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Maria Mitea Dec 2021
i wonder
what we would do without eternity,
and flight
on a red brick road
we walk hand in hand, - warm bones,
skin as soft as marrow,
two lions chasing the same prey, we sweat,
wrought iron in quarantine, -
it takes me with cholera symptoms: global fever, eyes pushed  in the back of my head,
extreme thirst, dry mouth, wrinkled skin (pinching, not  responding)
an electric hammer, - do not dare to come,
do not dare to come, sit on your half of the globe, with the clear sky,
here, the days take care of themselves,
they get where they want to get, - like lost doves among tourists feet
i'm following the crumbs,
owls know the hours well, the seconds,
they are also where they need to be,
i don't know what brought you to me,
i don't know what got me to you,
many are coming to ask,
they also want a birthmark from an old tattoo
coffee with milk on your shoulder (mine,
being hidden far away  from the eyes of the world)
we are lottery *****  mixed in all possible ways, and impossible
words, thoughts, lips,  at a conference
we sneeze from thought to thought, - i bow to the audience,
i take the handkerchief out of my pocket, and
whisper  in a low voice: "this is how my man finds me”
i continue to present the lesson on "how to survive in eternity"
i send some dreams through icao isa atmospheric model,  - we dream,
we are on a ship, we go out to sea
a bunch of kids are waiting for us at home to come with food,
(honestly, i hoped for a dramatic ending, i just didn't get it,
for the moment i leave it as it is,
today is today
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2020
He was a magnetic mystery
She liked him that way
The things she didn't know
Unable to drive her away
I couldn't stop myself from titling it this rotfl

Written 8-18-15
annh Apr 2020
Throw me a line;
A fluttering lure of burnished vowel chimes

Bait, braid and bailor - snap, swivel and fly;
Dub well your quill,
Hook me low,
Run me

‘The reality, however, is that fishing is about the closest you can get to physically experiencing poetry. It is a pursuit based on contemplation and solitude that involves an appreciation of the elements; it is a game of chance, hope, escapism; a step into the murky waters of the unknown. There is little difference between the angler setting forth on a misty dawn and the poet staring at the blank page. Both are hoping for greatness, but will settle for a brief silvery flash of the transcendental brilliance that lies beneath the surface.‘
- Ben Myers

Fishing parlance is a language as complex and arcane as the sport itself. What a happy coincidence to discover that a ‘quill’ in angler-speak refers to a float (or bobber). How ‘bout that? ;)
Anthony Mayfield Jul 2018
Hey, Mister Man
Tell me why
You chose to steal concentration
Because of you,
I am in perdition
Vengeance is mine
Says the old and wise
But I can’t discern
When love fogs my eyes
So, coming down
The man in the Blue-Haired robes
Because of His brutal choke
Tonight, the choir sings
Of your deception
And my depression
So, coming down
Say something
Coming down
Do nothing
I can’t sleep while my soul
Cries at night
Hey, Mister Man
You’re coming down
The good die Young, but the wicked have it worse because they live long enough to someday realize that karma is coming for them
Nayana Nair Jul 2018
The steps I walk
and the fate I follow
all run into faces that somehow
already know all the reason to despise me.
Why is it that walking in these shadows
calms my heart and brings it pain
at the same time.
Is this how life is to be lived?
I myself this all the time.
For if not for my own voice,
there won’t be any answers returning to me
from this world that seems more far away
when I look for answers,
than when I look for places hide.

But I look at the moon today with a new eyes.
I find I am no longer alone,
when you look back everytime you leave.
I find I am no longer alone,
when left to myself, I have someone else to think of.
I no longer need assurances and promises
from this life, if only you walk this earth
with a smile and a lighter heart.
The cold returns to my heart again,
freezing your memories forever in me,
and I smile.
I am no longer alone,
nor are you.
told me
to let
tear drops
in her
let us write
this beautiful line to hold up an

word dance
I van a try to describe while sitting on me ****
how he oh bomb in lee rages with gnashing teeth
   while back a slump
blasting Democratic nomination as a sham – man
   from special interest pump

he, the epitomy of crass bloviation,
   a malignant lump
whose rants sans presidential outcome a sham bull
   with his millions beds this, that
   and another woman to ******* jump

disseminating gene pool –
birthing more quackers and additionally doth ****
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
   and caricature of a frazzled grump

   this arboreal clothed ape erecting
Taj Mahal ******* symbols where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash for his kitty,
   as if that cachet to grind and bump

lambasting with that maniacal leering pout
   while hair *** of red bulls
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed
   heady measly shaped Muppet
dis eased cranial hologram of a cretaceous,
   facetious and insidious mump!
Taylor Shelton Feb 2016
Shut the hell up
Keep it to yourself
Sister, sister
Thought you could be my dear sister
Hear my heart beating
hands start to shake
Soul starts to bleed
Sister's mister
Why did you kiss her?
Now Changed her for the worse
Now I'm force to help her
#sister #poetry #bars #secrets #mister #kids #changed #childhood #mister #confused #beautiful #bars #rhyming
Cody Haag Dec 2015
I'm at the brink of falling,
Into the abyss;
Mister, would I be

It seems that the moon glows for me,
For it knows that only at night,
I can see.

Is it my friend,
The moon up in the sky?
It's always been by my side.

Bright days, sun rays,
They hurt my eyes;
The people that move during such times,
Only ever want me to die.

I can call the moon my friend,
Will he back-stab me,
In the end?

I only see during dark hours,
I don't have much power.

Is he my friend?
The glowing orb up high?
I sure hope that he'll always
Be by my side.
Wrote this when I felt very ... eerie. The speaker in the poem is meant to be a child.
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