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Aleena Sep 1
Muddled
Reticent
Sloth and slow
Unable to quaver
yet,
Full of life
A Aug 23
To end a broken star,
Galaxies twist a turn from afar,
Hearts of lions know where they rest,
Upon the lonely plains,
And to end a place, to dream,
Upon the lilies, resting frogs,
A mouse trapped, stinging bog,
As the bird sings and screams.
For this prompt on Write the World by Poets and Wordsmiths: "This prompt is simple, dear poets. Borrow the title from Hilda Raz’s stirring poem, “Narrative Without People” (full poem copied below for further inspiration), and write your own poem—a narrative in which no human characters appear."
Chase Parrish Mar 29
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
While contemplating natures of the moor.
So very full of life, and also death.

Briefly glancing round, the bog seems lifeless,
To walk so alert, danger life obscures
March do we, along the ash and cyprus

But after observation, I confess
Quite lively lies our grand mud-soaked detour.
So very full of life, and also death.

Every creature here exudes unkindness,
And any of them might our death ensure.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus

Yet still, I find their number in excess
Than places having more growth, and verdure.
So very full of life, and also death.

So now my new perspective does egress
Much different than it ever did before.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
So very full of life, and also death.
This was using a prompt for the weekly challenge in a discord I'm a member of, but I didn't submit it because I finished it late. We were supposed to quite a poem about duality. This is also the third poem in my ****** Journal series. Check out my page for the other poems in the collection, and free feel to check out the discord. https://discord.gg/HmgMbq7  As always comments and critiques are appreciated.
Kathleen M Mar 2018
I am a lake
I am full of turmoil and water
There is thick mud at the bottom
All kinds of things get stuck
There are bodies buried inside me
My chest is full of corpses
I ripple with every disturance
Surface tension broken by those who do not lightly tread
I tend to overflow I tend to spread the bog
Devin Ortiz Jul 2017
The flesh flies buzz on the old bog,
Tattered, forgotten in the forest of tainted dreams.

The foul air, in its humid fever,
Carries the stench of death, and secrets between friends.

The muck, thick and rot with fears,
And time too, seems to lose itself in the swamp's embrace.
Äŧül Jan 2017
Lost in the vast bog of stories,
It dies a slow unsung death,
May it meet its personality,
Only impersonality shrouds it now,
Under the flutter of wings,
Shall not get all it deserves,
It'll remain majorly ignored in the clutter of words,
Not because it's poorly projected, but,
E**ntirely because it's not written in my destiny.
Secondary acrostic LIMOUSINE poem.
Though my eBook novel has the best story,
It will remain unread because of my destiny.
My destiny is dictated by the planet Mars,
And it has so far marred my happiness.

If anyone is interested in my eBook novel titled 7 Seconds, they may go to its Amazon page for purchasing it.
Find it on: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MYY0DMA
And help me bear my medical costs.
My HP Poem #1379
©Atul Kaushal
I love to sit in the bogs
and listen to the frogs

I love to hear the sound
as they hop upon the ground

Their croaks "music to my ears"
it always brings me to tears

The place I like to romp
inside the darkened swamp
PoemFalcon69 Jan 2015
The Cat Sat On The Mat.
The Mat Sat On The Cat.
Hat. Cat. Mat.
The Mouse Sat On The Blouse.
The Blouse Sat On The House.
Mouse. Blouse. House.
The Dog Sat In The Bog.
The Bog Sat Near Smaug.
Dog. Bog. Smaug.
Urticaria.

— The End —