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20 Cents
The guy gave the war concern 20 cents
This was enough to buy ten bullets
Which would **** ten enemy soldiers
If fired accurately by a good soldier
He'd give more if he could afford it
But he was jobless and skint
20 cents was all he could afford
Bread and coffee cost money
Even if cheaper thru the VA
His benefits were little not enough
So he just gave 20 cents
To the war collection team
When they knocked on his door
It brought back memories
Vietnam and Central America
Plus other deniable places
Still alive in his head
He didn't like Russians
So 20 cents was fine
The cost of ten bullets
For a competent soldier
He prayed they wouldn't miss
Once he was a soldier
With many good kills
All of them Russians...
Marz Jun 2021
I think I'm stranded
The tides are changing and I'm stuck in the rocks
The water is neckdeep and  scared of drowning
Everyone has helped but that's why I'm not dead yet
They've done all they can and I'm alone
Please, please help, I don't want to drown
Please help my sister and I  get back home we're running out of time before we get evicted.  It's ok if you can't help but anything is appreciated
Annie Mar 2020
I had a dream
Leaping stone to stone
Above a stream
Beneath me faces
Of the dead and old
Around the mist
Of the silent cold

I ran from place to place
Enflaming candlelight
Step by step along
A never ending staircase
Arriving on the top of
A tower, left alone

Haunted by a wooden rockinghorse
I threw down marble stone

By which I made a sacrifice
To fires burning bright
That saved me with its blazing flame
Within this bitter night

(And when I woke I saw it clear
As morning sun after a storm
My memories I couldn't bear
Still stuck in me like roses thorns)
A dream I experienced after assisting my first ***** donation.
annh Nov 2019
'Now, make sure you've sterilised those instruments well. I want no complications with this one,' I say to my rookie assistant.

I carefully lay out the gleaming stainless-steel blades and check that all is in order. We're waiting on a last minute ***** donation to complete the procedure and although the timing is unorthodox, I'm confident of success. The pleural resection should be reasonably straightforward. If anything, it's the closure that bothers me...and the possibility of problems further down the line.

From outside comes the sound of a vehicle screeching to a halt. Then the kitchen door bursts open. 'Mommy, Mommy, we got it! The last one.' My six-year old holds the bag of chicken giblets up triumphantly. I smile at my father as he appears with the rest of the Thanksgiving groceries and passes them to my son. 'Right, so who's going to help me stuff this bird?'

A flash fiction piece for all of you celebrating Thanksgiving today. :)

'Thanksgiving Day is a jewel, to set in the hearts of honest men; but be careful that you do not take the day, and leave out the gratitude.'
E.P. Powell

'The funny thing about Thanksgiving, or any big meal, is that you spend 12 hours shopping for it then go home and cook, chop, braise and blanch. Then it's gone in 20 minutes and everybody lies around sort of in a sugar coma and then it takes 4 hours to clean it up.'
- Ted Allen, The Food You Want to Eat: 100 Smart, Simple Recipes
Mackongo Sep 2019
I’m reclined in the chair,
For the very first time.
My anxiety at its peak.
It’s black and uncomfortable.
My arm resting on the side.
I begin to bite my cheek.
The equipment sitting there.
Standing by are the people,
Preparing for me, now all set.
I get brave and ready for the needle.

Clear tubes now red,
From my blood running through,
A strange, tingly sensation,
From my blood donation debut.
Racing to the pouch,
Or like a large silly straw,
With some sick beast enjoying
My blood at the end.

Alert at first,
Blinking tiredly soon after,
The room starts to spin.
My eyes playing tricks,
Is all that I could gather.

Suddenly falling,
But deep asleep.
The faces appear,
Absolutely appalling,
Dark orange and black,
Dripping and oozing,
But what flows from them?
My blood, perhaps.

Wait, why am I asleep?
I know I already wrote a short poem about passing out on here before, but I revisited the idea for my creative writing class. I like this better, I think
IncholPoem Jan 2019
Many  times
i  have  seen
sewing  my  t-shirt
while  i  am  in

M,any  times
i  have  seen
talking  to    with
my  gay-partner.

