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Àŧùl May 2021
The bonfire is lit warm,
It is comfortable as a quilt.

We look at the photos,
Inside of our wallets.

The parents, the wife and kids,
Probably for the last time we kiss.

Tomorrow is the final battle,
We make a treatise with death.

Either she takes the novice boys,
Or let us send them to her.
My HP Poem #1928
©Atul Kaushal
Ellie Sutton Jul 2020
A mere three years
Have passed since I
Joined this community
And I have found
My worst critic
Is always future me
OpenWorldView Aug 2019
learn learning
learn teaching
teach learning
teach teaching
Feathers stream down my cheek
Coming forth like red rover
I feel the cessation, when sadness takes over
I mourn the end of each day
Patiently waiting for my last
And suddenly life seems pointless now, looking at the past
The end
I don’t think you understand
It feels too natural, me and death go hand in hand
Ask me something please
Your tongue has been bitten off by my hearty smile
It’s hard to talk about, acting angst is not my style
I love you, help me
I’ll be here until you leave
It was our future I planned, and now my death I will conceive.
Mason Stewart Sep 2017
Be careful, on the ground; there is a little hole.
That's where I'll cause you a flesh wound;
I am going to cook you and eat you with the mole,
For all behold the lower bound.

For all seek the pain,
For all seek the gain,
A scythe of blood,
A pile of food.

It is your choice,
Either be brave or greedy,
In a world of voice,
In the world of needy;

Ready you must be.
For the battle that approaches,
Mount on the bee,
Call the cockroaches.

The clash is almost at the end,
For shall we win,
In a world of fiend,
A hero's legend shall begin.

We won, you say.
The world is now in peace,
As the world pays,
Everyone wants a piece.

In the discord of the world,
In the hell of the oceans,
There is a Netherworld.
As order approaches; arises the emotions,

The men become weaker,
The fields dry;
As the man eats his *******,
Everyone becomes shy.

At the horizon, a ship comes;
Marked on it is a cross,
As it comes, hit the drums,
In a sea of disorder, full of moss.

The men leave their boat,
And greet us with great hope.
As the hope arises, there is a bloat.
It is a frog; with little less rope.

We have finished, the mayor said.
A republic is set, our home, our land.
He called his maid;
We were all wrong, we were misled.

As the republic falls, the men watch.
On their eagle eyes,
The city is on the notch,
As the revolution approaches, they said yes.

After plenty of years, a decision came.
As we left the island;
They said: Let's make it the same.
Everyone came back, except for the land.

The land was no longer ours,
It was a memory of who we were.
As the juice pours,
Something did occur.
My first poem; translated it to Latin as well.
STLR Nov 2016
This is for you lame poets

for those who think they can write

but aren't trying and they know it

Maybe if they used a pen right

The ink, would, in turn, show it

Scribble lines were written for pure hype

The Opposite of blurred is focused

The passion unveiled by this action is real

Massive of accents appeal, drastic yet passively chill

Why is your wackness alive and steadily actively well?

Are your points derived from a skill?

You're as dull as the night without lights or some thrill

Pick up a quill then ignite likes its hell

Shuffle your words, in return make a deal

Lies from the truth, I can easily tell

I sit in a booth, then I write what I feel

That feeling of feeling that moment of falling, emotions are heavy and heavy is frolicking

That was a lie....I hope you are following

There's a doubt in my mind, you aren't reading this properly

Do not get board...then just GO like monopoly

Maybe if I put a few words down, you will rate it

There are poets who show it...yet are still underrated

A sea full of story's that have been negated

I write what I feel and I will not be waiting

These words of chemistry clutch captivation

Winds of auroras spark smart illustrations

Verbal wasteland I recycle the sanitation

My heart pumps to fuel the blood of imagination

Devour all who find word-puzzles an aggravation

I take inspiration from various locations,then stitch words to combine these places

Now look what has happened

An arsenal of words to engage in action

Here's a hint of wordplay with a dash of passion

lyrical disaster for the eyes of the masses

Simply dedicated to the three-lined poet has bins
strong potion
was manifest
in a dire toxin
simmering to the ***'s rim
this was a stupid portent
doom would be destine to prevail
the elements mixed in error
which ensured a disaster's outcome
bad omens were foretold by the recipe
the black sorcerer no smart blender
to late to change the concoction
it boiled over then blew
he'd not been very careful
in how magic works
such a novice
with dark spells
oh so
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