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Ek Oct 2018
Sprinkling crystals dipped in glass
ray of prisms breeze my eye
sunshine rhythms hide in grass
floating sugar on the pie

Neon lights pass to scroll
while purple midnight breathes
jacket goosebumps stockings stole
four-wheeled lion grumbly seethes

Honey nectar slumbers my eyes
whitewashed lace tangle my face
gentle buzzings of pastel sky
as cotton candy sank with grace

Open heart box standing in the rain
cries diamonds for to call her name
the poetry train caught riding to Spain
set carnival dewdrops on red flames
Autumn Oct 2018
Yellow and brown cobblestone lay soaking beneath my feet
Small rivers flowing quickly inside every crack
Water cascading through red and green leaves
Greeting the earth, singularly inaudible, but together in shouts
Pooling in the grooves of uneven dirt
The trees stretching outward in the dark
Dancing along the gusts, swiping fiercely about the air
Wooden and metal chimes singing in the distance
Leaving just small haunting notes echoing through my ears
Glimpses of vibrations carried through the storm
Moonlight traced patterns all around me
Playing with the shadows of the garden
Catching my eye every so often with subtle movements in the night
Twigs snap under invisible feet as I sit still, watching
Taking in all I can through the deafening winds, I close my eyes
Swallowing hard I drift away to the sounds
When they open, the winds are dying, the rain sliding slowly now
Filling my ears with soft music dripping from the tips of flower petals
Tapping rhythms all their own in the growing quiet
As the rain stops silence sweeps through the cold; filling the night with clarity
A strange sense of calm
The wind song dies and I am alone again; wandering like a ghost in the garden
seb Oct 2018
lemon, sticky frosting, dry lips.
fingernails painted with nothing other than mustard.

toxicity measured in sweetness.
plummet into the acidic taste of citrus fruit.

when you finally kiss me, it's all marigolds,
and some dirt.

dream pop car rides, cotton candy skies;
like those songs with excessive descriptions about eyes.

the girls with green hair, and black boots
but you're all yellow, gold, butter, honeysuckle.

ma jolie citron.

