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Mandi Wolfe Nov 2018
They are sitting
turned facing away
from a world of water
Small but unforgiving
waves crash at their

They are smiling
laughing even
overwhelmed with joy and

How is it that they
capture this moment
so completely?

They don't concern themselves with:
sea monsters,
or the thousands
of pounds of plastic
littering the oceans

The wind blows soft
and cool
the water feels warm
and their mother
smiles as she wipes
their salt stung eyes
on the borrowed
beach towel.
Robin Carretti May 2018
Sounds swarming
But quite alarming

College babes
Like_ Slimfast
Loves never last
Dorming ****
X box Assassin Creed
Video gifts Elfering
Twitter  featuring
The Rattlesnake

My sweet

Big mistake
The sangria
Clever mastering
The place was
That Drunk
No comedy act
Ben Stiller

All  Gigs **** her
GIF ruff stuff
Gold digger bluff
Hangover cliff
Her bedroom eyes
Tonight the
Holy water
I phone Maria
Sangria suits him
Just the ring fighter

Ratfinks website
White being
Drink Kahlia

I won't
My dream drink
My love, you ain't

He is singing
Strong hangover
with mudpack

Drink playmate
All geared up
Generous Gina
Montezuma revenge
The Saint lounge
How she flaunts
her drinks inferior
Writing a poem
some fonts
((His Tatoo))
the bomb drinker
Pineapple chunks
water ripe ripples
Leftover drunks
Mon Cheri *******

Acting like a Saint
Terri spiritual Rumi
The drink scruples

Riders of
Heirs of beer
At the dorm

The ((Psychic Alarm))
Your drink woke
you up
****** humor
Someone was singing
I just met a girl
named Maria

((Harry Potter Hogwarts))
San Antonio
Met Maria
What a belly wash

Drinking up
Alcoholic Darts
Two lovers
liking Maria

Smoothing in
He has
a Margarita
down to her
last drink

Sangria tank
Egyptian Army
buddy drinking
Like a

Lions and coins
Bermuda sounds
And globetrotters
My Saint
of Sangria

On her drenched
She could
have done
his Bio

((That SanAntonio))

((Hostess)) Gia
Tony was singing
out to Maria

Her wings
of liquor
The Saint moves

Cabaret stripper
Natalie let me
entertain you
Surprise the
Flipping homes
Drinking up
Their Sangria
My Saint
Mama Mia
You arrived invite
your friends
No Maria
Drinks on me
Schools out
But Sangria
Stays in we party
Way out
Drinks of so many but we must be the Saint that Godly drink let it be our destined God please don't nod when your down and out Sangria shout
I was strolling down the aisle
We were shopping there in style
With my daughter sitting smiling in the cart,
I was stretching out my hand
For the Martinelli's brand
When the apple of my eye gave me a start.

With the bottle in my grasp
I saw, coming toward us fast,
A high heeled damsel, scarfed and towing her caddie
And she smirked as I, condemned,
Stood up to comprehend
The reason, as my child said "Whisky Daddy?"

There was nothing I could say,
To make it seem another way,
To vanquish the conviction so compelling
It was the color you could tell
And the shape she knew so well,
The question that my daughter asked was telling.

Neil Stewart McLeod
This poem is published in an anthology called "A Ship In A Bottle" and is available from this link:
Rachel Ace May 2017
I trapped on the stairs full of turns

A few days so high up in the sky
A few days down in misery

Sometimes led to sanity
Sometimes led to gray

Railings full of thorns         s  
Down the rungs to   o n  u    i o
                                  c       f           n
Half-raised arm                                
Touching opacity

Tail dress
Bare feet
Hidden blushes
Saved hope
Ballerina hands

Lost in the middle of your stairs
You pushed me down?
Mess catch me

I'll always be the morning dew for you
You insist on showing
You forget the thread that joined
You changed the pretty
Why like this?

You are well on which step you are?
In which can I find you?

