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Martin Narrod Dec 2018
well then shepherd in the mess why does that sharpened cowl of wheat surround those sweet yams in the satchel, some scene of loosening transgressions, no pear ripening itself one dull, and one unfulfilling afternoon, rolls down over its branch of sister and brother father and mother Bartletts from the stem, only to make its way into the bottom of that stretched out tawny hide. Where by the wayside every other nobody can see straight inside when a hand moves in, sweeps its fist and then goes deeply down into that can of rotten novelties we all hate, but you feel keeps us in suspense. I wonder will it ever end? Bells busting from the insides of their guts, another candy shock, up and bounces, popcorn kernels, roasted almond slivers, and some preceding green vegetable posted on the 8th St. Diner marquee display on 9th, another advertisement fighting at the sore, devoured hunger for that silhouette following closely behind the moistened wells where my brush dabs lightly into the cup before the gouache and paint mixture begin to dry, that is where I wait and wonder why? Why? Pained with hunger but besmirched with fright, skin sweaty, knotted like muslin yards growing weak against the coil. So humbling were the groans that nearly a decade crossed swiftly across his face, only five or ten minutes had passed before another twenty years flowed into the vast matrix of the rivers of blue sweat marked by estuaries, creeks, and streams across the brow, down the cheeks, and ultimately across the neck, lazing down into the chest, before settling its heavy panic soaking in the guts. Where a heavy glass brick has been vitrifying in the sun, never have two people seen the steamy and piping-hot quarry go from its conviviality and festivity of life, into this shriveled up tree having found its way into the prairie where giant winds bend its branches and enormous thunderstorms nearly strangle it with its own roots. Frisked by sin and pangs of nostalgia in which a thousand thoughts intersplice the whorls imprinted upon our brains.
Thought circles
jee Dec 2018
noun.

hot-rod red, boiling—veins snake, denim—skin throbs.

my eyelids are pounding.

dozens of sparrows, pushing at pale canvas.

thunder gasps at the
caverns
of my lungs.

lightning
at the fuse.

noun.

an Edgar warning;
thumping at wooden chest,
racing.  

it just echos.

i am not your dictionary.

i am not your dictionary.

reverberate.
reverberate.
reverberate.

hollowly, it
hymns.

muffled by fire-truck cloth
and sun-starved cotton.

noun.

blue trees dance to the
rhythm,
singing up at skylight eyes.

reverberate.

breathe.

reverberate.

repeat.

noun.
(n) the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.
of what is a love poem
for me, to me was

always cyclical
first noun
then pronoun
then nothing

noun loves me,
pronoun loves me not

noun loved me last week
prounoun loves me not this week

noun will love me evermore,
pronoun, poe-no, nevermore

a name is a noun
a pronoun is a substitute

for matters of love I announce forevermore
only call me by name
no substitutions


even cycles must end,
only call me by noun-name,
forevermore
Janae Jun 2017
they say that love finds a way
but mine hasn't
it's in the complete opposite direction
is my love not included?
is my love the wrong kind?
i try and i try
is that where i went wrong?
so many questions and not enough answers

what does it actually mean?
"love finds a way"
a way where?
a way to what?
how does love find anything?
is that where I'm wrong again?
i have so many questions

how will my love find it's way?
to someone else?
to someone better?
to someone who has love that will find me?
what if that love never finds what it is looking for?
then what?
you find love in yourself?
is that where i'm wrong?
i have no answers

when this love that is somehow a noun,
finds this way of love
what then?
you live happily ever after?
everything goes right from then on?
am i wrong?
i have so many questions and no answers
Misfitkilljoy May 2015
What is LOVE?
Is it a noun?
Is it a verb?
Is it just a word?
Is it something you say ?
Is it something you do?
Is it Something you feel?
Do you know what love is?
You can Physically Love someone.
You can mentally Love someone.
Love can mean many things.
But its all up to you on how you want to truly define LOVE.
Natalie Neo Oct 2014
A verb,
An action word,
Because I can show you what I mean
when I say
I love you.

A noun,
An entity,
Because I can refer to whom I mean
when I say
I love you.

An emotion,
A reckless, irrational drive,
Because I can get too caught up, too blinded, too foolish.

Yet
I love you, still.
Life Sep 2014
Life: Noun: Uncountable: Plural: Lives
The ability to have: Abilities
Period of time filled with: Adjectives
With many opportunities to seize

Life as punishment: Contract/prison/love
Life as enjoyment: Contact/comfort/love
Love: Meaning: Affection. Also used above
Love: For idiom see also: Turtledove

Life: Antonym: Death: What comes after life
The leading cause of death on Earth: Neglect
Example: None cared the child had a knife
The leading cause of life on Earth: V-necks

Cheat: Suicide: Lessons on life not learned
Antidote: No cure has yet been confirmed
Sonnet
pixels Oct 2012
Words swathe me in calm,
Sentences, paragraphs that soothe.

Viridian verbs burst through the grey,
Taunting me into action-
Seducing me into a delicious dance-
Gypsy girl, swing your sentences my way!

Turquoise adjectives wrap around my wounds,
Embracing my flaws and perfections.
Rough olive skin; somber caesious eyes-
Gypsy girl, with amaranthine scars.

I drape myself over sienna nouns,
Steadfast, supporting me proper, improper, always.
Paper, songs, tree, sky, love, Jami Lee-
Gypsy girl, use your words correctly!

Each turn of a page lures me deeper-
Each spoken rhyme embraces me close-

Jami Lee, sweet little girl, get your head out of the clouds,
And your nose out of a book!

— The End —