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this me stir wordsmith sits alone
   playing knick knack paddy whack
   please give this dorky, goofy, loopy,
   nerdy, nippy nap noopy quirky
   and wordy proto simian dodging,

   erstwhile shadowy bogeyman
   more'n a herring or sun bleached wish bone
ambitious to experience
   auditory voice o'er telly phone.

the immediate reaction sans per
   using this reply might be to toss
   in circular file (perchance
   already bid good riddance
   with previous ******* o mine)

   such wordy response away
since mine hoop for reply per non-conformity
   chances = yar come me own nitty chest
   at least 69 oceans at bay

boot, the following bit of personal trivia
   merely meant to convey
an atypical manner from this older mwm
   with some follicles of gray,

who enjoys balmy spring time temperatures
   basking in the sun during warm
   (pine scented) months of ape purr rill
   and coveted dayz o may unless being chased
   by ferocious beast of prey,

   though, i readily admit not to be a marathon runner
hoping golem like creature will
   (upon stern request) stay,
   nor does this generic guy participate
   in competitive sports 'cept sea man of a gunner

knows life doth newt always hap pin his way
which wood prompt this tiger to go yea.
this self anointed bard of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
   lives a rolling stones away

   from u2 and moody blue who
felt avaricious, chivalrous,
   efficacious, impetuous, spontaneous
   to be earnest, frank and stine true
value bull ambitious to ply cognitive,

furtive, intuitive skills to ponder and rue
literary challenges
   might bring out bovine prompting moo
goo pan a ply per this guy

   maybe absorbing symbiotically genius abilities
   from imaginary asian figure named hu,
or his identical twin brother mister ma goo
who joost happens
   to be exemplary anime portrait
   stick figures ma phalanges drew.

unsure if this written metier reply will bomb
or fly from an older scrivener,
who resides in perkiomen valley
   nestled analogous to hand held palm
housing this fella

if (the operative word) drafted with winning
   moost definitely cause for fait accompli
   to acquire nothing short of an hock cult following
   from alf fred meta for like qualm,

   your ordinary run of the millet harry, **** chain e
   or thumbing my nose at pained tom.
this aging boomer anglophile tends to go overboard
   with english vocabulary word

aspiring to attain apex of plaudits and praise
   as being witty n creatively superb
n pardon if i submitted a similar facsimile thereof
   sans the following blurb
which moost likely will (o perhaps already)
   goot tagged as absurd.

   i call myself the muster shake e spear
   n sigh ah bard from Spring Mount hills
stumbles along boulevard of broken dreams
   with other jack hammer sons and jills

donning penchant to feign being troubadour
   with faith nor more
   where words akin to virtual skein of twirls and trills.
sorry if my impulsiveness drain ya bob bing out of sync
with mainstream formality to establish a link,

this generally sane, sensible sober older fellow
   no matter, you might presume me
   to take one to many **** kin r drink,
boot in truth, this teetotaler
   shies against various amber liquids of the dogs
   evoke king mental green day n chooses holistic methods
   to rejoice than evoking that clink.

i matthew scott alias duyeer93@aol.com = knot a slob
   could moost certainly benefit from friendship
   with one or being part of a mob
hence this rather goofy atypical reply i lob

(while gently inhaling)
   imaginary ushered by hand carved corn cob.
anyway, this aspiring scribe/scrivener
   de jure shoe lee mastered his a, b, c's,

though during test time
   all learning seemed to freeze
oh and although the follow
   wing non-sequitur added comment

   moost likely irrelevant
   back in the day o me early boyhood,
   i passed initiation nail biting rite of passion
   tickling ivory black n white keys
while learning about human species.

Can I help you???
Briar Ren Dec 2017
She fades from your memory,
like weightless dandelion seeds
stolen
by a gust
of jealous wind.

