Ren117 Oct 15

Breakfast for lunch,
Breakfast for supper.
Jam on toast,
I'll have another.

Poetic T Oct 7

Tasting the moist interior
                                 with my lips...
my tongue tickling the innermost  
places of delight..

Cream slips down my throat
                     as flavours
entice me
     to consume every part greedily.

I lick my sticky lips, fulfilled I fall to sleep..

Sarah Levene Sep 29

Her soul is wilting
Wilting
A word she knows all to well
All of her plants have started wilting long ago
How can you keep something else alive
When you're barely living yourself
Her leaves
Are crumbling
Split ends like spilt branches
He says:
"Your hair
Is only as good
As the head its growing on
And and your head
Isn't doing so well itself
How can you expect anything beautiful to grow from so much darkness.
Trees
Don't grow in the dark."
She
Tries to get her thoughts out of the Dark
The midnight abyss she calls her mind
But she
Has never been good at climbing
Cliff faces
look down
and laugh at her attempt to ascend
She
Pretends like she can't see them staring
Arms growing weak and weary
Her roots
Feel as if they're about to break
But she never gets a break
Never gets to rest
She's stressed
who would have guessed
That Behind
her Big smile
Lies
Wilting leaves
Split branches
And broken roots
Ready to fall apart
No one seems to see
That the only thing
Keeping her together
And Grounded
Is the ground itself
And even that
Is only as stable
As the world its sitting on.

This is a possible piece for my schools poetry jam so constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!
Nateive Son Feb 14

Comparisons are silly,
Like any electron knows its own name.

YOU KNOW ME
AND I KNOW YOU

I saw you once in the Freak show,
Next to the Bearded Lady,
Or was it Obama?

I can't tell anymore,
Separating the shit show from my coupon booklet,
Tearing out a page and buying bananas,
These are my gifts to everyone.

Kind of like the man,
Who would scream from the Bible,
When I would walk to class,
Point at the frat boys drinking Chick-fil-A lemonade,
"DRUNKARD!"

A chuckle,
A breath,
A dance away from my bed toward the creeks and hills.

Thinking again,
About,
Whether you believe in Christ,
Buddha,
Muhammad,
Eisenhower,
Or the Flying Spaghetti Monster,

I still love you.

Look up "Get Got Death Grips Kazoo Cover" on YouTube for the fundamental essence of my verse.

Never down this road did I sing within a tune
Never while I wandered
did I ever think of you
Ever as I walked, I ached right down to bone
Never once your name is whispered
Walking too far from home

Break the spirit spill the wine
flood the river before my time
You can't predict the future when you can't see the past
I yearn for the groove and the rest of the shit that will never last

Take me down I simply do not care
We rebound with others in which we simply do compare

The Summer is gone now
its here for you
Spring is my jester
now I'm playing the shrew

I'll keep on walking until the end of day
With no companion
nor fair sense of play
Just walking down this endless path
Not leaving a trace for others to mark

No telling story where I might have laid
No fleeting glory in this trek I've made
I'll not speak outside the lines
as I walk on down
this great divide

Sit you down with a drink to sip
but beware the bottomless of the cup
for degradation that way lays
as noted by walking
these endless days

Tomorrows a birch boy the shit never seems to end
Old friends past
no trace remains
Happiness is a grand disillusion so let's not pretend

In those pines down
in that humid breeze
is where the past does exist
Buired are my thoughts
somewhere unmarked
is the grave underneath the leaves

From Carolina to Brisbane the weather's different
and always the same
Words passed between poems stories are all just different solutions to the exact duplicate game

No one knows where the wind blows
driving needles from the pines into veins that are on fire
But we keep on walking
Bare feet on black tar
Walking on until we tire

Me and Helen have that rare ability to do what we do that suits the other perfectly its always a true blast writing with her
JR Rhine Jul 2016
Jam

Can we jam, brothers and sisters?

Dare we meet at the impalpable chat room
that exists beyond our third heaven?
Dare we to speak in tongues and timbres,
our skin taut across hollow shells,
our veins strung across cadaverous bodies?

I'll grab my drumsticks if you grab the guitars,
and there's somebody on the bongos
slappin' the skins with zealous fervor--
where my tambourine girls at?

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten our forlorn hero
sitting behind the keyboards--
Tickle me those ivories with pious hands and aching fingers,
shake em down sweet Jerry Lee!

And so we begin--
I lay down the drum beat that bops heads and scatters feet,
and the bassman always on top of things
slaps and slides and skips and sizzles
hot diggity dog!

I hear that sweet guitar scream and moan,
praying for death under hazy lights
and we all coast with eyes rolled back into our skulls
and torpid lips drooped open over slack jaws.

Not a word is said from a human voice,
we speak through hands and feet,
basking in colors eking from every kick drum stomp
and the desperate wail bleeding from amplifiers.

Feedback sings and screams, fighting the silence we taunt
and hold at bay.

Around every corner the colors trail
coursing through our vesselious bodies
propelled along the dizzying venture.
We somehow spot every pothole and take detours,
embarking down backroads and backalleys--

We can turn the wheel,
but don't think for a moment we know where it's going.

And the mirror's have all vanished,
we know not from where we came.

Someone shouts from the discovery
as we exit a phrase to enter serendipity,
toying with destiny, clay in our hands,
stretching out the orgasm perennially--
We laugh as the gods try to remind us we are Man.

And the screams and the moans
sensing the climax is getting close
so there's a crescendo I ramp up the tempo
ahhhhhhhHHHhhhHhHhHhHHHHHhhhETERNITY IS NOW AND WE HOLD THE KEY TO HEAVENS GATES AND TIME STANDS STILL AT HIGH NOON IN THE TOWN'S SQUARE WHERE TRIGGER FINGERS TREMOR AND WE SPEAK TO GOD ON HIS PRIVATE CHANNEL COMING THROUGH WORN SPEAKERS CELESTIAL CREATURES IT WOULD BE SACRILEGE IF WE WEREN'T SUDDENLY SO HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY

So I say again, brothers and sisters,
can we jam?

SO I SAY AGAIN, BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
CAN WE JAM?

SO I SAY AGAIN, BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
CAN WE JAM?

So I say again,
brothers and sisters,

can we jam?

Serenity Elliot Oct 2015

The butter started to glisten with fear
In the face of the icy saucer
In the silence the sound of the basket reciting angrily-
There was no place for an affair with
The strawberry jam.
So sickly sweet
The pleading knife resisted;
Don't make me do it

A smooth slice,
A pale & hard interior.
The shaking jug cried.
And the jam fell to the floor.

Saudia R Aug 2013
Jam

I once knew a man named Terry.
Who tended to like all the berries.
He turned them to jam,
And put them on ham;
He was especially fond of the cherries.

Just something fun we had to write for class :)
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