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Seranaea Jones Nov 2020
-

in case you was curious,
that "©" which appears
at the end of a writer's

printed work is purposed
to indicate copyrighted
materials within it's body

recorded —somewhere—

on government stationary in
a government office located in
a government city guarded

by government agents who
typically are out to lunch on
the government's dime

(our dime)

but My lil " ©" doesn't
cost all that much, like if
you buy stickers from

an alarm security outfit for
seventeen bucks to throw on
the front and rear windows
of your house,

instead of the $ 1,700 system
that wont go off unless
YOU are there to
turn it off.

still, its nice to know—

a burglar would be less likely
to risk setting it off from
reading the copyright notice
                                                   anyhow...



s jones
© 2020

.
Video link
https://youtu.be/0HXAyHo0T0w

cute lil poem about
© dogs that bark,

but dont bite...
Wayne H Colegate Oct 2020
The keyboard calls out after beer and gentle drugs give a nudge
I have a plethora of burning thoughts but my fingers won’t budge.
I want something sweet and comforting with a sweet tone
But fear and anxiety have cut me deep to the bone.
Its not writer’s block but a fear of tomorrows story
I fear it may be very messy and gory.
Who knows what bus will be the one or perhaps a grenade
Or standing in the cold of a Santa Claus parade
Don’t think too much it can cause many bad cuts
It can drive the car of life into several deep ruts.
Dance everyday though no music is playing
thinking all day on what your soul keeps saying
Dig up some words never heard in this life before
The ones that will be remembered and cut you to the core
Your legacy has the value of a suitcase and some ink
Hoping what you’ve written down will cause just one to think.
Wayne H Colegate Oct 2020
Leaves of varied colours scatter as a promise of tomorrow,
The winter winds may bring chills, ice and bitter sorrow.
The scourge floats through our homes traveling on personal spit
Seeking a new customer and a friendly place to sit.
Masks and gloves cover faces and hide our sad expression
But these thin disguises cannot eliminate our growing depression.
We wait for an easy answer from a pile of helpless failed leaders
Knowing full well they won’t succeed they are all just bottom feeders.
We older souls just sit and wait with anticipated anxiety
While politicians turn to money and cloak the choice in piety
Kiss your treasured love ones and hold them very close
They are our only hope for a love filled vaccine dose.
We are the ones they will sacrifice at every single turn
As the fire continues on in rage we are the ones to burn.
basil May 2020
i'll never say
"all rights reserved"
because
these poems aren't
really mine.

as soon as you
resonate
with my inky words,
they are
yours.
idk. i hope you're doing alright, lovely.

05.14.2020
Hussein Dekmak Apr 2020
The company of:
An intelligent friend will nourish your brain.
A loyal friend will safe guard your heart.
A motivated  friend  will charge your life with energy.
A wise friend will show you the way.
A kind friend will fill your soul with love.
An optimistic friend will brighten your life with hope and inspiration.
A moral friend will effect a purpose in your life.
A humorous friend will bring laughter to your days.
A spiritual friend will promote peace in your life.

Hussein Dekmak
Edited 2 My co-worker at Beaumont Taylor Hospital '
Karina Sherwin Bloom' had inspired me to write this poem.
Alexx Luceanu Oct 2018
Forever debating what I should say,
How to survive and get through the day.
This feeling,
These voices,
remain in my head,
From the moment I wake until I return to bed.
Erected a barrier so others won’t know,
How embarrassing it is to let the pain show.
Can’t change the past,
It’s forever haunting.
Does the future have to seem so daunting.
@copyright 2018 Luke Wallace
Colm Apr 2018
Have you ever had a song repeat?
And turn you a certin way?
For in passing I see
Now that Mayer maybe
When he said
"Would you say what you need to say?"

Such is a necessity
Sometimes I don't know how to say it. Or simply how to ask. Because I put on such a truly confident mask all the time. But at the end of the day, Im just like you. Very much imperfect in all things. *nod*
Wayne H Colegate Mar 2018
I stumble when my tired feet attempt to walk,
I stutter when my ancient tongue tries to talk.
I count the years and fear strikes me cold
I know now that I am afraid of being old.
A wrinkle arrives most every single day
No amount of treatment can make it go away.
Rest does little to appease my constant fear
I think about the other side and shed a quiet tear.
Will I miss my loves, my dreams and such?
Will I still long for someone’s warm loving touch?
Age always works for wine and cheese
But it is a tragic enemy of memories.
Dreams become less important and almost dry
No warmth or promise not even a gentle sigh.
Tread lightly when you wake each morn
Try to recall that special day the one when you were born.
A realilization
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