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Anna 1d
I’m whirling about
There’s fruit I’ve never seen
And chainsaws
Hanging from the ceiling
Collections of rusted
And nostalgic
Remnants
Playthings of my
Past memory
The people here
Mimic the eclectic offerings
Every part of the group
Teems with
Individuality
I feel cherubic laughter
Quiver my lungs again
I head for home
Clutching a book
I acquired
From this impeccable
Trove
A wonderful friend of mine invited me to the local flea market, and I couldn’t resist writing about it
Juan Bot Feb 22
Up
Down
Up
Down
Black
Red
The arrow is like the mountains
With its spikes and turns
Rises and falls.

2cent,
3 cent,
5 CENT,
SELL!!!!!!!!!

Millionaire!!!
This poem is about how precious life is and its ups and downs. But at the end of the day, everyone can become a millionaire.
How are you?
If anyone asks

For once
Looking at their eyes, reply
50% Off

They will be
Attentive
Genre: Observational
Theme: Obsessed with shopping || Strategy
Sketcher Dec 2018
On the first day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the second day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the third day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the fourth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the fifth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the sixth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the seventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the eighth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the ninth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the tenth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, the meat man gave to me, twelve brothers *******, eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
Tried a messed up parody.
Sketcher Dec 2018
Learned to live in despair, with no repairs, to the massive tear in my heart, replacement parts used up on fascist dipshits sifting through **** and sniffing farts, playing a game of blood and crypts and ****** body parts flung out into the black market and loaded into carts for a nice stack and that carcass that sold for a fine price never made it very far.
Ending up at 5 different people's homes. Cannibalism and collection.
Amber Evans Sep 2018
Bursting cherries
remind me of
the vibrancy of your
curious lips

Juicy peaches
drippin' down your
chin; a memory
from years
before.

Sour lemons
perking you up,
for the hungry
kiss.

Oranges glisten as
they mimic
sundown in the
city.

Sunsets gleam
orange and yellow,
illuminating crowds of
individuals, morphing
everyone into
no-one.

Alone, you peak through;
standing with
intention and innocence
among the shadows and
empty bodies, admiring
Mother Nature's
harvest.

You stand there
looking as sweet as
a fig; as wild and ripe
as a strawberry,
just waiting
to get
eaten.

Just waiting for
me to
place my lips
so delicately around
the curve of your
ripened
body.
Shadow Dragon Aug 2018
What will your order be today?
If I may.
Will it be one of the plumb ones?
Or perhaps a skinny fish?
Do you want an English meal?
Or a French delicacy?
What about one wearing white?
Or are you more into blue?
Do you wish for one swimming free?
Or one drying up with me?
I can tell you this
they all wish to be picked,
taken home
so they won't be alone.
Jordan Costigan May 2018
Soft thudding
bare feet leading astray.
“Nǐ hǎo” wave children, continue to play.
Alive! Life! Pulse of the night –
The Heart of Asia, a magnificent sight!

Engulfed by mountains
surrounding seas.
Tantalising fragrances
dance with a breeze.

This foreign land
surreal in a way
an expression of beauty!
A longing to stay.
Chris Neilson Nov 2017
On Market Street on a wild and wintry day
I saw their shapes in the gathering gloom
By the Christmas markets down Manchester way
And my thoughts of the elephant in the room

Concrete protects Albert Square in a decadent December
Queues for Yorkshire Pudding Wraps sold by Europeans in caps
The fine smell of pine fetching my childhood to remember
Where ghosts of Christmas past occupy gaping gaps

The currency of time I gave the shapes in the city
And recognition of their unseen existence in the bustle
That surrounds their incongruity with little or no pity
From worldwide voracious visitors flexing financial muscle

On a midnight Piccadilly back street where the shadowy shapes meet
Away from the shuttered stalls and boisterous behaviour
Under starry skies with tear filled eyes and frozen feet
No guiding shining star or wise men to bring them a saviour
Based on Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road but with very different subject matter i.e. the shapes are the unprecedented multitudes of rough sleepers and homeless in Manchester city centre while the Christmas markets sell their overpriced goods to many who pay the price but can't afford it.
The front line of desire;
where we're sold labels and lifestyles.
Recreating us to sell us back to us;
becoming the ashes of our vanity's fire.
Just a bit of W.I.P. My imagination seems to have taken a leave of absence.
Hopefully it will be back soon.
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