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anon Sep 2017
his eyes held tales i never had known
of worlds and ideas, creatures and such
i hadn’t pondered since i had grown
why did getting older come in that rush?

after looking in his storied eye
i’ll never regret saying hi

the first time we talked
it felt so perfect, so easy, so simple
the road of friendship we together walked
there was i greeted with his happy dimple

after looking in his storied eye
i’ll never regret saying hi

with trust and trust we soon grew
his wise young mind greeted mine
he trusted me with what was hard to construe
a world filled with all that would common shine

after looking in his storied eye
i’ll never regret saying hi

fairies, giants, ogres, even glowing bright flowers
all found in his world awaited me
smiles greeted me in droves and showers
their excitement and mine gave the boy great glee

after looking in his storied eye
i'll never regret saying hi

he brought me there whenever i’d wish
and guided me towards his favorite things
during which conversations would to me switch
for he said my voice gave him wings

after looking in his storied eye
i’ll never regret saying hi

there i was, his only hope
and in a way he was mine
our tie was tough like rope
and our conversations aged like wine

after looking in his storied eye
i’ll never regret saying hi

it was my fault that darkened day
i let myself forget his worrying head
i let him away from me stray
now due to me, a friend is dead

i’m sure after looking in my boring eye
the dead magic man wished i’d never said hi
Saumya Aug 2017
Santiago set out to catch some fish,
He sailed out further, then had his want
And waited patiently with the prayer and wish
With the remorseless lament.

For awhile the boy, Malolin
Joined this ole man, to learn fishing
But the old man was, so dreary and weak
Weak enough, to let go months resting.

Manolin  was a a fair young kid,
A kid of twelve or more
Santiago was an old man,
A man of eighty four!

The boy got annoyed,
And decided to leave
Thinking the old man,
Was disgruntled to perceive.

But one fine day, when the sun smiled at this case
The old man tried to set off his dismay
He thought to go fishing & get his bait
Like he did so happily, in his boyhood days!

He set out, set again and caught some fish
He sailed out further, and had his want.
He saw a birdie, leading him to sea
He caught more tuna,  and one bigger fish that fullfilled his want.

He relished the tunas, the sea offered as  gift
He loved how yummy, yummy it looked.
But hardly noticed the deep line,
the bigger fish had something big on it, that may further get him hooked.

He used a small line,
To snug a dolphin.
That had in it two small fish
They hid it it, Shining and smiling.

He fought his need for sleep and fatigue,
Of constantly keeping hold of line
Before he saw the bigger  fish,
Suddenly circling his boat's outline.

He assumed the fish's weight to be twice of his boat
He stabbed the fish with a masterstroke.
He used his hope to the utmost
Tied the fish to a side of his boat,somewhere thinking to take it to shore.

He let the current have him whole,
Fearing the sharks might sniff
Sniff the blood off the big fish,
In some hours or just a jiff.

The first shark took the hefty bite,
Before he got stabbed by Santiago's harpoon,
The  second one took just a quarter bite,
But before these two got dead soon, they took with em the half harpoon.

The old man fashioned a yet new harpoon,
Fixing the knife to an oak stick,
He used it then for the sharks to come,
But , oh! It split on a new shark's skull click.

He fought, and fought, but oh, at last,
The old man won, with the major loss
He returned to the shore in moonlit night,
& Found the fish just had a residual skeletal mass.

He reached the shore, with tears of remorse
Oh, how bravely did the old man fought!
Though it was a ' Victorious loss'
He thought while dragging the mast to shore while  Monolin  came running, discussing how he fought.

The boy smiled at the bravery, the old man showed,
He smiled at the old man like he saw a hero,
He hugged him tight, &  smiled in delight
And called Santiago,  'His  brave hero'!


And so you see , this sad story
Ends
Santiago tried to help himself,
But he needed the help of his
Friend,
To provide him with some worldly wealth.
This is my first attempt to ballad :) lemme know how it was to you? If you've anything that I need to know bout editing this, please send me your suggestion through ur messages.

Thankyou
Daniel Tucker Jul 2017
He travelled to Canada's west coast
To sit in fields of Mushrooms Magic.
Psychoactive effects created rooms
Filled with white cognitive static.

He returned to his hometown small
In Boreal forests of Ontario's Northland.
Beyond locked doors now unhinged
He sank deeper in grey matter quicksand.

