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O O.  .O O
W.     .W


Yo me llamo
Elder Robinson

Y esto es mi compañero
Elder Leíva

:) :)

Somos misioneros
De la Iglesia
De Jesucristo
De los Santos
De los


Estamos aquí para
Hablar sobre la familia
Y como podemos tener
Una familia eterna

Me imagino
Que quieras
Tener su

Tiene algunas
5 a 10 minutos
Para hablar
De Jesucristo?
Once a missionary
Always a missionary
The little gulf of
Costa Rica

Is where I first
Saw the true power
Of the Word

Our words
My words
An Elder now
My words

I changed the course
Of lifetimes with
One knock
Of the

And now I know better
Than I ever did that
My words are like spells

True or not
They are real
They have power
They alter

My words
I choose carefully
My words

Until lately I throw my words
Like bullets on the internet

I never know
If they land or not
But I curse

The Words
I spoke in


12:30 pm
August 30th
Girard Tournesol Dec 2018
Her platinum blonde hair was a firm
     spunky Irish when she was a kid
And compelled me to wish for time travel
     as I have loved her since she's existed

She says she'll table dance if she wins
All for a package of crackers I'd have
    never kicked her out of bed for eating
Says if I'm lucky she'll pick Mardi Gras beads

I told her that from her wedding picture
     Veronica Lake had nothing on her
She said straight into my transparent heart:
     "I've had a good life"

. . .and I was lucky
> As published in The Pennsylvania Poet's Society magazine, PENNESSENCE
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> Listen to me recite Joanne @ Bingo on DarkHorse7 BandCamp.
Brynn S Nov 2018
Open up your doors
The soul of the elder
Rusted keys chirp
Under prints small flutter
Fly into the heavens
Songbird of far
Death until morning
Follow knight’s star
Charlie Dog Jul 2018
She's always been like a tree,
Rooted and strong.
The resemblance
Only grew with her age.
The wrinkles of her face-
Hard and intricate bark;
And her wisdom reaching-
Branches offering shade
Brent Kincaid May 2018
I’m waddling around with wattles.
Nothing in a bottle will change that.
Not buying a better looking hat
Or a brighter, tighter shirt.
My childhood left in the dirt,
I’m an old man! I do what I can
To not look like a wino under a bridge;
A smidge of aftershave so I don’t stink
And people don’t think I’m decaying.

What I’m saying is, I’m getting old.
Graying smudges among the gold.
This is me. This is what I see daily
When I glance gaily into my mirror
Expecting the guy as young as I feel.
He isn’t real. An old guy sneaked in
Again, and I wish I hadn’t peeked.
Oh well, this isn’t really hell.
I have never thought I was hot,
One of those handsome lads that had
Everyone’s heads turning for them.

I had dim hope there for a while
But, no matter how much I smile
Nothing wins like smooth skin
Broad shoulders and big pecs.
I mean, I was not a wreck, but not
As I said, even a little bit hot.
Oh well, I got what I got, true?
Can I or you ever defeat genetics?
Like father like son, and mother,
Creates another generation of us;
Nice guys and gals, but plain,
And this old man is what remains.
Pencil Poet Nov 2017
Son screamed
‘When will you grow up, Dad!’
Father nodded in remorse and cerebrated -
‘My heart remains young, Hallelujah!’

malice so gelidly plated
on the day of the parting
an old fading rose not receiving love
her bitter heart icy in grief


the fresher bloom captivated
his soul with an exceeding depth
a budding beauty so glorious
of splendour he'd prefer to hold


words exchanged between
which made for a catty scene
out came the elder woman's claws
wanting to scratch the dahlia's eyes


and the allure of newer flower
he'd ever keep
as the ancient wrinkles
in time did finally creep
Colors of my imagination
Grow constantly within my mind,
Prosperous world I once created
Dragged into elder forces' fight.

The darkest matter of Ruination
Tries to destroy my universe,
But cosmic echoes of Creation
Have counterpoused their ancient force.

The oldest forces combat wildly -
There wasn't any fight like that,
The streams of power spinning blindly -
Arising essence of black shade.

The new stars' substance is arising,
From this new essence of pure dark,
Now millions of worlds are shining,
And billion fires have been sparked.

A thousand years passed after battle,
I ask its shadows (they're alive):
"How could chaotic fight to end up,
In giving birth to purest life?"

("We've witnessed universe creation,
We've seen a strength of spectral knights,
Bringing a life to new dimension
Requires energies' collapse...")

Shadows retreat - to constellations,
Last time I see the new worlds' light,
This picture - my imagination,
It's getting bleak like nighttime sky.

(inspired by Decrepit Birth and Blut Aus Nord)
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