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Adellebee Sep 2015
The picnic bench foils under the body weight of my half drunk self
There is a cat cuddling up to me, with her tail

Pink Floyd plays in the background, as the cat brushes up against my legs
Brings a feeling like something of the loch ness Nessie

Shirley sits beside me, watching the night sky
And focussing on my presence and cigarette smoke

I pet her, and she stays
Smoke and inhale
The cars bustle by

The final places of another busy day
The wall is built and she stays beside me

But she now has disappeared
Inhale, exhale
Smoke my smoke
And drink my 4th beer
Nairi Kalpakian Aug 2015
i can make one bottle of beer last hours
From cold to lukewarm
My *** settling into a state of what I call
Perma buzzed
Wussy sip after wussy sip
Perplexed looks and slights from friends
It serves me right to drink so slow,
Evading the glass bottle bottom but
I guess I want to be able to hold onto something so much,
It warms up to me and serves me well.

~

Right now, I want to be buried in a house of lavenders.
Grab the keys
The truck is full
Let's head out
hit the road
It's Friday
Time to party
A teenage
secret code

Tweets are out
Friends are set
It's party time
tonight
We're going
out in secret
We'll be home
Before daylight

Going on a back road ride
Deep into the night
Going on a back road ride
It will be out of sight
Going on a back road ride
Won't be back until the morn
Going on a back road ride
In the fields beyond the corn

We're teenagers
It's what we do
It's how we find
out who we are
Like our parents
did before us
We're following
Our star

We learn
about each other
We learn
Where we should go
We set a path
Into the future
With the star
From long ago

Going on a back road ride
Deep into the night
Going on a back road ride
It will be out of sight
Going on a back road ride
Won't be back until the morn
Going on a back road ride
In the fields beyond the corn
Coop Lee Aug 2015
there is a camping trip planned and preserved
on the reservation of our hopes and dreams and summer sweet nothings. we
retreat upon an open-toed weekend, cooler gemmed
& ready.

there is a place in the mountains
& on that wooded ridge it is waiting to be seen and witnessed. lived
upon, lit upon,
seedling.

sure, i love you.
& sure, i’ll die. and that is forever.
& forever is -
no worry. no bluffs. no sweat.
because this life is right, and right now is everything.
yolk.
to become a bloom of love more than just words and digits and plays of
time. this time
is ours.

is good beer. great beer. &
the heat. the her. her soothes and sovereigns
on this land in which we live with the whole tribe and fun days.
we are our own dreams.
good dreams.

meet her on the shore of a river.
& she is listening and speaking and sung.
with an urge
to love and let begin.
take precedent. take my nettled little heart
and crackle like fire from it the nutrient of lonesome ode.
& from the strum of that
we begin.

we end.
we cog back into the existence of small time
small town nobodies. worked little we.
service and cinema.

thus
busting gut toward town and more weekends and more movement.
there is motion to this curve of time, kids.
curve of pages expressed
& exposed here in wayward traveled poems.
truths of some sort or hallucination. here
we daydream.
Paul Butters Aug 2015
Season of sun and sand and sea,
Holiday time for you and me.
Daylight right ‘til ten o’clock,
Don’t forget to wear sun-block.

Sitting idly reading Keats,
Watching kids with buckets and spades;
Sparrows with their frantic tweets,
Flying high above the glades.

Oh it’s great to be so free,
No more snow or ice for me.
Even mugginess is okay,
So long as it’s warm throughout the day.

Swimming in that so cool pool,
Sure beats sweating back in school.
Summer is my favourite month,
Whoops my rhyme-scheme just went Whoomph!

Nothing rhymes with month you know,
But let’s forget about that snow.
Let’s laze instead on lawn or beach,
And keep a beer within our reach.

Paul Butters
Homage to John Keats.
Justin S Wampler Aug 2015
"Good luck!"
The bartender said,
with a grin on his head.

With raised glasses
around the bar.

With a collective gulp,
our worries vanished.

With a collective flick,
our cigarettes lit.

and we all sat silently,
contemplating our own
specific set of doubts.

