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Megan Hammer Aug 5
He wears his smile like me
Moves in drunken circles
I stumble walking beside him to his car
And sing laughs as he hits the pedal

Another time, red bull and coke
Where the bicycles roll by
But I don’t hear anything besides him as we bicker mouth to ear

I just want to hear his thoughts
But he won’t give them to me
It’s out of his comfort zone to give me that kind of head.

I wonder when you’ll get tired
When you’ll be in that bar again
And someone will be there
And you’ll take her home like you’re used to

And do it all over again.
For he whose thoughts I wanted to hear - thank you for giving them to me.
Decra Kerubo Jun 27
You knew it,
You knew how much you meant,
But I didn't know,
I was the chaff
And you were the grain

I was ready to withstand,
I saw how you drunk with them
You came tipsy
I didn't mind
In the name of love

I am not a dreamer
Neither do I see visions
How could I know?
I was there like a stream
For the sake of lack

You dropped me in an ocean,
You were sure I couldn't make it out,
Waters washed my scent away,
And you poured darkness upon me,
It's only you who knew.

I'm sending a drop,
It's carried by the rains,
Save me from this ******* of fake love,
I need my free air,
I'm suffocating, you can trust

Taste that tear drop,
It's salty unlike the raindrop,
Make sure it's bubble doesn't break,
Just that,
Just let me down slowly
That's a love poem, just asking to be released from love that loves a part and I'm not loved back
Decra Kerubo May 15
Tell me,
How does it feel to write?
How does it feel to twist phrases,
How do poets feel?
How do writers hold their pens,
And I will know how to Hello a poetry.

I am not Harry Potter,
I wasn't born holding a pen,
I wasn't bought for pens till three
I am told, Harry wasn't born with a pen either
I know, he writes so perfectly
And now I know, I can hello my poetry

My fingers are too feeble to write
My focus  isn't in rhyming my scheme
My prowess is above the rule of poetry
My wonder is, why my pen makes such patterns.
My prayer, tell me how I hold my pen
And you will hello my poetry.
This poem is based on the organization title,
"Hello Poetry" and creativity in style where the pen is being held differently with regard to the holder. Then, other poets, recomend and the persona recomends theirs too.
Marla Apr 6
My first glimpse of
Operatic joy occurred
March 12th of years past.
In their foolishness,
They allowed me a go
At an open vehicle of
Two wheels
that went as fast as I wanted,
Where I wanted,
For however long I wanted.

I would bike away in my dreams
As they mounted assaults in life,
I couldn't help but feel invulnerable
Upon my nimble ride.

Yes O yes,
I still cruise to this day.
My freedom is mine
Forever to behold and make.
Kevin Feb 27
it was warm and the wind was with me
but the rain on my bell dampened the ring
and you couldn't hear the smile on my face.
this is for all of the cyclists that have tragically died while enjoying one of lifes simple joys.
Zywa Jan 12
Every morning after the reveille
we hold a bicycle race
from the camp to the Meuse

At full speed I take
the last turn, right into
brand new barbed wire

invisible in the light of the sun
As proficient torturers two others
are colliding with me immediately

Flat tire, torn clothes
In a comic strip, I would now
be hanging horizontally

But I fall, rips in my flesh
gaping and bleeding
Bandages at breakfast

and then I lead my patrol again, what else
after the mysterious providence
of a farmer who's going to pasture on the river?
Collection "Bruises"
amelia Jan 11
she sped down the hill;
the cool wind flying through her hair and dancing
on her creamy, golden skin.

speckled with freckles,
her smooth hands gripped the handle bars
of her bike.

the machine seemed to quiver
under her fingers and
despite
being a little old and rusty,
let her fly
on oiled springs
and rubber pedals.
written while listening to landslide by fleetwood mac
KatThebliss Oct 2018
Today was warm, I felt a little bit livelier.
Challenges never cease to erupt from the cracks in the sidewalk like brazen dandelions, the sun a relief after unyielding darkness.
I see a lot of roadblocks, they make me anxious.
The taste of defeat is not foreign, but the saccharine glow of success washes the horizon; set ablaze with ambition.
I want to be better, almost perhaps somebody else.
Today was warm, I felt a little bit happier.
Introversion breeds inward ideas.
Lady Ravenhill Jul 2018
Struggle up the hills
Late July, the sun is high
Then down hill to fall
@LadyRavenhill 2018
Haiku #53
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