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Jillian McLean Jan 2018
The brunettes want to be blonde ,
and the blondes want to be brunette.
The tall want to be short,
and the short want to be tall
the petite want to be curvy
and the curvy want to be petite,
she wants to be her
and her wants to be she
he wants to him
and him wants to be he
we want to be someone else
but someone else wants to be free
J.M
Kagey Sage Jan 2018
I wore a Bush/Cheney '04 shirt
from a thrift store
to an upper level history class
on election day 2012
Professor and classmates stared
scared to talk to me

I never explained
that in 2004
I was the only Democrat
on my hick town bus

And now look who's in office?
No one even dares
wear that red hat in jest
For the right co-opted irony
as their latest prize

'merica:
Either your genuinely
hyper patriotic to absurdity
or you're an enemy
Lyn-Purcell Jan 2018
Tears and water are similar
but have dissimilar
tastes.
Food for thought...
Andie Jan 2018
Awash with laughter
Yes - I’ve been drinking Irony
But it’so amusing
I can’t stop! We
Blow him up and compare
him to The devil
and cloak him in night’s wings
The reality is he’s just not!
So small; so pink; so moist and wet!
the Harbinger is not more
than just a worm

working the soil
inches from life
LLillis Jan 2018
A thrown dead stick stuck
In the tree. While I ponder,
The dog is dismayed.
Autumn moves fast through the tunnel of love
Push from the top; bottom falls from above
Dangling leaves are flexing about
Dreaming of hope is a nightmarish shout

Cackle of ghouls; a shivering spine
All that is due will be due in due time
Whispering wind softly kisses my cheek
Lifetime of searching; know not what I seek

Darkness emerges as light fades away
Tried to hold on knowing no one can stay
Feeling alive only once I am dead
Listen but don't hear a word that is said

Roar of a flame, the warmth of the light
Fireball streaks interrupting the night
From the ashes we rose and to dust we return
Heart made of ice will not sooth what’s been burned

Holding my breath and not rising for air
Promise to no one the nothing I share
Hugging and squeezing a cuddly toy
Faded reminder when I was a boy

Roar of a racing car traveling fast
Linear stories that live in the past
Afternoon stroll through the paths in the woods
Wasn't enough when it’s all that I could

Didn't regret not regretting a thing
Perfectly still while I sit on the swing
Lazy and careless; the problem I tackle
Chained here forever without any shackles

Future and past presently now amuck
Free man who's also imprisoned and stuck
Roaring, the waves speaking softly to me
Shouting a message using secrecy

Cackling rooster call to end the day
Adult you become but your parents can't stay
Ending's begun and beginning ends near
Enveloped in fog; then it all became clear

Through stutter and stammer, I clearly can speak
World’s strongest man; I am fearful and weak
Worldly observer, I travel through life
Don't leave my house; Live alone with no wife

Peacock with confidence strutting my stuff
Have had my fill but not yet had enough
Nothing I fear but much fear have for it
Blowing out candles that never were lit

Bellowing cheers of "hip-hip hooray!"
Round of applauds for those who've died today
Subtle of strikes from a blatant attack
Gift you are given; already took back

Slapped with audacity right in the face
Composed with the utmost politeness and grace
Without allergy present, my body reacts
Calmly I sit through a panic attack

Telling a lie until it becomes truth
Speaking with stature his words are uncouth
Deafening silence rang shots from the gun
Finished a race that has not yet begun

"Rule" one time "Golden", now covered in rust
Did what was needed but not what I must
You can be anything but yet nothing you are
Traveling often but didn't go far

Properly set for no expectations
Biased perception began at creation
Feet on the ground and head in the clouds
Displayed while I'm naked; exposed in my shroud
Written - April 6, 2017

All rights reserved.
Her feminine fickle,
does tickle my pickle.
I sample the fruit.
Tastes like a sickle.

She cuts me with passion,
and when my pulse is crashin'
she decides to save me.
I wake up thrashin'.
I'd like to cash in,
on love's fashion,
but she gives me no portion,
of her cookie's ration.
Date: 2/24/2016

A strange poem I found while digging through my hundreds of iPod notes.
Notes that I haven't touched in a long time, so it's refreshing to take a look.
My notes on an old novel of mine are especially delightful :)
I'd share them here, but NONE of it would make sense to any of you unless you've got a black belt in insanity, LOL ;)

As always, enjoy!

DEW
Lana Rafaela Dec 2017
maybe we’re tired of tragedy maybe the world said: welcome home, it’ll be a beautiful ride. maybe the world lied, maybe the lifelines on your palms are no more than some ancient tragedy dragging its teeth on your skin like an animal that refuses to die
no matter how many times you shoot it.

maybe i’m applying lipstick in the front seat of my car and the leather smells like my friend rushing out to throw up. we are all rushing out to throw up because we live in a time of cataclysm, every day might be a new catastrophe.
nuclear apocalypse is the new black
and we are already putting shotguns in the trunks of our cars.

you blow a breath of smoke and i want to know why everyone tells me that cigarettes are bad for my health when the sky over my hometown is no longer the blue my grandmother remembers, and why you think that i am destroying myself when the world is being destroyed and you just throw the leaflets away. we are not trying to **** ourselves here, we were just born exhausted, and i don’t see people in the streets, i see moving muscles and bones. we all want enough breathing room but our lungs would break apart if we got oxygen.

there are people who have never even seen the stars and now you tell me that elon musk wants to launch us into space. to do what?

to destroy, which is the ancient tragedy, which is the only thing we know how to do right. i weep for the stars and for the galaxies and for some passengers two centuries into the future, the child with curly hair pressing her nose to the shuttle window as Earth burns burns burns,
the only legacy we ever left.
solfang Dec 2017
I wish not,
to write anything,
about love that is
metaphorically
related to Christmas.

how can we forget
that Christmas is
the day where we
rejoice for the Son
and not for the
Sun of your life.

how can we forget
that Christmas is
about giving
your heart to God,
and not giving it
to someone who
might break it.

Alright,
let's get real.

Christmas,
there's nothing
greater than celebrating
the one and only Him,
with words and verses,
written for no one,
but Him.
Jokes aside, Merry Christmas - religious or not! Let's all remember the true meaning of Christmas. :)
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