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Ceasar A Sep 14
somewhere far from wishes and washes of light waves crashing  - --- curves and shores
at moonlight and rough waves,  i sea you float by hummmming,
soothing, swooning, 1920's jazz blues and melodic piano - maybe sad show tunes.
down in the dark, past depths you sea.
i stay down here
im a monster. afraid
but  i can breathe in depths that be.



i've learned to live though.
its actually quite peaceful
not a sound.. not a swim.
just me. floating . and at peace.
I've found restful nights in my solitude. knowing that you're afloat. somewhere. drifting. down below or up high. idk
not too far though.
you'll get your fur wet.


one night, i met the god of the sea and he asked me if i could have anything what it would be.
.
.
well i thought long and hard.
and said

"i wish that no matter where i go, where i float,
how far from sea to sea, that lion on the blue.. her love and heart.  and her stars think of me."

that no matter how many leagues in the sky and sea.
that she looks down at the water - up at the moon. and hums her tunes, thinking one day, that she looks down at me. wondering what love lyes in the darkness that be .
that this krusty krab remains her bearer to be.
a monster to some
but no matter how ugly.
remembers every hum and song she's uttered for the sea
..
its actually quite peaceful
not a sound.. not a swim.
just me. floating
away but never far. that feeling. that be.
Aisha Sep 11
Hues of gold hug the horizon,
The air is heavy with the scent of a rainy day,
A pride of lions moves its limbs with a motion of might,
A motion of magic precedes the pack.

A dragonfly bounces along the river of relief,
The sun sets its final shimmer of sophistication
Behind the silhouette of a striking baobab.

A pocket of air holds the wings of the stork in a mathematical manner,
as it sweeps over of the plateau of promise.

South Africa,
A nation in progress,
Where each combination of skin tones each have a story to tell of its own,
a story of history,
a story of might.

Long live the pride of lions,
the Giants of our Rainbow Nation who sow seeds of sunshine in every corner of the soil.
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika.
- this poem is dedicated to my country, South Africa. May we become a nation of prosperity and light regardless of race, religion or creed. Let us honor the legacy of our forefathers and emerge as strong and beautiful in every sphere of our existence.
Jack L Martin Sep 10
She gazes at me
with cat-like eyes
Eyes that drip
Between wet thighs

Every part
of her body
that the candle light touches
Is my kingdom!

Every lick
Every nibble
on erect nipples
My mangy beard tickles

Yes!
Purrs my lioness
As I thrust
On her bust

She came
with me
to the
Serengeti

We make
the earth quake

The Lion roars!
Annett Sep 3
The Lord of looming Anemone,
Where he sits in halls of gold,
Lost in rubies, encased in stone,
Haut, the Lord of Anemone,
With the repulsive allure of confidence overgrown,
Claws sharp, sympathy sold,
There he'll sit till the world is old,
With no flame to brace the cold,
Only a place on the minor throne.
Do not come with your complaint,
It is known the dice have weights,
All the countryside has been rolled,
So pick your silver, rest your soul,
Near the palace, do not go.
When you kneel yourself to pray,
I pray thee ask not to be prey,
We are beetles with no say,
The toys with which the Lions play.
Previous: Cathedral Bells
Next: A Flock
Lyn-Purcell Aug 6
Threads of society will try, tie
and keep you down.
Let them see the claws.
Show them you're a lion.
Don't stay bound. Don't let them dictate and hound.
Be you, your authentic you despite what they say.
Fight back and live your life.
Lyn xxx
TB Dentz Jul 29
Like a lion in the desert
Scrawny and rat-like but still fierce and intimidating
Thirsty but miles from water and used to it
Outcast but used to it
Dangerous and on the verge of death but used to it
Wade Cook Apr 30
I’m leaving pieces here and there

A strand of light, stopped

Changed in the weather

I could almost feel him wilting over on me

Leaves turning over on a sunken hot iron

A root

Hidden in the atmosphere

I cover and prod, like a child

Some kind of dandelion gravity,

Diligent and clean

Falling through the ivy tree

I watch its petals beam

Or in the valley of his arms

Where an owl knods her weary head to coo

I lean to sip the water, and drown

Quiet eyes watching down on me,

washing over me

Weary neck bent to feel, like a nest,

declined to the earth

A pale thought, a lion hiding in the den

Sullenly making his way back to me
For Daniel, forever ago
ollie Jul 11
In this book I’ve been rereading
It says that the chain that connects the lion and the gazelle is not hunger but fear
The lion fears starvation and the gazelle, elimination
The same chain connects myself and my memories
I fear I may lose how they have bettered me
They fear they may lose their hold on my health
About the chains, though, they’re different
The gazelle can only keep the lion alive for so long
But if I am the lion of my chain, the memories will keep me who I am
And I am all the living for it
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