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lucav Dec 2018
a god of his own
ripping the world up to shreds
wreaking hell
bringing havoc
metallic punishments,piercing the air
pulling the pleasure out from mortal wounds within
who will judge the ungodly or godless
bound to loveless and unloved
dying just as he was
gothic fiction,based on "ovando' by jamiaca kincaid
Isaac Aug 2018
You right now:
“Weren’t the olden days
The golden days!”

You in 50 years:
“Weren’t the olden days
The golden days!”

You right now:
“Wait, are you talking about right now?”

You in 50 years:
“Sure am!”

You right now:
“How?”

You in 50 years:
“If only you were me for a day,
sigh…
You would see.”
Written 8 August 2018
Denny Crow May 2018
I miss the olden days
Back when we would
Bring a pillow with us
So that anywhere
Can be our home.
The beds aren't made
        The dishes can wait
The bills are due
        The mortgage is late
The socks aren't mated
        Dinner is burned
The dog had fleas
        My friends feel spurned
The garden is ready
        It's time to plant
But right now...
        I simply can't
HTML and close that tag
        Further behind I seem to lag
I'm clicking and linking
       And all that stuff
Life on the internet
       Sure is tough
Send and recieve
      Checking email
"Come to bed"
      I hear them wail
St Peter may be waiting
     At heaven's gate
I hate to disappoint him
     But I'm going to be late
The bottom line?
     What can I say?
My cyber buddies
      Just make my day!
***.. This poem was written in the late 90s when I was really just starting out in the world wide web and learning things. Brings back many cyber memories to..  Remember when "you've got mail" was music and your ears? Yes I'm that old ****
Julie Grenness Mar 2017
It was the end of our days,
The closure of olden ways,
A real vintage train,
Souvenir of a passing parade,
A blast from the past,
We cheered as it rolled on, at last,
Shall we see those days again?
The revival of steam trains,
No, it was all part of change,
It was the end of our days,
The closure of olden ways.......
Feedback welcome.
s u r r e a l Jun 2016
whilst they chase us,
and murmur hymns 'neath swollen wings,
they guide us,
with beckon words.

for the birds of baby eyes,
and elderly minds,
they wish for and dream just as much as we,
and ask many questions 'neath--therein--night.

who are you?
who are we?
who are they?
who is may?

simplicity within sliver tongues,
and nocturne in starry eyes,
we learn,
and grow,
listening to the native tongues from the birds of age.

for they speak in rhyme,
and rhythm--you see,
and bless us with the ability.

highlighter eyes blind we,
our neon stoplights, we see,
our teacher--our father--our mentor,
that wishes we move as he does.

for he feeds us rats!
and breaks his very neck for our arrival,
'my child--my pupil--my daughter--my son--welcome'
ever he always,
'mind you--mind you--your eyes beg wonder--sleep waits not for the lazy!'
and with a hardy laugh he bellows, the wind whips its hair as pompously, and only then his feet grabs for our shirts as we soar.

with darkly snoozes,
and sickly snores,
our teacher--our father--our mentor,
cares for us dozens!

for our wings dance lots--dance lots!--midst the rocky blue sun,
and our hearts shriek with candy teeth,
at the earth swimming below our dusty feet,
and clouds preach hello in wonder.

for the twilight knows of many bodies,
of many hands,
of many feet,
of many faces,
for they look up and see moving paintbrushes 'ganist canvas!
and wish for many easels.

and the earth knows of many tired bodies,
that the night has sickened,
with drooping eyes,
and legs a-limpin',
for they become the elder too,
as they play it and earned it well.

and the night sky argues and blinks many,
and births a new globe all and of its own!
as the olden wings guide us,
and our beings ache the part,
with sliver tongues,
and nocturnal starry eyes,
whom sweeps us into Forevermore.
For the elders of the night.

— The End —