Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A few years ago, he was just a kid
Now a man, he comes back to fight
The demons and ghouls he came to rid
To help the town see light

He died the second he crossed
The town went under and away
The remains grew covered in moss
His wife received word and had nothing to say

His family continued to live
Although he was in their thoughts everyday
They lived modest, thankful for what he had left to give
Often visits were made to the site of decay

His kid learned the lessons he didn’t
A leader by birth, he brought the town together
He raised twice the army his father sought
They learned to adapt and change such as the weather

A few years ago, he was just a kid
Now a man, he came back to fight
The demons and ghouls he came to rid
To ensure the town sees the light
The problem with a world reserve
     Currency is that one country benefits
          More because they are in “control” of
               The supply and interest rate of money.
                    This gives that country an exorbitant
                         Privilege and ability to abuse the power
                         What we need is a neutral base layer of
                     Money that can serve as a reserve
               Asset for the world, not controllable
          By any group or country, open to all.
     Bitcoin is this completely neutral
Base layer available to the world
You can see this poem on a background here -
Louise Jul 2023
I should've known from the first ride,
that I would be falling fast.
I should've felt it from my first fall,
that your show must go on.
I should've known from the first rodeo,
that should've been the last.
I should've felt it from my first trot,
that I'm better off riding alone.

I should've known you couldn't choke the horn,
but you were all but a yellow-belly.
I should've watched how you 'let her rip',
yet a horse is all of my riches.
I should've believed you don't want no cahoot,
but I rode for you 'til dawn while hungry.
I should've watched you ride to the sunrise,
yet I am left chasing sunsets.

But I am still the greatest,
with or without a lily liver cahoot.
I am the best, from east to west,
a taste from my lips would prove it's true.
I am the lone star that shines the brightest,
with or without your hat on, you'll be blinded.
I am all of the gold that they all rush to,
the legend they call 'light at the end of the tunnel'.

You should be sorry, oh you should be sad,
all you would be is a runaway robber.
Because I could've been your brokeback god
now I would be everything but your lover.
I put my hat down to say sorry for being your bandit,
Now I ride to where the lights would welcome me,
far away from all the grime, dirt and strife
They all cheer and whistle and holler my name,
while you weep that your whole life,
let alone your morning rides will never be the same.
Yee to the f**king haw.
Thomas W Case Apr 2023
The under shell of
the tortoise looked
like a sunset.
Blasts of color:
orange, maroon, burnt sienna.
I caught them in
the garden at
sunrise, eating a
tomato or chewing into
a head of lettuce.
They always looked so

I was just a
sunburnt boy, with
cutoff jeans and a
straw hat.
I caught toads too.
But when they peed on me,
I let them go.
I loved that land.
Ponds and streams,
fishing and climbing trees.
sweet, green
Bardo Mar 2023
One day my young niece was showing me some photos of herself and her
  friends on her phone
She had loads and loads of these photos
I was thinking to myself I don't think anyone's taken a photo of me in forty
Then I thought what'd happen if I got famous and someone wanted to write
  my biography (would be a short book)
And they'd say Give us some of your old photos to stick in the Book
And of course, I'd have a problem, I'd have no photos to give them,
Then I remembered there was this Novelty Joke shop in town
They had a great collection of all these different kinds of wigs
I thought maybe I could buy a few wigs then stage a few photos
Pretend they were from earlier days,
Yea, I could get an Elvis wig with the sideburns, I could say that was my
  Rockabilly stage
Then I could get a big Long Hair wig and say That was my Hard Rock
I could get a Mohican wig and say Well that was what I looked like when I
  was a Punk Rocker
And Hey! Maybe I could get one of those lovely big blonde Dolly
  Parton type wigs
I could say
"Well that Summer I was listening to a lot of Country music".
A bit of fun for St Patrick's Day. Have a Great One. Cheers!
Merry Oct 2022
We watch it ache and screech,
Tortured for some mercy in its misery,
We’re not allowed to wring its neck
All because the law can love a crow

Every time I mention its pain,
I get scolded. Chastised. Reminded.
This is farming country: and no one loves a crow
They eat the eyes of helpless, newborn lambs
All because farming country loves a lamb
Especially one they can eat themselves

The call on the phone goes nowhere,
Just like that now flightless, punished bird,
Concerns dismissed by automated machines,
No one bothers to come after the tone,
All because no one loves a crow.
its been a while since I last wrote a poem, I think this was a pretty good reentry into the format
Marisa Hope Aug 2022
i saw us

4 cars and a lake house, making friends all over this town, nothing holding us back

3 dogs and a sunset, laughing until there’s no air left, netflix binges on our couch

2 matching starbs tumblers, getting mexican food when our stomachs rumble, stargazing pretty far our

1 walk down the aisle, listening to morgan all the while, smiles on the way out

but instead it’s time to let you go

but i hope you know i’ll always love you so
Suhaib Tariq Jun 2022
I heard a call from heaven, I saw a fever dream
Of a land my kin would live in and joy would reign supreme.

But the land of the pure has blood in her waters
Of the children she bore, both the sons and the daughters.

There is poison in her air, her streets awash with shame.
How long shall her people suffer these perils in her name ?

Where justice is all but rare for the ones of wealth and fame
and her defenders sold her bare for fortunes and petty gain.

Her clerics were no different, they were but the same.
Men of God with Godless morals, who put us infidels to shame.

So we wait for spring's embrace, in this garden of yours and mine.
But winter is a mighty foe and it hangs on to every vine.
Next page