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Poetic T Mar 2015
Let those that shoot for fun be
The hunted, let us shoot them not
A death shot, that would be a hunt
Over to soon where is the fun.
  
It will do as they bleed to death, not
Knowing why, or by who, but the last
Breath is of blood and regret this is
Not fun.  

Let those that hunt in the name of
fun, let us get are arrows our rifles,
Teeth or guns.

Watch them run, through the woods
As they know now what they did to
those defenceless ones, now coming
Full circle Watch,
"BANG"
Missed, plenty of ammo left, its just
The start of this fun.

The trail we take, we find are prey
scope to the eye,
"BANG"
Grazed is this hunter become the hunted
O'well they,ll bleed out a little easier
To hunt my prey.
  
Blood drops easy to follow to find
Where you have gone, injured you
Are slower no where to run.

Easy when they can not run, I find
You slumped next to a tree,
Screaming,
Pleading,
Shouting
Out profanities, why me what have I done,
I smile this is an easy ****, as the lion roars
Rips out your throat the deed is done.

The hunt over I did make it quick you
Died in minutes, now feel the pain of
Those you used to hunt to die alone,
To choke on your own blood
Nothing did the animals do,
They did nothing wrong
Just on the wrong side of an idiots
Power trip with a loaded gun.
strong desire Mar 2015
Dude it is ok , the art to use it matters .
10 word poem
Will Rogers III Mar 2015
day by day we look to what lies ahead
night by night we look to what lays in the past
why do we think about what we dread
instead of focusing on having a blast?
[composed on March 4, 2014]
Swathi eruvaram Mar 2015
Mr. Golden sun casting long shadows
Salty breeze hitting across
Acres of sand lying beneath our feet
Ups and downs like craters on the moon
Crows cawing, horses galloping and dogs basking in the sun
A straight line of ocean doodled below the empty sky
Gigantic ships appear like miniatures farther away
Hushing sound of waves
Four feet amidst frothy tides creating footprints
Carrying back some rustic soil on the toes
A little dirt never hurt
A bag of sea shells
Small, big, coloured and white, all with a coat of sand
A bag full of sea shells
The sun sets down
The radiant moon creates a guiding path in the dark shore
Following us back home
After a long evening at the beach
With my dear son
TigerEyes Mar 2015
A note to any future guests...
Turn the porch light on before you open the door
you might be surprised if you call for my cat
to see a pink mouse or, a family of rats
or, perhaps a gathering of wild raccoons
mastering great skills, and foraging tricks
they're now eating with my good chopsticks
because out in the country where I live
when it's pitch dark at night
and, the owls n' birds have long taken flight
you'll hear the call of the wild just after midnight
Yes, so when you call Kitty-kitty
when you open the door
don't be surprised if you let in much more
animals wearing white napkins galore
because you forgot to turn on the light
a family of raccoons, a pink mouse, and some rats
a mountain lion, and coyotes
have all walked in with my cat.
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Krisselle S. Cosgrove March 8th, 2015
Roy Esnarom Mar 2015
some people
warm people
you might get burned
they shine so bright

and you'r one too
you have your flame
they feed your core
you get your light

you'r all consumin
each and all
but sometimes some
can't soak that flame

and i'm their death
the lovin killer
yes, i'm the one
that's left to blame
around 2/2/10

moved here from wordthingies on blogspot
Emma Sims Mar 2015
Dreading the end before it's begun
Obsessed with the ending endless fun
Ongoing feverishly until she tires
My own selfishly determined desires
Epitomised by a crocodile
Drowning but still volatile
I?
Fluid flamboyancy swam from his mouth, much to the dismay of the listener
This will not do, this can't be you, learn quick, think fast, be swifter
Concepts cloaked in foreign shadows, spoken obliviously against, total defense, these creatures should be sent to the gallows...No Offense??

The young mind, so bent, squeezed and mimed,
Soon comes to see,
That for Himself,
His ultimate goal,
The freedom he stole,
Always belonged to me
Brycical Mar 2015
A Sufi Cowboy
rides an incandescent star
gliding to the ground
pouring light like a shiraz
into his heart, he drinks bliss.

A Heavy Metal
Buddhist slamdances beyond
the shadow tree glades
nourishing the grass with tears--
her crying mediation.

Their eyes connecting
to echoed crystal heartbeats
of their higher selves.
He strikes a match across air,
flame kisses the dangling zoot.

Their eyes hold the gaze.
A mellifluous voice glows
from her, singing odes
of buzzing deja vu jazz
and gamboling dragon flies.

Cowboy & Buddhist
decide to share a few drinks
in the Cosmic Bar.
A series of tankas
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