my pretty lemon, honey eyes.
Anya Jul 2018
Have you ever
Felt so sluggish
You think it probably for your skin
To melt and ooze off
And the muscle underneath starts to sizzle
And only the lonely bones remain
As hot as a metal rod laid out under the blistering sun
One would feel that
If he or she closed their eyes
They’d become a shapeless lump
To much of nothing to be anything
And eventually they’d just sink into the earthen floor
Eventually reaching the crust then core
Then being desintegrated
Into tiny particles
I could keep going
But I’m too tired to think anymore
Let em just close my eyes and...
The title says it all, by the way the ending is implying that the above occurres to the subject of the poem after they close their eyes.
mars Jun 2018
what does love feel like?
is it warm and welcoming
or is it ice cold to the touch
does it have a taste?
does it taste like your first lick of ice cream and a blistering hot summer's day
or is it as sour as a baby tasting a lemon for the very first time
does it make you shy and flustered
or sad and miserable
are all these feelings still happy ones ?
all these questions i do not have an answer too
for i have never felt the sensation of love
and never will
for i am someone who love disregards every time we walk past each other
like perfect strangers, it ignores me
and when i feel like love is coming closer onto my grasp
it grabs me tightly by my shoulders
and embraces me as if ill fall when it lets go
then at my most vulnerable and at the times i feel the safest ive ever felt
it grabs its infamous jagged dagger
and pierces it through my glass heart and lets go
leaving me to fall in my void of loneliness and heartache once more
and laughing at my meek, and pathetic life
then leaving as my heart shatters into a million little pieces that not even the most talented of artists mend
i reaally like this one honestly im proud of myself personally i wrote this when i had just woken up too
Casey Rodger May 2018
I stand there in the night, although it’s not dark at all,
Not a single star in sight, but there is a shopping mall,
What feels like a million people rush by me so fast,
I must be invisible to them, knocking me as they go past.
Shops are lit by lights so bright up every street,
I can feel the traffic’s vibrations running up through my feet,
A warm buzz of machinery spreading through my being,
There is so much going on, I can’t believe what I am seeing.
Different lights flashing, flickering and pulsating around,
My ears are straining to try and match up each sound,
I know I’m breathing air, but I wonder how much of it is clean,
So many different types of people in this forever changing scene.
As I stand there listening to the loud commotions of the city,
I see a flock of over weight pigeons looking sick, and I feel pity,
I think back to my home and how happier the birds appeared,
Each one seemed so healthy and free, suddenly the pigeons disappeared.
My nose feels cold and frosted while my hands sit warm in my pockets,
My lips are wind struck dry as my eye ***** pasted in my sockets,
A complex stream of interesting, unfamiliar aromas fill my nose,
Quickly shifting from sweet to sour, although I have not changed my pose.
With each passing car the atmosphere will alter,
Aromata varies as the air drops from warmer to colder,
A consistent blow of wind from the icy thick night,
Pierces my eyes with tears and blurs my sight,
Cool and crisp air surges into my throat and licks my ears,
The hair on my neck suddenly feels like little spears,
Goose bumps coming and going with the breeze,
Welcome to one of the most exciting cities.
Casey Rodger May 2018
The wind whistles by me lightly cooling my warm sun struck skin,
Each drop of sweat instantly freezes sending shivers from within,
As the breeze picks up, so does my hair whipping and curling around my face,
Then in just a single moment it’s dead still, the wind has won it’s race.
I can hear the birds now laughing and watch them race from tree to tree,
I wonder what they’re chatting about, and if they know they’re free,
Without the wind, it’s almost as if the world stopped turning now,
It’s hot but I don’t care, let the sun keep burning down.
I can feel the temperature is high but the scent out here is low,
Traces of hay and cattle rise slowly to my nose,
A gentle soothing marinade to compliment my day,
“Smells like home” I thought to myself, but did not say.
My barren tongue lingers with tones of dirt, hay and dryness,
In my throat remains a hint of burnt bush, just the finest,
Sealed by my lips it all comfortably works there,
There is a certain peace with this landscape that I share.
Without my shoes, I feel the Earth beneath my feet,
I feel connected rather *****, I can hear my own heart beat,
Once my muscles tire of standing, I lay down in patches of dead grass,
Not long after ants are here, and they all just move so fast.
As I lay there watching, growing itchy – Though not from the ants,
A giant grasshopper visits my chest, so majestic in his stance,
He moves to face me with his intimidating position,
Whether I jump or not is completely his decision.
While my hands grow numb under my head, I squint uncomfortably at the sky,
I see a colour blue as blue, so far away, up so high,
It’s clear and clean, not a single cloud in sight,
Just the sun gleaming down, preparing the world for night.
As I lay here in the outback wanting it no other way,
Listening to the leaves rustle from wallabies that play,
I think about where I’m going to be soon far away,
But I stop and fill my lungs, and just enjoy this gorgeous day.
Beatrice Adrian Feb 2018
Wrapped around golden sheets
the aura of two divines,
kissing in the brown ambiance.
Feet in vines intertwined.
Flowers flowing in ginger hair
as the rectangles and circles
go together
like me and you:

Lets flow forever.
Based on the painting by Gustav Klimt
empire ants Jan 2018
SSSSSSTEP RIGHT UP!
Come look! Come see!
Look at this creature here,
It's trapped underneath it's tree!

This tree, you see,
Is a tree of magical properties.
HA! Not really.
It actually represents mockery.

See how it looms over this creature,
And see how sad it makes it!
This tree is the source of its discouragement,
This tree makes the creature think it's unfit.

Unfit to lift this tree off itself.
Look how strong the creature is!
Yet this tree makes fun of the beast to the point, where...
Well, it believes it's too weak. That's crazy, it is!

Someone needs to tell this animal,
"HEY! You can do this!"
But, well, I certainly can't.
This is just showbiz.
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