And the next time you see her,
she is just another stranger
swimming
in a rough sea
of unfamiliar faces.
Triscuit Dec 2017
I watch these fleeting scenes flit behind my eyes.
Moments where I've captured you.
The silence is unbearable.
I can't undo hurt.
Taking blame is losing my pride.
I'd give it all.
I've thrown it all away.
You lie there, in a troubled slumber.
I brace for the next slide.
Trauma on replay.
Please don't leave.
It's only over once.
Aleeza Nov 2017
sometimes
my eyes wander to people
and i think
does anybody really know

who do you think you are
walking this fragile earth
and preaching the lies of centuries
telling the people of a treachery

you rely the world on this feeling
when it is nothing but fleeting in a world of change
you think that this is salvation
when it will abandon you

because this is far too human
too sweet in the mornings
all coffee and sunlight and soft music
and too bitter in the moonlight
all scratches on skin and empty screams and tears

all too human
that in every day it morphs into something unfamiliar
this feeling we hold so high
this feeling we crave to drown in

and the centuries that we have wasted in search of such
we were blind to the real force that pushes us over the edge
we have denied ourselves the truth for the longest time
it is now that we need to see

that this world does not allow for the existence of love
the very thing that wars were fought over and bonds were created
and it is only a passion that drives us
to our beginnings or to our ends
Aerinlia Nov 2017
As I ran out of words
I approach my piano
Moving my fingers
As I create a new melody
With my own hands

Witness the power of music
As my mood changes following the rhythm
My caged mind
A fleeting emotion
Has finally broken free with music

Music of countless possibilities
Whispering my scattered memories
Blooming my quiet imagination
I want to make an inspiring creation
Till I can hear voice of destiny
melanie Oct 2017
reach out
your flame kissed words
to intertwine with mine

sunset moments find the darkness
as love unravels one strand at a time
Leah R Oct 2017
I spent my youth in a third row seat
You and me way back low down
Give me a smooch, no one is looking
Or even if they are

Yellow lights from the highway passing
Slide over you in a v neck t shirt
Me in jeans way too tight
Friday nights were always this

But not tonight

Dinners together turned to an all-liquid diet
We don't share a seat
We share a hospital bed
Anna Blake Oct 2017
i left your wine glass
on my bedside table

for seven days
it settled in the very place
that your hands had aimlessly
chosen

staining a ring around a mostly empty bodice.

mostly empty?
barely full?

you see, for me,
the wine glass was
my way of having you
stay as long as I wanted.

I saw your delicate
fingerprints stamped upon
the stem and body

just as they were on mine, under a tin roof
amidst a blanket of summer rain.

                                 ......

i washed the glass tonight

as you boarded the plane to the rest of your life.

i wonder if you'll think of me as you sip on your complimentary glass.

rouge ou blanc, mon amour?
rouge comme mon amour?
ou blanc comme mon remise?

-Anna Blake
Hannah Zedaker Sep 2017
To describe this feeling is to blind me, but if to express this is blinding, I have no problem with not seeing seeing at all.
It floods me, my brain.
As if a frost crossed my mind,
And freezes every thought I’ve had before you.
I can feel it in my temples and shift to my cheeks and slowly this all engulfing feeling has crept into my mouth…….
And I’m about to speak, but I slam.
The gates are closed.
I’m trapped inside a prison of own what ifs.
What if…
What if you reject me and the frost turns to ice, and by the time it’***** me its crept into my heart. Now I’ve become an impenetrable fort, permitting nothing else to enter.
What if you run……..
You’ll run so far that this invisible string that’s bonded us is tied to my heart and will rip it right from my chest.
But what if…….
But what if this feeling never leaves……
Niobe Sep 2017
How fleeting are we as people?
Asked to give ourselves up,
For the greater good
For the King’s greater good

How fleeting we live as people,
Bones like feathers,
Blood like my enemy’s
Blood like my brother’s

A strong will can be mistaken for teenage rebellion,
A strong will can be bent only after death
And until death do strong and will part
Until death do us part

How fleeting the mind of a madman,
The heart of the bravest kitten
Bathed in brother’s blood
Bathed in Human blood

As those who exist cease to,
Let us hope that we are free to,
And that we are free, too
This poem was written for the play Antigone, for the titular character.
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