While  i  am  
in   firework,

Many  times
i  have  seen
turning  your  e-scooter
towards  my
private  old  age  home.
while  i  collecting  the
donation  online.
Steve Page Sep 2018
It's so loud - like a thunder
like the storm of the girl she was
quick as lightning and gone

It's so loud
louder than ever
I don't remember her heart
being so loud
so proud of my little girl

I didn't find enough time
to listen to her
to listen to her heart
to listen to her heart beats

I didn't find moments to hold her
I could have told her
- look after your heart
it's so easily snatched away

I didn't hold her
---- hear her
--------- dance with her
nearly enough to know her heart
I wasn't nearly father enough

listen to her heart
with so much more life to give
with more life to live

Listen to me
Prompted by a you tube video of a bereaved father listening to the heart his daughter donated to a young man in need to a transplant. He stood there with a doctor's stethoscope against the guys chest and sobbed.
ONLY  for dear Eliot and his Amount
that’s in my serious head that counts

WOW!  Dear Poetess, (referring to a best friend)
Your rhyming skill comes up to the HP service,
I mean surface,
ah, phonetically it sounds the same,
no one to blame,
in fact, I am an evangelist
and that's for HP true bliss,
IF I think what it is as it IS,
ah, that bliss

we may give through to dear Eliot as he IS,
he needs that amount
for his account
is also our account
as we all mount here
our creations
for many nations
nothing to hide

as it comes only to demand that amount
for his and our account
his special baby
his special lady
seriously this is a thought-provoking one
huge one,
non comparing please, to none

but If I may say
not as huge and difficult as the Mount Everest,
the New Zealander Edmund Hillary and the Sherpa Tenzing Norgay
mounted the world's highest mountain,
is more than that, I reckon,
it is also known in Nepal as the Sagarmatha, now I start to sing
and it flows till Tibet as the Chomolungma, haha!
Remember this poem is just for Eliot from our dear HelloPoetry
from me, just the simple and humble Sylvia
as usual as we are creating poems for HP
we are oft in greatest glee
please don’t forget
the pure meaning and close target
of my poem today
well, I wanna say
make way
and hurry up to donate
an up-to-date
firm donation
as fewest as you can
but of course IF you can
as much and many as you are able
for our dear Eliot knight of our Round Table
he is fighting for this most important strife
we must help him ‘coz we are also part of this ardent life
for the apps mobile

HelloPoetry has become true famous worldwide
please help Eliot as quickest with this
‘coz this bliss for him, is also our bliss
and then we can create and send many a mile
our loved poems through our mobile
be noticed that I have done this blend
in a few seconds of moment
I have done this only for dear Eliot
may we have in the nearest future
for our poems a better structure
spending more time at our mobile on this spot
then we will enjoy a very lot
greatest glee and happiness for our dear Eliot!

This concise
I hope you’ll regard it as nice
thought it would be a brevity
as you can see I ain’t that wise….

PLEASE, don’t forget the Donation
then we can say to Eliot:  Felicitation!

Sylvia Frances Chan
Wednesday 21st of March 2018
Shreekant Dhuri Apr 2016
Death strode tall
On his midnight stroll
Ticking names off
His unfurled scroll.

Met a man pious
Deep in solemn prayer
Calling for Salvation
To the Father up there.

Met a woman old
Singing chants and hymns
Pleading for Moksha
From this life of sin.

Met a boy kneeling
His head bowed low.
Praying for Jannah,
If He should grant him so.

Death reaped them all
Torn from blood and bone.
Took away their souls
And kept them for his own.

Met the small girl,
Her gaze reaching his.
"Any last prayer?" asked Death.
"Before I plant my kiss."

"Just tell me if the lad
Mine eyes, now his,"
"Will there be," She asked,
"A smile on his lips?"

Death turned away,
From the girl and her soul.
For her name had faded,
From the scribblings on his scroll.
The poem is a message to promote ***** donation.
Umi Feb 2018
By the soul and it's order and porportion given to it
Inspired by it's wickness and righteousness each spirit strives
for it's own clear goal, wether that be nihilistic in some eyes,
or of great worth to others, each soul has been brought with
the greatest of purity at its time of birth.
Corrupting it is as simple as purifying it, but the evil, shades,
seduces tempts and leads astray to which a soul poorly responds.
Desires, wishes, hopes and dreams of them differ in many unique,
fantastic or irritational, preculiar and dark.
However, each spirit of a living being shares one similarity,
It is, as simple as it may appear, just the wish and dream to live
a life in carefree attitudes and a happy manner.
Of course, wealth too is amongst those shared desires, but this
world is cruel, brutal and shows no mercy as others have too much
and others have almost none at all.
Oh you of humble birth, patience, tollerance, compassion, love are
making this world a better place.
So give from your wealth and purify your soul by such,
in the remembrance of the poor, oppressed, depressed, abused,
starving human beings, whom could at least have it a little better.
And each soul runs on a clear course, determined to meet it's fate
when the sunset of its life has arrived and death becomes a cover.

~ Umi
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