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Stark trees on the hill line
intertwine with the sky
Their branches be parted
bent by the wind

Sourced from a height
Droplets dance
Ripples spit
Wet doesn't quit

No gold in sight
at ten degrees
Given what is seen
only green grey and white
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
I like to make
The wrong
Choice
.
.
.
How else would I
Know it
Was
Wrong
annh Jun 2019
winter
weepingly bitter
counts to ten
d
e
g
r
e
e
s
then cries some more
‘To appreciate the beauty of a snowflake it is necessary to stand out in the cold.’
- Aristotle
Glenn Currier Mar 2019
Sometimes diplomas are deleterious to a degree
it seems the cap, gown, and certificate holder
buys a telescope and starts using it to see
loses the ability to write freely and bolder
becomes particularly adept at speaking in snark -
so much easier than personally and intimately connecting -
preferring critique to finding and being a creative spark
becoming expert not so much from practice as from correcting.

I knew a man who used to be my friend
until he acquired his PhD
then he began to depart and ascend
too high for him to see little ole me
I knew a few too who were doctors and buddies
whose degrees didn’t pedestal them
who didn’t let their higher studies
erase their humor, make their hearts go dim.
This was inspired by Chris Sorrenti’s limerick, “Comments” (https://pathetic.org/poem/1552996563) in which he bemoans a certain guy named Dupreʹ who had an English Literature degree and habitually made snarky comments on others’ poems on a poetry website but never posted a poem of his own
caroline Mar 2019
before the world burned
cities vanished
water rose
and the air became too thick to breathe
it was a nice place
but to most  
not nice enough to fight for
b Aug 2018
it should have been
41 degrees today.
the hottest day of summer.
i prepared.
i wore shorts to work.

it rained like
noah's flood.
i didnt see it coming
but i heard the rumbles
like drums from hell.

i wrote words for jane
and i never thought
id ever show her.

i read her two poems
and she liked the one
that wasnt about her
much more.

it should have been
41 degrees today.
Far moost o' me
     three score minus one year
tethered upon terra firmae where
planet Earth doth veer

(spins upon the global axis
     (tilted 23.5 degrees from the plane
     of its orbit around the sun),
terrestrial genesis (perhaps accompanied

     for Pete's sake by Gabriel
     blowing his horn) in all honesty unclear
boot more oven concern
     points to thermonuclear

and/or subnuclear
war, particularly at forefront
     of thine primate noggin
actively hypothesizing

     theoretical armageddon,
     when non plus ultra gravitates
     with e pluribus unum necessitating
     each individual to bend over

     and kiss his/her rear
goodbye unless total merciless queer
hue loss atomic fallout immediately
     incinerates e'en

     the moost savvy profiteer,
which aforementioned prognostication
     arose from overbear
ring hazy, hot and humid

     dangerous heat spell near
lee approximating insufferable
     temperature nearing triple digits
     (along Eastern Seaboard

     of United baked States
makes this human,
     an immediate convert to climate control
(though he happened tubby already)

     basking, glorifying, and luxuriating
     within delightful 60º Fahrenheit mere
really expressing gratitude for such
     creature comfort donning my

     stretched out birthday suit,
     (yet thee moost comfortable leisurewear
then thrift store "special bag
     mountain of clothes

     as mooch as Yukon sales,"
     no matter mine ill mannered
     mirrored reflection doth jeer
at such a sorry sight, and/or

     laugh reading interlinear
monologue colloquy,
     which message gleaned between lines,
and should this poem be red aloud,

     thy ******* passion linkedin
     with humming HVAC, ye would hear
courtesy hove cochlear
(hollow tube in the inner ear)
sensitive to deafening sounds...so beware!
Martin Narrod Feb 2018
February 8th, 2018 - 11:06pm. In. An. The. How much deeper will this go? This desert. This baron land and escape from the moonlit evenings’ effervescent engineering of short-lived Neanderthals. These voices are enough to split our hides through and through like an cheese grater, that pants-boots combo chases us into the early morning forecast. I need to get out with her. We need to get out from here. We need to go out from this place. There are hexes and hieroglyphs places matte with ill-defined Finnish designs. There is the yolk and that which copies it. There is the phone and the web of tangling eyes whose corpus is mimicry. I am the notes and the music is taking me down, down, down. Whether it’s our dreams or the sweats that keep us ratcheting our bodies beaten eyes hooked to the cadavers we once chose. Now it’s up to you to choose. This is the fuse that we’ve let loose, maybe your furnace can curtsy and observe these sad blackened buffoons while they make us shrivel up and go hide back in our bed cocoons. This is a zoo I tell you and you tell me. This is a zoo of mayhem, hedonists, and 400° degrees. These are the tiny beds we hide in until they melt us down, into the heirs of our highness, our luxuries quick to abscond.
JayceeJellies Sep 2017
It's finally getting cold again,
and I won't have to worry
about the sweater I'm in.
Silence Screamz Aug 2015
Life is cruel and unkind
Boiled over with wasted time
Count the hands of moments lost,
tick by seconds, minutes tossed

Temperature rises and hits the mark
A hundred degrees turns too stark
Bed of sand and heat wave sear
Weigh it down with constant fear

Mercury rises an internal kind
Cuts right through a melted mind
Turn it off, burn the fool
Anger mounts then its cool
inside my head when anger mounts
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