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Ken Pepiton Oct 18
All education and habit
instigation occurs in time used
coincidently with life's constant,
kudzu will to make life livable in senses

only one fully functional can make, ah,
and we know mankind can become broken,
fail to function for any good use imaginable,

while using carnal mind made excuses to steal,
take away the ra' effort of the tamer of horses,

rob the seed stored for the sure and certain
cold to come, watch the birds flying south,

wonder where the wild goose leads, indeed,
come, and see, let this mind be in you, linked
to all a mortal has time to think twice, once
in slack jaw awe, as we appear in thought, once

aha, we may imagine, all alike, first knowing, yes,
that works, that has utility to me, see, I know,

how to catch a rabbit, and take it's life, for me,
and my baby who shall soon see winter, first,

and play for a minute in cold, cold snow,
not giving any thought to the bunny fur.
It is an addiction I have developed, finding answers to use against lies I was taught that once forced me to take up arms and serve, or die in prison, which requires an escape in deed, not plan.
Follow the wild goose one winter,
Lo' find Florida all under melted ice
from the last long winter finally ending.
Hollow Heart Oct 2
Never did I think,
That moving ‘home’,
Would be the reason,
I constantly think about the end.

I was so naïve to even think,
That me being back,
Would be any different.

I made their lives more difficult,
They were happy without me.
It must be such a pain,
For them to have to look at me.

Each day only gets worse,
I don’t know how long I can take it,
Before I break.

.
.
.

Who could have known,
That moving ‘home’,
Would mean the end.
Jeremy Betts Sep 25
Thoughts have stopped being my own
An unknown finger presses play
And when I get surprised by an original
That which I think becomes difficult to convey
What I want in life and from life
Has no meaningful connection with the following day
Forced into this empty role
No two cents in the character I display
Prewritten by something else
No angel but not a devil per-say
Rather an capital punishment believer
With zero concern for my welfare either way

©2024
Hoop Jumping Writers
The writers have to jump thru hoops
Like trained pet dogs for a biscuit
The biscuit is a publishing deal
Or poem in print or online story
The publisher says jump
The writers ask how high?
Have you ever seen jumping writers?
The funniest sight you’ll see
All jumping together jump jump jump!
Jumping thru hoops to get in print
Doing anything for a deal
Some even leap or somersault
How do they manage it?
Dear little small time writers
Who dream of the big time
Want their name up there in lights
Will their play sell out Broadway?
Maye you’ll be the next Jackie Collins
Write something new and original
Jump thru hoops the same old ****
They tell every newbie writer
One day you’ll make it big
Each bit of writing or poem or song
Must be better than the last one
What if the writer declines?
To be big or well known
I refuse to hoop jump!
I write simply for me…
Jeremy Betts May 6
If I were to ask you
Why are you doing this?
What would your answer be?
What exactly would you say to me?
I'm curious
Would it mirror other hard questions
That I have been forced to ask
Forcing me to watch you get furious
Leaving me reeling, feeling like the fool
Because I took this serious

©2024
Difficult ditches
Beautiful angles emerge
Viewing stars better
At least when you are in the gutter you have a better view of the sky
Some say I'm soulful,
Others the Devils tool,
One minute I might find you doleful,
The other acting quite the fool.

Yet that's patently unfair,
One aspect that I can't abide,
For I'm as pure as the morning air,
A child of the gentle ocean tide.

You may not think I live, but live I do,
Spawned in my cocoon of flames,
I thrive, but then die too,
Often amongst angst and conflicting claims.

My pedigree is strong,
Admired and always wanted,
With me you simply can't go wrong,
At times even something to be flaunted.

Your forebears held me close,
I'm privy to their secrets,
Through me their lifeline flows,
Despite them lying with the crickets.

I'm a chameleon, color is my muse,
I change according to my company,
Treat me well, never abuse,
For at my core a fragile symphony.

Where I came from no one knows,
But the world is my own oyster,
Having neither friends nor foes,
Life itself is what I foster.

Now you ask, who can I be
Someone quite so clearly needed,
Look around and you might see,
Generations that preceded.
The one word answer needs fit every stanza and there are clues throughout. Feel free to email me.
Mark Wanless May 2023
you see you feel you
think you choose and that last one
is so difficult
newborn Mar 2022
i’ve let the pyroclastic flow swallow me whole
I wanted to write a whole poem for this but I couldn’t so here’s a tiny tiny tiny poem. Enjoy :))

3/20/22
Thomas Steyer Dec 2021
Ah! Soon it's Christmas again.
I can't wait till it's over.
If only I could hang ten,
We'd all be wrapped in clover.
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