Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Seán Mac Falls May 2015
HP sycophants
Why would someone prop up hacks
Idiots praising
Weekly Poet = ( lame Duchebag ) Beryldov
Not to mention Lew
And all the other posers on HP
Cat Fiske May 2015
he has a left handed base,
and I want to hear him play,

but he is in vermont,
for the winters,
but that's alright,
we can have the summers,

but I will be working,
and trying to get my truck I wanted,
and he will be waiting,
daily for me,

he will eventually get tired,
of waiting for me,
to hear him play,

I love him,
even though the last time I was with him,
my friend kicked his sack,

do I know why,
will he, she, or anyone tell me,
why they hell they were made at him?

but I love him,
I love his long hair,
and his honest mind,

I love how he doesn't call me pretty,
but still does with his eyes.
I love how he just means what he says,
and says what he means,

I love how he,
says he thinks he loves me,
and how he doesn't get mad when I cry,
I love when he holds me,

I love when he kisses me,
and kisses my neck,
and leaves marks,
to make sure I don't forget where he was,

I love how he doesn't make me **** him,
or **** his ****,
unless I want to,

I hate,
how I won't get to hear his base,
and how I miss him,
my baby :c
Leigh Apr 2015
The nettle stings, scrapes, scratches, and scuffed shoes were
far removed from us; the last worry as we cut,
crisscrossing to create a crawl space
through a wall of flesh-hungry growth -
at first - to gain access to more flesh-hungry growth

The discipline - for me - was an exhorted departure but the
product was worth every scab; an open space where we
could be: undisturbed, unfettered, unchained, and with
a live canopy we were free to create more, build more,
care more and leave a sliver of our growth

Perhaps more than a sliver. Perhaps it has become my
definition of what it meant to be young and to find a fit;
connect with the other forgers - akin to a close-knit
military unit - collecting driftwood, desks, drawers, drapes,
and designated seats to burn or to use as decor

And decorated it was. Spectacularly so! Swings hanging
from the sturdiest branches, discarded rugs coated
with muck, leaves, and filth dragged in to line our atrium,
a place for every member and a code:
"Nobody but us"

Simple society solidified with barbaric politics.
A system preaching tribal nonsense can't last long.
Mostly the damage was done when things got less simple;
when we grew and outgrew and the fences were put up.
The homes and the simple society were moved in shortly after

A group of friends that hung around together when we were younger used to spend our summer months hollowing out nettle and bramble infested areas of land to create secret bases to hang out in. It is by far my favourite period of my childhood. The amount of work some people put in was incredible. The outcome - even more so. Eventually, the main bit of land was sold and there were apartments built. I think it's a shame that suburbs are becoming so built up that kids struggle to find a place of their own. I really appreciate those days when things were more simple.

unnamed Nov 2014
Breaths hasten as he clasps his parachute,
His hands tremble as he adjusts his suit.
Shuffling the cards, he gloats at death’s blank face,
And lays them before him without refute.

He’s untouchable, immortal… he jumps;
Wind’s screams echo in his ears as he flips.
Dripping arrogance, he studies his cards;
With a half smile he bets all his chips.

With tangled string and limp synthetic cloth,
Panic seizes and bravado is lost.
Victory unfolds in Death’s haunting eyes
As his royal flush spells the fool’s demise.

His chips are gone, it was rigged from the start;
He knows he’s diced with a cheater at heart.
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2014
HP sycophants   .  .  .
Why would someone prop up hacks?        
  .  .  . Idiots praising.
AD Mullin Sep 2014
A single helical strand twists randomly in the wind
All that steadies the twisting are the aetheric strings
Connected to base pairs...adenine...thymine...
Those strings steady the storms
But where do they lead
Where any path leads of course
And our destination is always our Self
That's how we know when we've arrived
We mirror back to our other Self exactly what We are
Adenine's other self is thymine
We live in duality
Until we're ready to leave that duality and become...
who we are
Terry Collett May 2014
The sun was strong
and Miriam and I
lay in the sun
at the base camp

side by side
she in her red bikini
and I in tee-shirt
and jeans

(not wanting
to get too sunburnt)
who is that hag
who complains

all the time?
she asked
no idea
I said

not much on names
only faces
even the ex army guy
who sleeps

in my tent
(one has to share
a tent
with the same ***

I keep forgetting
his name
she looked skyward

in her sunglasses
(large things
like insect eyes)
I like Madrid

she said
I could live here
if I didn't have
a job back home

we could set up here  
I said
get jobs

get a place together
bed together
visit the museums
and art galleries

sit in bars together
she added
do you speak

any Spanish?
I said
she said

apart from my
schoolgirl attempts
which get me
no where

have to make
our way here
without it
I said

as long
as we can
get a beer
and bread

and bed
she laughed
and put out
a hand to touch

thin fingers
small hand
I gazed at the trees

above my head
touching the sky
birds in flight
thinking of her

and the love
made last night.

— The End —