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CL Fjell Feb 16
Bright colored yellows and soft muted greens,
With a pipe in hand and a light for the means,
Of smoking away this long and hard day.

Leg dangles from branch, it waves lazily,
Clouds rise with a puff, and float merrily,
One great big ole breath, and troubles seem to cease.
Shawn B Jan 2018
It's my day off

even-though so was yesterday I feel I deserve a rest.

I cleaned the washroom
I did my reading
I even exercised in the basement,
a little longer than usual.
Man am I great!

Then comes the lazy hesitance,
"this is not the end, begin."

Content with what I've done. I can do no more,

Well I could but I think I'll just play video games.

the lazy hesitance with a silent call a draw to do,
"one more thing"

Be wise with these urges it could steer me wrong, again!

But it says, "go out", not **** your neighbor.

The heavy lazy hesitance,
coupled with the silent push to do one more,
"just go out the door, just out the door that's all honest."

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

I dunno, should I go jogging?
It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to. The quote is of course from the LOTR, I got it from the book - online search. Just a funny poem about motivation I guess. Hope you like.  oh and PS. after this I'm going out for a JOG.
A friend of mine asks,
“Why do you only ever write about romance lately?”

Well, the answer is quite simple, really. It is because I have tasted it.

I tasted it when my eyes first drank the light from his grace when he stood tall above me
His saturnine windows called out to me behind flesh curtains whenever he spoke, ever asking me to join him in his ecstasy
He, from a distance, darted towards me and pressed our sides together—letting myself melt in the velveteen touch of fabric skin
There was a shower of momentary light that night but only his radiance did I bask in.

I tasted it in the heart of the stone city where usurpers of old stood on polished stone
The Bulwark’s adobe reach embraced our reverie as memories from sleep stories become reality
He, in the confines of that venerable fortress, made me vulnerable for I was secure in his arms
His fingers are in between my own like woven mithril unbreakable lest he broke its bond himself
It is in this kingdom of carven stone and handmade walls that he sang of ardor with a dragon’s petrifying gaze.

I tasted it in yuletide storms where men and women waged war with happiness and grief
When the armies of pain and suffering fell at our clasped hands and cheeks red from amorous verve you said you were to journey home
But you did not let go of my grasp
With me you remained and in your arms I stayed
As the bitter winds of bigoted mouths blew, as the fire from damnation is declared by self-righteous souls, we stood fast in the storm.

I tasted it when he said our love he could no longer endure
There we sat, on a tarnished vehicle, as the last of our love gave into rust
What is frightening to me peeked from his saturnine eyes and he closed his curtains shut for the downpour of despondency was to come
We flooded our façades and the rivers quaked our emotional integrity
He held my hand for one final chance before we ripped our wrappings forever apart and he kissed me tender
Our lips made love—like the first they ever met in weathered heat—for the last time.

I tasted it when I told him “Just do so, when your appetite roars to love me again,” and until now I am waiting.

So, why do I ever only write about romance lately?

Well, the reason is quite complicated, really. But–but it is because I’ve tasted it.
For my muse, Emer. I ever hoping you'll find your way back to me.

Read more of my works on Tumblr:
May E V Watson Nov 2016
You've got to take the good with the bad,
smile with the sad,
love what you've got, and remember what you had.
Always forgive, but never forget.
Learn from mistakes, but never regret.
i waas reading a hobbit thing and this kinda just started in my head.
galio Dec 2015
In mighty kingdoms far away
Grew an elven king, stern and wise
Whose young daughter grew in the fields
with eyes as blue as the clearest skies

Elenir, was the daughters name
who danced amongst leaves like gold
whose laughter rang like a thousand bells
whose fair skin would never grow or old

There a traveller came from mountains
and lost, he wandered beneath the trees
he drank from nameless rivers
and voyaged across the savage seas

They met under the sheets of stars
as she saved him from himself
he touched her hair, felt her voice
and till death, he stayed with the elf

His human life frayed away
After a mere blink of years
She watched and stroked his aging face
and wiped away her tears

And when he passed, she could not bear
the pain that she felt inside
the once swaying trees that danced
felt empty, old and dried

She traveled up to the clifftops
Elenir cried her lovers name
She threw herself into the raging oceans
for her life was never the same

The elven king was despaired to see
the loss of his cherished daughter
He cursed the lands
Set fire blazing
and froze the wicked waters

He hide away his treasured kingdom
and watched as the world around him burned
His soldiers pleaded, his people begged
to not leave the world so spurned

But his heartbreak was too great to deal
The world fell into darkness
and with the once-beautiful Elenirs death
the skies grew black and starless
inspired by king thranduil from the hobbit
SøułSurvivør Feb 2016
here's a tale I will tell
of the supreme Master
of Rivendell
elfin Lord, just and wise
knowledge deep as elvish skies
darkly handsome, unearthly fair
silver circlet, midnight hair
greatest Power for him alone
eyes as deep as river stones
grey and lustrous, holding grace
broad of shoulder, fair of face
aquiline nose, chiseled jaw
Master of the Elves. Their law.
of his mercy his people sing
possessor of the elvish Ring
one of three, such Power possessed
he's the Lord, and thusly blessed
he's seen grief and was forsaken
his beloved wife was taken
to Mordor and was in suffering bound
with the Orcs deep underground
father of the maid Arwen
who's in love with the human King
deep pain of mind, Elrond's aware
that he must leave this daughter there
in human kingdom Middle Earth
for her love has lifetime worth
but Strider will soon pass away
while Arwen has immortal days
though her love's surpassing fine
she will one day weep and pine
without her husband, all alone
for her people will be gone
they will one day sail far
following an elvish star
and of Frodo he's aware
the Hobbit will go to Sauron's lair
generous, gentle, yet supremely strong
he will help Frodo along
elvish war-mail and provision
he directs with great vision

noble King of Rivendell
at once gracious
yet mighty, fell
his word, ever,
is his bond
Hobbit friend
the great


(C) 2/5/2016
I have a great love for
JRR Tolkien
If you have never read
The Hobbit
or his Ring series
you should

Reading is better than movies!
If I were a cup of black coffee you take me just the way I am.
If this were a thanksgiving dinner you'd be the turkey and I'd be the ham.

I'm the water and you're the sea
I'm the sailor and what I really mean is; you complete me. 

If this were a battery you'd be the positives and I'd be the negatives.
If I were a holiday you'd be the festive's.

If this were space you'd be the stars that form my galaxy.
If I were a driver in New York, you'd be my taxi.
If I a flower and you the bee, then it's clear to see that what I really mean is; you complete me.

One ways, u-turns, dead ends and yields, green lights, left lane merge and a squashed bug on my windshields.

If I were a Bic ballpoint pen then you would write out every sin.
If this were it, it would be the greatest love there has ever been.

Road signs and paper, fantasies and nature cannot help to say in such a little way that all I try to convey that what I really mean is; you complete me.

If I were a song you'd memorize my lyrics 
If this were February 1990 it would be Hold On by Wilson Phillips

If I were a comic book, you'd be my nerd.
If you were a photographer I'd be your bird. 

If I a cold night and you the book by a fire, then I'd be the Hobbit and you'd be my Shire.
If I a cup and you the tea then all there is left to say is...
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