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neth jones Sep 2022
sap life's might                                                                                           ­      
sweet meat played against its decay
fertile pocket of the grimace death                                                        
                                         meat sweet pocket baby of pacing matey death
pant my way into the afterlife                                                        ­
                                   punt one betraying thought after-naught
nutritious carriages rattling a plenish                                  
                 gatling across the brains warlord terrain
                raided til pointless                                                        ­  
by the desert fetching in on all sides
a verse far removed from its misplace in a longer work

Zywa Jan 2022
A circle of pink

petals spreads around the bush --

fully packed with buds.
Collection "Freend"
Just Grace Jan 2022
Lay rest your flashing glaze of wishes
Down received for a moment
Breathy bow lifts to hold
and waver across few measures
Sienna and topaz
Sienna and topaz
Singe and simmer
Shine and glimmer against
All the thoughts born and dead

What makes you eager to rise
If it is not sensing gone away stories
or nursing the aches that lunge through anywhere else but here
While you replay and delay all creation
the blossoming goes unseen

She, the maiden is reigning
Une palais à remplir
Une palais à remplir
where she is her own queen
Her oceans made of no time channel open mouths
flooding its spill

She waded into The archer
Downed in his own vessel he mistook himself the pilot of

He, marooned in the surrender of damp and fertile places
where in Death he is still recovering
Soldiering and sullen
Soldiering and sullen
He is choking, and can not stop to see or savor the blossoms rising from his own till
SophiaAtlas Sep 2021
A new scientific study shows that fertility is hereditary.
If your parents didn't have any children,
Then chances are you won't either.
Maria Mitea Dec 2020
a cocoon of silk
nights are heavy but fertile
from which the sun rises
Macy Forte Nov 2020
I once mistook the fresh soil
you poured
down my throat
for butterflies.
But love should not
deep inside you
And tie
your vocal chords
in knots.

Gardens now infest my lungs
in the same ****** place
where you carefully
dug yourself
a grave.
I make bouquets
with the flowers
that burst
from the rotting marrow
of your
            —“your absence taught me fertility”
my Instagram is @macyforte if you want to see more poetry
Just Grace Aug 2020
take sips sip sips
tumble down the flowers
bundled in white towels at
my rose hips
from raised graves
velvet hearse
sandstone paves
push away stones along way

change patterns
break the consonance
act-like defiance
it's harder than we thought
get back to the tower
don't choke on the pink powder
before I get there

complex lush
doesn't need any soldiers
off horse, of course
only I reside in these gardens
part my own lawns to my great gates
a dosed beast waits
and I must return
based off of a dream
Scott Hunter Jun 2020
When once I was a child quite young
I heard a silent song unsung.
Sweet echoes now it brings to me
Yet fruitless fruits they seem to be.
© 2003
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