Looking for
our light within.
Adellebee Apr 2015
We used to be so close, under a blanket of clothes
We spent our days weighing the empty promises
And bottling up petty regrets and draining sorrows
It was really never all that perfect,
The stuff you remember was mine,
And the things I can not forget was all on you

Screaming, yelling, into stained reflections,
Mirrors telling me there is still some way of a connection
Mattresses against the wall, been curled up in a ball
Between the mattress and the wall

Everyone needs a place to be vulnerable
Find a time to sit down and try to be perfect
I am sick, sick of pretending we were meant to be
But I cannot get rid of you, and you still stay in my mind

Because I cannot let things go, I ponder, and dwell for far too long
And too long has been too long, and my life is spinning by
And I cannot seem to stop spinning
Our lives are no longer intertwined
And Ill be stepping aside,
Because our drive has subsided

And for the first time,
Ill still be able to look at you,
Where the pieces fall,
When the pieces fall,
Ameliorate Jul 2015
You raise that beer glass to your lips with such expert precision .
We exchange words out loud, yet we've been speaking with our eyes this whole time.
Yours looking softly through your glasses.
Lower, lower, lower.
However unintentionally, I notice when your eyes come to rest on my exposed cleavage.
Have I done this on purpose?
Worn a low-cut shirt to watch you squirm.
As little as I know you, oh I am wildly attracted .
You've snared me with your lips, dimples, eyes.
To know what you're thinking,
As we enjoy each-others company in a room filled with the chatter of many humans.
Each with their own agendas.
How long has it been since someone ****** softly on your bottom lip during the heat of a kiss?
Am I crazy for thinking that maybe you're just as attracted to me?
I fell very vulnerable, exposed as I sit here.
My hair is up and I can't hide behind dim lit campfire.
We just watch each other, with the frustrating inability to read the others mind.
Now we are just locked in another battle with time.
Your laugh is incredibly intoxicating
It has me more buzzed than these drinks
I crave to listen to your voice for hours
Away from this crowded environment.
What could happen if we were alone?
Would you kiss me, heated, like I've been dying to kiss you?
To taste your lips, choreograph a dance with your tongue
You have the strong hands of a man who's been working on vehicles his whole life
Dirt etched deeply within the fabrication of your flesh
What are those fingers capable of?
I shiver, drawn back out of my daydream
People laugh and cheer around us
There's a football game on the surrounding TVs.
The game doesn't interest me
But I need to pay extra attention to be able to hear you over the roar of people
Drown out the sound
It's only static
Watching your lips move
You're a piece of art
Perfectly canvassed for a poetic muse
Yet you're sitting here with me
The lost art of conversation, by now we must be experts
You must be able to see right through everything I am
My good intentions like driving at hyper speed
I wear my attraction so visibly I feel it must be noticeable
You don't give away if you know, though
I'll catch you off guard underneath the stars one day
When everything else becomes obsolete
And we lose ourselves until the sun breaks across the horizon
Yes, I intended to make you squirm
I've added an ending, since a lot of people told me my ending was too abrupt and I wasn't satisfied with how I left it halted.
Paused on the veranda
  for a poetic tête-à-tête,
we sipped vintage wine
  and spoke of days gone hither
      when we were much greener,
  tripping the nimbly light
   and guzzling cheap beer into
      the wee hours of night's obscurity,
wiser and older, yet still imagining
        one day we'll conquer the world,
resigned to this present moment
     we comfortably reminisce,
               midst the effervescent
                                bubbly of reality
Mattrick Patrick Jul 2015
Tired of being spectators, they threw down their beer, turned their eye from the spectacle of it all, and started clogging the gears of poisoned progress with their designer clothes, smart phones, televisions, and credit cards carrying the debt of ages.

No longer the spectators, passively accepting their elected fate, they burned the ballot box with the ember of liberty; but it was their breath of righteousness that turned that box to flame. It was only after they turned off the television that they realized their banal heroism--their right to fame.

Together they would inherit the earth in its shabby state, knowing that if they could make it past this winter, a new spring would emerge from the seed they had sewn; no man or woman could hold back the feeling of regret for the past, but it was the children, unseen and unnamed that would strip them of the past, and pave new roads to the future.
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