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Sky Wheel
Big sky wheel from heaven rolls over the land squashing houses and people and cities and families.
Sky wheel doing its business, from who knows where.
A trail of loose house bricks that once were human dwellings.
Now rubble.
Where are the people?
Under the boot of the sun wheel, totally ******.
Who sent this kilometre diameter circular thing to Planet Earth?
Wrecking everything by squashing it till its dusty particles blown by the wind.
No more life here or anywhere.
Just a squash head sky wheel going round the block, again.
Coloured like a sea shell, multi spectral haze of eye watering iridium from outer space. On Earth doing mad damage, your home and mine totally bolloxed.
Military jets buzz the wheel and bomb it, chipping the surface but not halting it.
Each jet hit by smaller wheels spewed from Mother wheel.
Dwelling squashing continues, unabated.
A culling of certain humans, facts only known now.
Men killed, women left in peace.
One lab.
She kicks the wheel over.
Rantings of a Damaged Mind
By Nick Armbrister and Mel Grobler
Datore Fargo Jun 15
Walking on walls,
dancing on the ceiling,
the room is spinning,
I’m going through,
the motions.
Playlist on shuffle,
but I don’t like this song,
or this one,
this one,
and that one too.
My tongue is twisted,
and my throat is choking,
I’m going through the motions,
I don’t wanna,
go through the motions.
I’m getting sick,
it just won’t stick,
I forgot the words,
someone hit reverse,
I don’t wanna,
go through the motions.
My mind is slipping,
my feet,
I forgot how to,
go through the motions.
I overcompensate,
say things I shouldn’t say,
I shoot,
he scores,
I’m tired of going,
through the motions.
I jump head first,
hold my breath,
this is my chance,
I’m not going,
through the motions.
Datore Fargo Jun 7
Up and down,
like a red rubber,
you stick,
like a fly,
on the wall.
You buzz,
my ears,
and land,
on my nose.
I swat,
I zap,
but your,
pays off.
Kassan Jahmal Apr 15
Crackling; it cracks, and cracks,
shaking the centre of glass,
Shaking the voice of words to comprehend.
As like in the ocean's centre,— undermined of where
it begins or ends.

Falling to the ground; a strike through darkest
weary clouds. It falls to the ground; loud as Lucifer
had fallen out of Heaven,— as with all those angels
kicked out.

Rumbling, and rumbling, falling lightening like
mountains. Rocks that are tumbling, tumbling,
and tumbling to crush.
A crushing feeling is on my skin; peering through
clear glass shadows.

The first echo of thunder; has left a crack on my

M Salinger Apr 7
Take me to a field of flowers
confess your love to me.

With nature as our witness
and time as our officiant.

Hold me as the sweet scent
sways us
and the breeze
tells our story.

M Salinger Apr 3
You are the
to my climbing rose,
together, we make
the arc.

Without you,
they would run free
& indiscriminate,
climbing the walls and
the furniture alike.

You are the
the structure needed to
hold them
in their wild beauty

to come
as a
him, masculine, the frame
me, feminine, the flow
Rama Krsna Mar 27
the beads of your sweat
from the intense gravity
of those dense but sensuous orbs,
making a gentle detour
like a river,
before flowing into the whorl
of your beautifully chiseled navel

© 2022
was asked to write a poem where I was given three words that I should use. The worlds were sweat, gravity and navel.
Kassan Jahmal Jan 26
Blossoming cheeks;
sweet flower kisses,
and butterfly hints,
of wings flaring careless words on lips.

The space of heaven;
between those two stars,
of both day and night,
And with devilish thick
structured thighs;
there's a resting lust in between.
None of which,
I dare open the gates as wide.

Bare chest; full of development,
and a warmth to my resting head.
Fast asleep on the pillows;
and silk smooth skin, as matching sheets.

Bellowing down the centre;
to a circle within a circle.
As with the precious silver of a belly ring.

Dark as the night without stars;
flowing downstream;  is her fine hair.
Covering a neck of amber;
scented in perfumes of a spring's desire.
And a shape biteable by first eyes;
as with the passions of a bodied pear.

Towards a great sized past;
and truly a large behind.
A middle line of strong metal,
as love's swordlike spine.

Tanned leather,
running young of two calves.
And the heels that strut the purest intentions;
of the feet of doves.

Perfect is a stranger;
but still a stranger on their own.
Never to have met,
perhaps of my descriptions,
the individual would show.
Tøast Jan 1
We sit on the edge of conversation
Hands clasped, feet shuffling anxiously
Eyes darting across the room like
the stars in the night sky
You lean back with a sigh
and I catch you.

Hands together, knees bent
fingers touching skin
Tracing outlines of mountains on the map you offer me
You look up from my gaze and a calmness falls across your face
The corner of our eyes don't wonder but meet
Times entangled in the feast before us
I raise a leg and your knee greets my feet.

Waters greet these feet,
Waters that rage on and under us
Washing over our bodies like the light that’s wrapped itself beside us
Bodies become one in the heat of the den that we've made
In the depts we've paid
The depths we've obeyed
The trust we've displayed

Down by the rivers where the whomping willow weeps,
where the waters run ramped, and the wild things wonder
wonder about life, wonder about death
run through your mind son, be absent, be bold
just don’t forget that the water man reaps
reaps in what is sown, sold and told

whispered. whispered like silence on the edge of the wind
the wind that howls through the corner of beauty
there where it stays and sits for a while,
as the man, he stands, waiting watching on duty.
I look back to you, your face changed by the cut of a smile.

A smile.
That smile, that warms my soul like summer breeze,
Wraps me up and takes me in from the cold
You don't even realise, you do it with such ease
You do it now when we're young and you'll do it when we're old.

We sit, once again, as we used to, but more alone
Hands together, fingers crossed, in utter isolation
It’s such a wild thing, wild life that we’ve known
And none of it is ripe for an explanation.

Feet dancing on the edge of contemplation
This information that we use for the source of our meditation
Imagination sparks conversation but also speculation
So, what are we to do when there’s no confirmation?
A shout shuddering in the darkness of creation
Thinking of the combination, representation and motivation for these words when all I ever wanted was a simple conversation.
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