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Aniron Nov 2018
her solid feet still travel
the lonesome barren land
the vast savage grounds
she holds in her heart like fire.

with pride she walks and dances
through the dark, through the flame
she leaves her mark but never lingers
oh, she is only with the wind to stay
I killed the famous
Gypsy woman
on the boogie street.
My darling
Everybody saw me,
dressed as a religious man.
Everybody knows
I work till nine.
But it was two in the morning
and I killed
the famous gypsy woman.
My darling
Look at me,
Look at me and tell me
Have I loved you enough? &
Have I made it real?
My darling
Everybody knows
you want it darker
Everybody saw,
I killed the famous
Gypsy woman
on the boogie street...

- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Purcy Flaherty Sep 2018
The evening breeze,
the rhythm of the trees,
the song of love,
the honey bees,
I climb back under the covers
and dream of traveling horses,
starry skies, valleys and plains;
from which the mountains rise.
I keep my feet upon the ground.
She keeps her eyes upon the road.
travling from A to Z
Our souls, wild and firtile, roaming with desire,
but love ?
In that she is replete;
and i'm happy for her.
Gypsy, travelers,  Romanys,  New age travellers,  troubadours Pixies
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
Who said
sound is a vibration
that travels at a bizarre speed?

I saw it softly floating
ensconced in bubbles
to a celestial gravity
that pulls them up
to the realm of idyllic bliss.

Bubbles exude the
brilliant hues of my yearnings,
wrap me inside
their merino fleece warmth,
hold me to their *****
with the tenderness
I ever cherish in my soul.

Sound nestles in its heart
a mesmeric glow of music
ordained to play
the salute note
to augur the birth of a
new hankering.

The woeful flute
of the gypsy maiden
soulfully sings
a melancholy melody
for her lost love
to get a phoenix’s wings
under the silver mist of the
new moon’s splendour.
L Sep 2018
You think youve won
Youve got it all
It all makes sense.
All of the pain,
The struggle,
The hopelessness--
It all led up to what you thought
Was your reward
For staying strong
For keeping on
Keeping on.

And now,
Things are in pieces again.
Nothing makes sense
Just like that

Im sorry
That i didnt cherish you when i had you.
Im sorry
That your wife is ***
And that your girlfriend is a free bird.
Lol this ones for you.

You know who you are.
Eric Pon Jul 2018
sad boy;
what a pathetic
this is for my attention.
all you contrive
always lacks concession.

every word,
and image you fake
I reject, from my
for all you are
's worth less than this
effortless expression.

you see, my natural
surmounts your ****
of the beauty of my work
and my powerful
leave me alone
Sad Boy Jul 2018
It wasn’t fair
Here take it all
Fix it
I never should’ve
Let me fix you
I shouldn’t have
I wanna fix you
So you fix me
But what’s here to fix ?
I can’t fix you
You can’t fix me
I wasn’t ready for you
You’re a challenge
You challenge me
I can’t have you
I don’t want you
Yes I do
Maybe I’ll always want you
But who cares
You don’t
Do I care ?
I never came
I didn’t wanna cause you pain
But I did
And you cause me pain
We abused each other
I’m gonna let you go
It hurt so much
But I have to
Because if you love someone
You have to
I’m sorry
I’m sorry for being so obsessive
For being so possessive
But what you did wasn’t right
You didn’t really help the fight
I don’t know what else to say
Ok bye I hope you have a nice day
Kewayne Wadley Jun 2018
I refer to you and frankly I cannot stop.
I once heard a gypsy sing not anything of this world.
I doubt her song was for me.
I referred to her almost immediately.
Unapologetically removing myself from conclusion.
Frankly I just love hearing her talk.
Going from place to place.
It's very likely I never once moved.
Referring to her for immediate assistance.
Establishing chair in wait.
Youthful eyes wild & free.
Unable to tame the sunset.
Her sense of freedom.
Not anything of this world
Johnny Noiπ Apr 2018
Outside, night grew darker; stars retracing their paths and the hooded **** riding through the countryside in search of the diabolical olive-skinned female. They circled their horses around a burning campfire with two covered wagons. These weren’t ******* but a clan of Romany pioneering west. Dismounting the robed and hooded Klansmen came out of the darkness and surrounded the lone man sitting at the small fire.
Whoreson’s voice muffled by the thick cotton fabric, said, “We’re hunting a witch, boy. You see any strange women?”
Getting to his feet the man picked up the simmering pewter coffee *** and pouring the contents onto the fire black night was immediate. Men at the rear of the pack were carrying torches that no longer cast any light; the Klansmen blind and unmoving. There was no sound; the explosion silent if that’s what it was. Robes aflame the Klansmen ran berserk and screaming into the woods. The fires wouldn’t go out as some managed to drop and roll; the forest catching ablaze the flames growing precipitously hotter; trapped by walls of white flame the men no longer seeing night were engulfed by the swelling light and heat.
from The Green Belle
Isla Apr 2018
stay in one place too long
and the air becomes dust
choking me
drowning me
an urge to escape
like a gypsy
in the blanket of the night
but when i see those eyes
sparkling at me
shining for me
i know i am home
ahh yes, we need some more love poetry because why not. Might edit this later to make it not so lovey-dovey.
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