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Faye Dec 2019
i knew we were doomed from the start
but we love trouble, don't we?
it gives us thrill knowing that
we can always get away with it
and come out clean in the eyes of many
but we're no saints, honey.
Escape from captivity pulled off
     when I came of age
boyhood begrudged,
     and bested by brigandage,

but willpower sans declaration
     of independence begot bravery
     against British brutes
     bridging caper (involving collusion)

     to bust loose from cage,
and trappings forcibly to plunder artworks
     and sculpted treasures
     by classical masters

     without causing damage
taught by professional thieves
     requiring minimal equipage
whereat over time footage

sordid memory constantly replayed
     plunder and pillage unwittingly
     fostering getaway
     from hell raising gambits

     planting seed to gauge
optimal instance cut footloose
     cutting dashing Dickensian goniff
     to feign criminal shenanigans
running rampant with militant spunky gangs

     "FAKING" das spies zing
     trumpeting hostage killing
and taking, nonetheless
     swallowing bitter pill

     reeking havoc as honorable image
in order to survive
     within world wide
web of criminals (especially

     an unwelcome foreigner),
     where skills as buccaneer
     really put to test, and tried
maximum lawlessness partaken

     in (dolled up) guise suppressing shied
pitifull looking indigent vagabond
     self away by donning
     "FAKE" whippersnapper
     benefiting getting to sally and ride
always exuding patriotic pride

pleasing ghosts of founding fathers
against their autonomy from
     crown weathering woe be chide
recrimination impossible

     to enforce as bride
of Lady Liberty opened arms for those,
     who made dangerous journey
across avast ocean

     only to confront (whodunit) thuggery
this lifestyle ******, looting,
     and burning WITHOUT choice,
     but guilt aye didst abide.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Retrospective many generations since
     marking birth of a nation
(The United States of America),
     now mecca, sans land of milk and honey
     current president imposed antithetical ration!
Anthony Mayfield Jun 2018
Some say I’m of the sun;
Burning bright and blue.
But few can’t understand
The woes of mischievous moons.

The day has its pay,
With drops of dew on its shoe.
It knows what to do.
It shines.
It’s wise.
Yet it frowns down upon the gloom
Known only by mischievous moons.

Someday we will collide,
And you’ll be lost in the fog
By my side.
“Hold me,”
You’ll beg.
“Hold me,”
You’ll plead.

But you cut me true.
You blocked my blue.

I’ve no time for the sun.
The night is mine to run.
Dark music and wondrous songs to accrue,
As I’m the mischievous moon.
The moon can't be controlled. It has many faces and phases, just as I have many moods and zones.
Amanda Feb 2018
M: Mischievous, your bad side
I:Intelligent, the best side of you
C: Cheerful,a presence of joy
H: Honest, as always
A: Adventurous, always willing to
E: Exclusive, your personality
L: Lovable, you always care
           Michael, one in a million
My very disgusting friend
Sarah Nielle Nov 2015
Darling, he doesn't care about you
You're a fulltime fill-in until he finds someone better
And oh, when he breaks your heart?

I'll be front row.

Why would I ever consider consoling you?
You're trash.
G a r b a g e .
You look at me like you expect someone to care about your life.

Or does it bother you that I ignore your existence?
Does it make you sick? The worse you feel, the better I do.

Does that make me sound like a villain? Oh well. Every villain has some ****** depressing back-story.

I don't plan on informing you of mine. Just know, I've seen things you wouldn't last a day seeing.
I've ripped out my own heart to sew it back together.

**** with me.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
angry men who do not know I do not have a dollar or a cig to spare. Ugly irrefutable contagion-handed howlers. Angry mischievous heathens that pantomime on 6:00a.m. sidewalk, Wicker Park gallow stop-sign, choreographed gutter-punk drunk walk. And of all he wants and could ever want splits down his gooey membrane brain in the outline of a noun shaped fragment of a clause, "Couldja spare 80¢ for the train," but of course I don't spare on the ellipsis or the period. Semi-colons I won't! My rubber-bottomed leather boots lash out, heavy scraping sounds trail this mirrored shadow half an angle behind me.

*****!! Blonde framed sunglasses from American Apparel, a gift from my sister in a folded Ray-Ban case is scattered on last nights bedroom floor, my girlfriend has certainly not noticed, the gloom-coated morning sun spray has not noticed; but I have unzipped a fissure in the ocular lens. My heart skips a beat. Her bedroom might as well have swallowed them whole. Now the house can halt and have the shade, swaying in Spring air in 10:22a.m. shadows. The aviator himself Howard Hughes would strike me with his 488 aircraft. Edwin Starr in his invincible sinister calypso of War would turn me round. I was sturdy as a rock until I began to forget my forgottens. These unknown unknowns I knew I needed. I'm over a quarter-century on to noon going nowhere- and quite blindly.

But then, still she could stand upright and find me. Her neck crooked, looking onward through the East, the gristly roots of rhubarb buried in her searching fingernails. She's threaded worse, and of course if I could just tell her- this is the kind of nursing which requires acute temperament and flexibility. I am thus on a journey to strike nonsense and fear from the idiotic vocabulary that put this nonsense in my head. Split through me like a butter knife into my apotropaic. Perhaps tar water could cure my ails. If not, certainly a sliver of vanilla would set me straight. Or if could just rain rain rain all day, then I'd make do without, but she is at school. My pistons are racked and nervous, and I'm not going anywhere but my rucksack stoop. I am camped in midwestern Spring soup. Fog, rain, and shade. The nightmare of day.
Inspired by William Butler Yeats 'Beautiful Lofty Things'

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