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Alice Nov 14
we had a fight.
first one in a while

even though you were tired out of your mind
even though you had already gone to bed

you told me to sit tight for 20 minutes

I opened the front door to you
holding an iced coffee, a handwritten card,
and a stupid smileyface balloon

I have never been loved like this before
i'm not sure what to do with it
you make me feel important
TTodd Oct 27
one red balloon with dangling string
caught by a breeze
rising, floating free

one red balloon swept on thin air
blowing, going higher still
above the trees in open sky

and far below the freed balloon
an empty hand and upturned eyes

~ ~ ~
Bardo Jul 24
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.
Cherry May 31
A shiny white balloon gently sways with the wind
Attached at the end is a little girl, she's three.
She swirls and dances, all grace no faults.
She stumbles and giggles, not caring at all.
Her locks of hair cover her eyes, from the danger around.
The little girl is old now..
She does not giggle or sway.
She does not dance or play.
She cares, she cares about what everyone thinks.
The little girl we once knew, is no longer free.
For she has let go of her shiny white balloon.
It floated away, float float float.
Marian Solis May 14
You’re just like a balloon
That I wanted so dearly
Like a child so amused
With the feeling and its hues.

One day as I watch you
As distant as always,
I didn’t know it was the day
You’ll be wanting to stay.

I’m the child, you’re my balloon
We’ll forever stay in tune;
I dance with you under the sun,
I dream of you under the moon.

One day you flew away,
Another child wanted you to stay.
You left me, empty and lonely;
Feeling the mark from your string.
Between the envelope and gondola I'm lighter-than-air. Montgolfier-style? Not really. I ascend as a prayer with his eyes wide shut, timid in the feel for heaven. Speaking of heaven, some say it's no longer a gated community, but the association fees have doubled. Really I float like a Yost, flaming onboard for the photo shoot. The morning pass is for the kids with spending power. The noon move, and media darling, catches the Comic-Con crowd just stumbling out of a parent's basement. The night drift, drink in hand, mimics the trigger man who got his days confused from too much killjoy. Laissez-passer both giveth and taketh away -- there is no immunity in the sky, no amnesty to assign my crimes to. I'm just your smiley actor on the Netflix trail. You love me for a season or until my balloon gets popped. Whichever comes first.
skyy omalley Apr 23
Not slowly, like sand washing up on shore, but rather all at once.


Like a bubble blown up too big,
Like a shaken bottle of soda with a loose cap,
Like a needle on a freshly blown balloon,
Like a KNIFE on a BREATHING RIB CAGE.


A second before disaster.

But the question is,

Who




Will




Push




The




                   NEEDLE?


No one does.

I return home deflated. A needle cannot end me now.
I wish someone would open the cap, pop the bubble,


But there is no knife on my breathing rib cage.
Reappak Apr 15
Hope was like that
Helium balloon
Full of dreams and belief
which slipped out of my hand
I tried to grab the string
I tried to catch
But was unable to cling!
It had flown away
Soon I heard the balloon whisper
"Oh dear! Life is like me!
If you won't let me go!
How far you'll rise,
You'll never know!'
Mike Markes Jan 23
yes, our music drowns on the tenement rooftop
as the cicadas droned hymns dedicated to libido
from trees at piercing decibels, shedding nymph exuviae,
mourning warmth and dirt womb
flaunting stained glass wings—
i wonder, do they ever fly?

no, she says, at least not well.
she used to put them on her shoulder in summer
along streambeds before knotting them to balloons.
string-to-flesh, she’d make them fly.
like ground to sky, like up from down, was inevitable,

as fated as abandoned skin left on bark,
a skeletal leaf, rotting for dear death or death after,
moon-drunk, drunk-drunk, in elongated breaths,
we listen to their endless cries, now
the morning’s cold or maybe early afternoon.
There once was a girl who played the fife,
Looking at her filled my ****** with strife.
She played me a tune,
And I swelled like a balloon,
Now that girl is my wife.
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