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J J Jan 2022
Legs astretched like venomous broomsticks
Fangs drooped lazily like a calm nosferatu,
Those eyes gold as sun on styx, treasures
  that spun flame between his every blink--
Sandpaper tongue dragged over black hair
Nibbling his own wrist momentarily, then
Locking sleepy eyes on you, ascending fleece--
Retractable moonbeams flex teasing attack
   then kneads, falling like a lullaby back into
       uncapturable dreams; purring in the spirit of poe.
Seranaea Jones Oct 2020

" You have no real sense of meter,
your rhyming is non-existent
and you spell like a brat,
following no rules"


i didnt know i had to follow
any rules, 'cept the ones in my
head that represent limitation

"Well, you need to read up
on some of the more classic
"recognized" poets—
Learn the Proper Etiquette !"


i have read more than a few lines
of that finer moem-age poem-age,
and if you want to write about why
roses are red on fine sheets of poet paper
with a fountain pen in the fashion of Kipling—


i will more likely write about how well Violet blew
over the top of a half empty jug of bourbon with
a ball point pen that skips more or less
in the style of Bukowski—

and then someone can say that
we had both written poems
about Colorful Flowers...

© 2020
Kindirimu maid
By Felix Nnamdi Obiekwe
Morning after morning I wait for her
For she must come from the Plains
Beyond the thousand Sandy dunes
I wait too for her melodious tunes
Composed amidst squeezing and squirting of Udder.
I wait too for her ware, the creamy Kindirimu.
I wait because, without it what else have I got?
She never fails even if the Sahara conducts congress
You must see her adorning her bright skimpy dress
Whether the plains are burning or chilling
There is often a calabash bowl upon her head
And a million accompanying fly's which I suspect
Are more enthralled than I am
This milk maid is a bundle of smiles
The eyes glittering like stars on a hazy sky
Infecting my mood even in miles.
Each time, I behold her I knew that somethings never lie.
This Poem Kindirimu Maid, is a eulogy for a milk maid. The porm was written years ago when I was sent to arid North East region of Nigeria for an official mission.
The word ', kindirimu ' is fulbe word for yoghurt.
Sara Kellie Dec 2018
Every time I pull it off
it goes off in my face.
It's in my eye and
on my lips,
I look a right disgrace.
My ***** though
she loves it so
I do it all the time
and if I feed her
from a tin
I'd feel it was a crime
because she just loves
those sachets
that I can't pull open
without getting
covered in

Poetry by Kaydee
Jodie-Elaine Nov 2018
Early nineties,
they found a box behind reception labelled ‘lost anatomy’
opens it,
finds his voice.
They took our sounds for granted and crossed the lines ‘till the only thing our lips could do was flail,
they plugged us in with wires but no amps, back into the whitewashed walls and tied us up in graffitied corners, all the places where political shadows do nothing but lull out anaesthetic.

Mocked scenes from final destination,
the one where the subway train collides
encounters America’s tired hum and buzz.
The television upchucks static and we don’t know why it’s still switched on.
A child’s hand reaches out and plucks a seashell from an afro,
tries to hear the sea.
Looping, rippling and losing his rights each time a wave hits the shore.

The invisible nooses around our fingers rifle through an open book.
They told us that that much candy can rot your teeth
and the hand works its way up a room with a view where
tights aren’t tight
but no one ever notices the old man at closing time,
crying at the clocks.
Inspired by a 2015 Nottingham Contemporary exibition on voice, race, sexuality and gender (I'll add in the name when I remember). Favorite artworks in the show were Felix Gonzalez-Torres' "Untitled" (Perfect Lovers), 1991 and Bruce Nauman's "Run from Fear, Fun from Rear", 1972.
Gilang Perdana Aug 2017
even — which burned this hearth
can not break free itself — from
a gin of its own tongue — since
an ember starts from the word "fire"

an opportunity are also promises
will test its own sincerity — on
stirring-fate in a hot cauldron
which vaporized a lot of anxious

"should I believe
on the potion i made — if
that shatter in this frame
is my own fear?"
Creepstar Apr 2016
Wade you are so handsome
A love that's strong and true
Penny is my baby
She comes to me when I'm feeling blue
Logan is my little bear
Chipping, soft to touch
Sally is so close to me
I love her oh so much
Felix is the trouble
He is the one that knocks
To tell the truth I love all my cats
Even if they do steal my socks
Mary Alexander Mar 2016
He was the shadow to my light.
There cannot be one without the other.
No matter how fast I ran to get away,
He was always present.
No matter how close I got,
I could never touch him.
And he could not touch me.
My brightness made him stronger,
But also more likely to slip away any second
Like the early morning fog.
His phantom heart was something I could try to understand, but never fully reach.
We were destined to be side by side,
But never together.
It's a mess.
Ronald J Chapman Dec 2014
At incredible heights.
There is an awesome view.
I step out onto the platform.
I look below and see the earth's curvature.
Along with white small puffy clouds with
Oceans, that look like mirrors.

I take a flying leap!
Into the nothingness.
No sound no wind.
Then suddenly!
Gusts of wind hit me as if from a tornado.
The silence has become a roar!
I continue to fall and see
That the clouds have become large and overshadowing.

I continue falling through the clouds.
Suddenly! I see patches of brown and green squares.
I say, "My fast ride is soon coming to an end."

I pull my ripcord,
My parachute opens.
I float slowly down to the beautiful earth.

I have fallen from incredible heights
to incredible lows.

What a rush! ! !
Can we do that again?

At Incredible Heights.

© 2013 - 2014 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Inspired by and dedicated to Felix Baumgartner - The European Skydive Legend.
Felix Baumgartner's supersonic freefall from 128k' - Mission Highlights

— The End —