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Aaron E Nov 2018
Goodbye old friend
it's time again
for me to buy another ferry
to watch the world go by in

the seasons have battered us both
I have wrinkles now
and so do you

You were there
when I looked down
to think about
what I'm goin through

However, the cow leather
weathered the summer's swelter for this long
but can't extend so we can march through winter together.
I'll never sink again into my bed
feet naked,
still thinking of made memories in spades

with you stinking there beside me

An echo of the chapter
where gravel patches have tried me

A step over the road
on the bridges burnt behind me

A leftover sound now
of wooden heels through worn rubber
ringing through the halls of a hospital
stomping to a "maybe I lost it all"
to watch the oxygen drop

stop and pray to promise
that I would pay any cost and bawl, waiting.

But now she's hardly "baby"
she's got so tall

She's staying on her shoes
cause she prefers more to walk than crawl

All I wanna say is I'm amazed at how the days have passed
marking time by boot step, loose in a haze to grasp
choosing every stride with a mind on the flash I have
while each second's shorter than the last.
This is a eulogy for my boot. So I need to buy some new boots I guess.
Congressman and senators forewent
all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers
and exhibiting the right to bare firearms
as all hell broke loose as testimony
to the dire prognostication foretold

more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs
and brickbats ratcheted up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis credo, coda and **** knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint

against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto when opposing with energy
plus verve espoused by fellow delegates,
and his hologram ghost ******

from battle scars outside and/or inside
the halls of government where blows bashed
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate
as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis

of the twenty first century
during the term of Donald Trump
who throve on the cutthroat frenzied
internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon

any hopelessness for civilians to escape bloodshed
spilled from without vaunted halls of justice,
the approach of doomsday
writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed
with uproarious coup d’etat,

when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed

when Donald Trump ran the country
into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed
like some sorority or fraternity house
left the sanctified righteous West Wing

with powder puffs sans canisters
of pepper spray, whereby
most docile, humble, and liberal took a page
from playbook of Pandora, and took an aimless swing
at the root cause of melee by hurling objet’s d’art

at the pompous trump ping
Septuagenarian, whose platoons of goons
rent asunder peoples against their king
the donnybrook heathen, whose remarks
against libertarian rubric that made America great

wantonly soup peer egg go whist tickly
reviving prejudices declared dead
from yesteryear and his attempt to bring
back the glory days, when Whistler Blowers
getting water boarded and aching

deigning to implement dictatorship
of the Proletariat as a capital idée fix
weaving together, the salient strengths
viz founding fathers credo gave licks
to King George, and now in an ironic

twist and shout of fate through eclectic mix
basket of deplorables further shamed
by being routed by the New York Nicks
sewed jaws, heads of state, and dignitaries

with limping bodies spent like derricks
Oil used up and no place to go except
to keep Alice in Chains and
Alice Cooper Company with toys in the attics.
Babra Shafiqi Apr 2017
I stand underneath the plump tree
That has risen far from the apple.
With my dry tongue on the shoes
For some water from your mud.
My heart's a bloke -tired and troubled,
Lost in the grassroot of family.
All the ladies in heels run away.
My pungent smell -inherited possession,
Grabs few perfumed odours for a day.
And I, distanced away for them,
Prepare my sun-burnt skin and
poorly torn garment for a shower.
Yet still, after the rain of rants
My dry tongue sticks to your boots
And I crawl my way to lick it,
To drink the leftovers of your bathe
In the lakes behind the tree.
©Babra Shafiqi.
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
A bullet

so small and strong

struck right where

my lungs met.

Embedded itself

this insult of occult

fake tidings riding on

elitist ****** attitudes.

A bullet

or was it an insult?

Either way, I am plummeting

towards humiliation street

with my tail between my legs.

A bullet

was that woman's sharp words

cutting through my skin

like a paper cut gone berserk.



