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acacia Nov 4
A straw hat lingers on the grass, blades bending softly under the pressure
posey blemished dress
azure blue summers
the trees cascade the dead-life outside
for only life can exist within this yard
this gingham blanket cushioning us
I’m crawled and cradled on you
your hands slide up my legs
my hands on your chest
your hand kissed by sunbeams
hidden under cool-shade of my dress
investigate beneath my collar and
I’ll gladly undo your pants
in the openly-secured space of your yard
where squirrels, bees, bugs, and trees watch
to protect and hide us,
they bashfully look away from our art
birds will flock to the purity of our sound
rodents will gather around the stench of our obscenity
I hope no one’s watching, but if they are, what does it matter?
i edited this poem and reposted it

let them see the disheveled hair
in love, in this heat, it is only fair

they won't know about my *****'s bruises of you
they won't see my lipstick stain on your crotch, too

nothing else to say
a honeyed vision of a summer's day
Sing for me, oh wind chime!

Winds are blowing from north to south,
Skies are darkening from up above,
Rains are showering over a white robe, and
the globe is dancing with a mild glow.

So sing for me, oh wind chime!

Blue jays are pecking at an oak tree,
Spinning around squirrels who are as carefree,
Unaware of a herd of deer roaming free,
their intelligence only bettered by their calling soiree.

So sing for me, oh wind chime!

Even as the prairie of a backyard is so beautiful,
when winds are so peaceful,
flowing the dandelions along plentiful,
depositing themselves on young ones a handful.

So sing for me, oh wind chime!
Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
and when your babies were born
you named them for the stars
but the backyard was all they ever saw
when your mother got the call
the world was obsessed
but when we change the channel
you'll still feel him inside
you'll still feel him
Matthew Sutton Aug 2018
A reflection - maybe that is what I see
A replication - maybe that is what I am trying to be

        and as I sit on this back-deck  
        my left foot dangles over the left railing

        and in this midnight the street-light beams with confidence
        as my eyes adjust
        The shadow grows
        Mine or your’s? - I do not know.

A miniature volcano decays between my fingertips
A moment of false peace
    -    a vapor
        come & gone
        a memory shrouded in nicotine
        lying within a bottomless ashtray  
        This is the back-yard landscape    -
Megan May 2018
I close my eyes
So tight that it hurts,
so tight that I'm crying

But I'll keep them shut
Until at least I can remember
until at least I can understand

When you were the one
who spoke to me
who spoke to me about wanting this small backyard

I didn't want the cherry tomatoes
so red
so sweet

Next to the chilli peppers
so pungent
so spicy

But you planted them there anyway
In this small backyard
In this hole in my heart

And the cherry tomatoes died
overbearing chillis
overbearing on me

In this small backyard
where you planted seeds
Where you planted love in my heart

I don't know what it was
But the way it is now
but the way they taste now

I like the backyard
with the hole in the ground
with the hole in my heart

Overbearing chillis
you replaced cherry tomatoes
you replaced the sweetness and the ****
Poem dumping again don't mind me ! I don't really go through my poems before I dump them lol but here it be also ****** because dumps lol get it
zb Apr 2018
I used to wonder.
About nothing, really.
My head was full of mud and wild strawberries,
Eaten young because children are impatient
And worries are small.

From the sunrise to the sunset,
We would play.
We would climb weak, young trees
And cling uncomfortably, because we
Were not as small
As we used to be.

We would swing and
Swing and
Swing and
Until we outgrew that, also.
Until the yellow plastic that once allowed us to fly
Couldn't hold lanky limbs
And tangled hair.

One by one,
The things that defined our childhood
Faded away, left behind in old houses
Or forgotten to a stream of consciousness
That made minutes to days
And weeks to seconds.

So many absent, mundane moments
I remember.
So many
I have forgotten.
Andre Vrdoljak Dec 2017
The hungry summer sky
Where in the stars still hide
Hosts one last, final try
From the other side

Now the orange moon
Soars as it did before
In the bright of the noon
To sink again once more
Adrian Nov 2017
it's been a while since I've been up here
at least a year
sitting on the textured, plastic roof
of a child's playhouse
it resides permanently in my yard
despite having been outgrown long ago
outgrown like the flowers and weeds
that surround it
the flowers and weeds that are unkempt
like one's hair on a windy day
they blow in the wind now
and hit my feet
to my surprise,
when the flowers touch my toes
tiny white petals
drift into the air
showering my bare feet
with small snow-like specks
slowly, I shake my feet
and then kick the flowers
I laugh as the Ivory petals
descend into the air
and kick again
and again
and again
the flowers are almost bare now
and my time here is spent
I look out over the long grass of my lawn
it too is uncared for,
in the summer the owners of it
are never there to tend it
and in the winter
it dies anyway
a jungle of a backyard
swept by a summer breeze
leaves me feeling just a bit freer
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