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Honey colored gem,
a resin relic;
sweet suspension
of past to present.
Gary Brocks Aug 2018
Picture a late afternoon
iridescent honey-yellow:

The glance she knows is seen
her cool hand placed in yours
your stripped shirt she rips,
her mouthing, “You’re it!”, hiding,
revealing herself stripped,
her finger tipped shh,
the brush of *******,
surrender and assent.

She'll rise with a rustle
of desiccated pines,
needles will fall from her back,
she'll crumple a cigarette pack,
humming a vacant lament,
fingers caressing a fossil flea,
embalmed in a dangling pendant.

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
180828F

A girl I knew. She said on several occasions, “All my boyfriends remember me”. This was very important to her. Seemingly more important than actually maintaining a relationship with any one of them. Her memories of them were like fossils, like insects preserved in amber in a pendant, that she would rub over after a final *** act with her most recent specimen. Naming her Amber for the way she kept and used her memories (was I to become the flea?), and portraying her actions as a farewell soliloquy in mime seemed like emotionally truthful fun.
JGuberman Sep 2016
There are many days
when I wish
that like Joshua,
I too could make the sun stand still,
and there are many nights
when I wish to do the same
with the moon
to allow us subtle darkness
just a little while longer,
and there are many times
when my voice
is only its own echo....

You say,
that like a fossil
which went through its changes
at an earlier time,
that now
I too am changing.
I am no longer like wet cement
where the things
which I'm to remember
are inscribed
like someone's initials
upon the wet surface,
but that I am more like the things
I've forgotten
those things
which distress me---
crabgrass and weeds
growing up through the cracks
in the face of my soul.
Cody Haag Dec 2015
Earlier today,
I laid outside atop the snow,
A feat that I haven't tried
Since life's true colors showed.

The frost numbed my body,
I'm sure red flushed into my cheeks;
I stared speculatively at the sky,
My eyes searched and seeked.

I wanted to understand the beauty,
That nature offers so readily, the solace,
That it blankets us in even on cold days;
I wanted to understand beauty that is flawless.

My tired eyes embraced small, soaring figures
That coursed through the air with grace;
Content to go their own paths,
Not engaged in a petty race.

The figures were falcons,
That spiraled and sailed on wind above me,
Probably heading south,
For warmth to set them free.

But in that moment I compared them
To man-produced ashes;
Gray soot that courses through the air
Dashes, in varying directions,
As fire burns.

In that moment, the birds drifted through the air
So aimlessly, like the ashes do,
Landing faraway,
Wherever they flew.

Nature itself could be ashes,
If people continue on this path;
This destruction ought to incur
Some sort-of wrath.
Nicole Dawn Aug 2015
I am like a fossil

I built my stone walls
Nice and sturdy
Around my true self

And slowly
Very slowly
The true me disintegrated


And as I faded away
My rock walls stayed strong
And soon a that was left
Was an imprint of me in my stone walls

And I became a fossil
Matthew Randell May 2015
The oil is gone, gone is the oil,

There is no oil for us to boil,

To power our cars,

To package our bars,

We need oil, oil, precious oil,

How we miss our material plastic,

We made everything out of it, it was fantastic!

Car batteries and glue,

Computers, shampoo,

All made out of precious oil,

Alas, it’s shuffled off its mortal coil,

Goodbye, goodbye to our fair oil,

Without our plastic,

Things are quite drastic,

All our cars are beyond repair,

There’s no more shampoo for our hair,

And on what do you think we do a poo,

Plastic toilet seats you cry,

it tell you, that’s not true!

You don’t even know how I’m typing this,

Computers are gone now – don’t dis!

Life really ***** without oil,

In 2011, it must have been royal,

A word of wisdom to those with oil about,

Look after it dearly, don’t let it run out!
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