She was a joplin spider

stuck in a ditch

and I should have

smashed her spindly

weak legged body

under my heavy black boots

creating an ugly stain

that looks like gunpowder

or left over oil

spilled over

with the utmost disrespect.
Mikayla Dec 2015
Three days in,
And I must admit,
It's getting better,
Like they said it would.
However,
I have been using everything,
I have,
To keep that feeling of you,
Close to me.
Your clothes,
They still reek of you,
And the laundry soap your mother uses.
I keep the stuffed giraffe we won,
At the county fair,
On my night stand to remind me,
That you're coming home.
And I haven't yet washed my face,
I really know I ought to,
But your kiss is still on my cheek,
And I don't want to lose it.
All of our friends,
They've kept me company,
So I don't panic,
When your name doesn't pop up on my phone.
I check that **** thing so often,
You'd think I would stop,
But ******* it,
I'm hoping I'll wake up,
And none of this had happened.
Mikayla Dec 2015
I couldn't breathe,
As I laid in a ball,
On my twin size bed,
Curled up on the side,
You used to lay on.
"Babygirl, don't cry."
You said all the time.
But saying that,
Would be the same,
As if I asked you not to go.
Both of which inevitable.
Grizzo Apr 2015
Foot:
I've had enough
after being put down,
'tis time to raise up
turn things around.

***:
I'm well constructed, sturdy
some would say,
I challenge you good sir
Boot away.
NaPoWriMo #14, dialogue poem

Had some fun with it.
Jayanta Mar 2015
We are obliged to almighty  
For our food and shelter!

We are gratified our supreme
Who caring us
From the infinity of sky,
From the top of mountain,
From the intimate green of forest,
From the profound blue of water
For our vigour and glee!

Let us come up to  
Sprawling green under the unwrapped sky  
Craft it an asylum
For all of us
Implore to fortitude of Boori Boot
To live together!

Let us rejoice in concert
For spring and new cycle of harvest!
Boori Boot is a festival celebrated by Hill-Miri –tribe of Upper Subansiri and Lower Subansiri district of Arunachal Pradesh, India in the month of February. Boori Boot in local Hill- Miri dialect means to get together irrespective of caste, creed, age and *** to celebrate the arrival of spring. Another aspect of this festival is that people pray to the spirit of Boori Boot so that it blesses them with prosperity and frees them from diseases.
Thandiwe Feb 2014
I am so disappointed...disappointed in love.
It had unlocked so many closed doors and exposed my eyes to beautiful sights.
It had my heart pounding out of excitement and my tummy in knots.
I would close my eyes and feel the warmth of your hug engulf me in its ecstasy...
Ecstasy defined as "a state of being carried away by an overwhelming emotion".
It felt like I was swept away...lifted off the ground and hung up to soak up this Love.
I had no reservations...since this love showed me sights I never knew existed.
It had my highest level of thought twisted in gold rims and candy floss...lost in the fairytale that always ends happily.
Love. Love. Love.
Words formed little bubbles of thrill all around my imagination.
Cushioning any doubt I might have. It smoothed the rough edges and made the difficult seem easy.
It had me looking forward to a life with you.
Looking forward to the fights and smiles, the laughter and cries.
I used to tell you your laughter brings so much joy to my heart...
Love. I have so many things to tell you. I have so much I want to share with you.
I am upset, disappointed...yet I am excited and I still love you, love.
When you came along I belonged to the fragile kind, the dreamy kind, those that believed in the impossible.
My heart got strengthened with each day, my poems building my broken soul.
I can still see you, every second blink has your wonderful face floating by.
I blink harder to try and remove any trace of you...
Love. Feels like you tore out my heart and smashed it against a high concrete wall.
You wore your biggest boot and kicked me in the guts, making me question if I truly deserve you.
Love. It had me writing endlessly about the golden embroidery you were adding to my tapestry.
Tapestry that details the path of my life...you my Love have been added onto my tapestry. Like it or not.
You are there, blending in with the adventures of my life.
I will remember you, forever think about you...Love, You will  settle in the depths of my being.
Stacked under the "Lost and never found".
Time to move....

— The End —