No one quite knew Joshua anymore.
Disturbance eclipsed his passive way.
At the local pub he told Ed and me
He was being followed by the C.I.A.

In one weeks time he picked up a knife
And stabbed his father and mother.
His father lay dead on the kitchen floor
She played dead and tried not to shudder.

Joshua was found just sitting in their car
When police came to the scene of the crime.
In a hospital for over thirty years now
His room has been a static void sealed mind.
©2017 Daniel I. Tucker

Someone I knew a long time ago.
Ceyhun Mahi Jun 2017
There, the orange and shining sun,
Does shimmer on the sea,
Returning till the breezing dawn,
So things become nightly.

The streets and sights of the city,
Welcomed by nightly wind,
Become more slowly more pretty,
With neon light who's signed.
Ceyhun Mahi Jun 2017
The rain does fall upon the street,
Of Flushing bright at night,
The place where grey concrete does meet
With crystal droplets bright.

Around the crowded corner late,
There're signs with neon lights,
With crowds who view, who conversate,
While longing for new sights.

Upon the lengthy crowded lane,
The people roam around,
While skies are pouring tender rain,
Along the city sound.

The signs describe the tasty foods,
So much and more to pick,
The nightly times do set some moods,
Attracting people quick.

I'm singing songs about this place,
At early twilight times,
About its sights, about its ways,
So happily with rhymes.

The olden buildings are combined,
With lights of bright neon,
Who're making pasts with now aligned,
Like the poet Gihon.
''Gihon'' is one of my pen names.
Ason May 2017
“Nobody owns life, but anyone who can
pick up a frying pan owns death.”
– William S. Burroughs

Through a door that is not mine
that’s left ajar from time to time
we see a man with zany eyes
scarred-up face, mouth full of lies.

Through a window at an ungodly hour
the night our neighborhood lost power
we see the man pull on a mask
and knit the weavings of his task.

I should have gotten quite the scare
when he pulled that woman by her hair,
then tossed her in the hole he’d fill
and quickly cover with daffodils,

but I’m no stranger to playing detective;
his plots have proven rather defective.
A call to the cops brings a rap on his door
that eventually leads to the lush garden floor.

Now, I don’t think I’m deserving of fame
my ego is simply much too tame
but I have kept dark things from view
and you listen well, so I’ll share with you.

There is something you should recognize
in that man with zany eyes;
don’t always believe what you’re told to see,
for he who plants the daffodils is me.
I promise I have not killed anyone. Inspired by and partially lifted from a Tommy Siegel song.
The Dybbuk Mar 2017
He told her he loved her,
he meant every word.
He swallowed the liquor,
To make love a blur.
His fists and his actions,
no longer his own.
Every interaction,
cut down to the bone.
She thought that she loved Matt,
but realized the facts.
He lived like a rat,
who carried an ax.
He hurt other people,
But damaged her most.
Beneath the church steeple,
Lays their lost love's ghost.
He left marks on her soul,
They were angry and red.
Now Matt's six feet under,
With a hole in his head.
The story of a girl I'm glad I met, and a man wish she'd never met.
NURUL AMALIA Mar 2017
no need to find the light
yours is more bright
There is a weight that is chained to our fractured heart.

It is filled by our worst failures and emptied by our greatest triumphs.

We wish nothing more than to be rid of this cursed pendulum, that swings to and fro as it deepens the fissures in our heart to reach our very soul.

All around us we see those whose hearts are joined with a kindred, like the morning rays in the night sky.

And the pendulum continues to swing.

We see their faces smiling, as their hearts beat in perfect harmony, a symphony of resonance with complexity and depth.

All the while our heart exudes a lonely note, sharp and unanswered.

And the pendulum continues to swing.

Our efforts to remove it have been in vain.

Our triumphs are few, and our defeats plenty, and with it, its burden grows.

And the pendulum continues to swing.
Travis Weis Mar 2017
Light is to the eye
As sun is to the sky
A birds wing to the breath
A widow to the death
Remembrance of those who bring
Solidarity in a minor thing
Not to be forgot
Save your second thought
Late is to the time
As word is to the rhyme
Time you lost in love you dread
Ticking clock to save the dead
Not in time for whom you wed.
This poem inspired by many a great poet and romcom movies I watch to much :)
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