it from its fletching,
ripping through my arteries and ventricles,
as my blood waters the seeds you tried to plant for us,
before i lose control again
and trust me, i'm dying inside
but my face holds a smile as cherry red trickles from my mouth
because at least i didn't fall in love with you

©L.F.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Pointed Art
by Michael R. Burch

The point of art is that
there is no point.
(A grinning, quick-dissolving cat
from Cheshire
must have told you that.)

The point of art is this—
the hiss
of Cupid’s bright bolt, should it miss,
is bliss
compared to Truth’s neurotic kiss.

Keywords: art, Cheshire, cat, grin, vanishing, dissolving, Cupid, arrow, truth, kiss, bliss
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Pointed Art
by Michael R. Burch

The point of art is that
there is no point.
(A grinning, quick-dissolving cat
from Cheshire
must have told you that.)

The point of art is this—
the hiss
of Cupid’s bright bolt, should it miss,
is bliss
compared to Truth’s neurotic kiss.

Keywords: art, Cheshire, cat, grin, vanishing, dissolving, Cupid, arrow, truth, kiss, bliss
Lili Mar 2020
her wings were pierced.
though cupid never shot her,
she longed for love.
Dani Jan 2020
He holds a quiver of bright silver
Champion of art
Chariot of the sun
His light warms me
Brings inspiration to my mind
His unwavering support in all things good
Great healer
Bringer of sweet gentle demise
He slings his arrows
Straight into my mind
Wonderful warmth he brings
Melting my stiff heart
Letting its aches and pains fall
Onto paper to turn into beauty
A poem for Apollo
Winter Sparrow Nov 2019
Are you ready to draw the final arrow?
To take that last gaze upon those sapphire eyes?
To put your hands on her porcelain waist?
To touch those heavenly lips with my own?

I can't let go of you're heart. Im addicted.
Addicted to your humour.
Addicted to your love.
Addicted to your care.

Let me take you on adventures.
Let me show you I am worth it.
Let me hold you tightly and hug you.
Let me show you passion.

With my hands on your face.
My eyes locked with yours.
My energy towards you.
My love within you.

How can one let go of all of this?
How could I forget?
How could I let you go?
How can I cast myself out of the picture?

I want to breathe your air.
Laugh at your jokes.
Learn from your wit.
Run into the night with you.

Am I ready to draw the final arrow?
The truth is...
No.
I am not.
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