It's not down to sadness
(You changed the meaning
The essence disappeared)

Existence is like many steps
                                       I thought I came to the top with you
                                                             ­                                  But it was an oasis

For your young you: Generator of ascending stairs in our dimension.

- Codelandandmore //20:30 PM ©
Real Cute boy, remember last mermay, It was all so fun :)
Osondu Jan 2016
In these halls of wailing souls
These halls of ailing babes
Stand I, to them, a fiendish ghole
Needles and tubes, different sizes and grades
Heartless, I ignore their wolf like howls
Gently readying needles of different shades

Their screams echo off these walls
My ears fold upon themselves, deaf to their fear
I must continue with my mission, discarding their shrill calls
I grab a flailing arm, steadily drawing it near
In goes my needle, liquid within, into ****** halls
In hope that their shrill cries don't persevere

In these halls of wailing souls
Silence falls on ailing babes
First attempt at rhyming...
Shout out to all those who do it effortlessly
m i a Jan 2016
my friend asked me,

'what's your favourite ****** feature?'

i replied with, 'my eyes of course'

she said, 'but why, they're just brown'

'i don't know, i just like how when my eyes meet another ; they dont seem to frown'

instead they smile

even if im a mile

in some way, it makes me happy

'but why?'

hm, i dont know i guess i just like to see the beauty in everyone. in everything.

i looked up into the sky, and told her, 'well, that's why i like my eyes the most. you see?'

she looked at me, laughed for a minute and said, *'you know, you can be so dramatic at times; especially with all of those rhymes.'
^me and my friends' conversation today. xD
Deana Luna Apr 2015
barricaded bones and your
soft tones
sweat. lingering.
my belly weeps for your song.
and from the tips of this mighty dew-dripped tree
and from the depths of this reminiscent lake
emerge patterns of varying shapes and sounds
with one universal undertone of
the way the breath pushes its way out of your lungs
through your gritted teeth
when i make you ***.
alena Sep 2014
is it fitting
That on " national love letter day", I write my first to you?

I have written about you since we met.
But this, mi amo, is the first directly to you.

I had never shared my writings before you
I still have them in a notebook full of emotion
Locked with the same key that buckled my heart.
But you hold it now. So you hold them as well.

You are my first in so many things.
So I only hope I can be your first in a few.

I stand before you exposed, enchanted,
and enveloped in your love.

I have a habit of writing.
I leave notes
song names
written everywhere...

Starting today
I'm writing something worth much more.
Little tokens.
For you.
To keep.

I'm writing you notes, poems, letters.
All about you
for you
explaining my adoration
and pure addiction to you

Here is the first of many...

I cannot wait till I can wake up quietly,
roll over to see you
ease out of bed
and leave you notes on my pillow where my head was resting
" I am out running for your (French vanilla, cream and sugar) coffee and getting you chocolate frosted donuts, be back soon my love"

Here is to you baby.
Here is to the notes I've yet to leave
Here is to the letters I have yet to write
The poems yet to share.

Here is to you...
Because they are all yours.

Here is to the first of many.
My love...
All my letters are yours.
Here's to you babes.
To many more
Maggie Emmett Aug 2014
Young women know all about style -
how to fix the decimal point
between them and their mothers
differentiate themselves
from Special K over 40s wanna bees
mini skirted and high heeled
trying to catch their husband’s eye

Yummy mummies in their 30’s
are separated from the new stock
by firm elastic flattened midriffs
no bulge or wobble
unlined skin taut sometimes
navel peirced or *******
their legs wear the 4” heels again
on winklepicker pointed toes
for a mid century crop
of bunioned feet.

No scraggy necks or waddle
no tea tray arses only
plump peaches
in the bend over show
of skimpy, lacy thongs
of ****** floss

So, **** femme fatale is cool
body object the thing to be
flouncing and  preening
flirting and *******
random hook-ups on the run
in the alleys of time on the net
in the warp of space
Killer !  Whatever !
Wicked ! Yeah feral !
An ironic take on **** feminism and glam-**** kulcha.

— The End —