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Michael Hole Sep 2019
P
Penguins painted pink,
peacefully practising pragmatic pebble placement.
Perfectly pointy piles, please!

Profoundly pious Pandas ponder pancreatic problems,
predict potential palsy.
Prognosis? Perilously poor.

Pale porpoises proudly plunge purple pools,
placidly pasturing petrified plankton.
Poor protozoans perish.

Portly, paunchy, plumpish, porcine, porky pigs
populate putrid puddles,
Pulverizing pumpkin pies.

Purposely Prickly porcupines pursue palatable plants,
pin-pointing precisely.
Puce petunias preferred.

Pill popping puppet people perpetuate planetary perdition,
pardon profuse pollution.
Pretentious ******.
Panda Feb 2018
Baby Panda
You called me
A *****-*****
When you woke
And I smiled
In response

Baby Panda
When eating
Fruity pebbles
With almond milk
You croaked like
A frog, croak
Over 20 times
And got up
To spit in the sink
Excessive saliva
In between
Each bite
I asked you why
You croak
wha?
I smiled
And say
Never mind

Baby Panda
You ran to me
Sobbing as if
The world was ending
My socks!!!
No more clean
****, I forgot
To dry them
You pace
Uncomfortable
As you're forced
To go barefoot
Feet ****
For longer
Than an hour

Baby Panda
I return to
You're stash
Of a room
And picking up
Your pajamas
I smell an
Accident
Of both sorts
Soiling your
Clothes
sorry
Red faced you enter
I smile and
Remind you
To let me know
Next time
And not to
Throw it on the
Wooden floor

Baby Panda
Socks on smooth
Shoes tied with
Quadrupled knots
You head to your
Room, radio blasting
Some radio talk
Station about comedy
Until 8:21 rolls around
And you run
Like a bullet
To the bus outside
Our house
I smile as you yell
BUS IS HERE
No matter what room
I'm in

Baby Panda
I worry for you
The second you walk
Out the door
Because you have such
Big, terrifying emotions
Yet a small filter
On your words, thoughts
Of your own body
Despite the fact
That you're turning
Into a real teen
Before the summers end

Baby Panda
I wish I could help
In ways I cannot
I can't read your mind
Though you think
I should
Know how by now
I can't make socks magically
Not hurt, or have people
Not get ******
When you randomly shout
Profanities
When your last conversation
Was regarding food
And I can't
Stop the madness that
Overtakes your body
Every time you get ill
Physically, mentally


But Baby Panda
I love you now
And always will
My baby, 12 year old brother
Panda Nov 2017
I've been hit by Life
She's ran me over twice;
Sometimes she can be nice,
A friend you call for free food.
But most of the time, it seems
She's that crazy ex outside your house
Wielding a blowtorch
Begging for you to make a wrong move
: ) I'm ok
Camila Narita Oct 2017
Black and white.
Furry. As soft as silk.
A herbivore that eats bamboo.
Giant. Red.
Pandas. Beautiful pandas.
Cute but not very cuddly.
Kept in captivity.
Some in the wild.
Pandas.
A truly amazing creature.
To Angela, the panda lover.
IsReaL E Summers Feb 2015
The Looking back and seeing,
It's almost like I'm dreaming
From my Life, ive been weening
wanna win it "well done"
Trevailed a vision
One and only Son
"Light that your arising"
And every body was...
  That's right....
                              Kung fu fighting.
The lines in my mind remind me that I'm...
     A freedom fighter who will aspire higher;
oh, and youra liar.
I was originally gonna call this McDeath and quote "12th knight" or whatever... but I felt like I was Over-reaching. And being overly dramatic. But... hey...YOU KNOW ME RIGHT!? HAA HAAAA  jk
Viola btw, ("conceal me what I am," and all that...
Aaron Wallis Sep 2014
Burly bleak plumes roll out aloft corn
Where the dragon fell post spin and ditch
A wretched hulk of ruin splintered and worn
Amongst endless blanch green fields which

Arc with a gust and apart where he treads,
Dragging his silk cape afar from flame
Clueless and concussed to a near house he heads
With a tattered scarf that constricts yet ***** about his mane

Black fists of cloud had boomed around him as they soared
His beast spat metal fire whilst the pale sky turned dull
The zipping ballet of warfare smiled throughout as motors roared
Gnashing its teeth and making forgotten martyrs of them all

Shuddering not from demise rather conflict as a whole
He is as content with death as he is to survive
Just not burn the world and condemn his soul
A horror; men of rule seem keen to keep alive

An agrarian self-dines rancorous and crocked
Half sat, improperly perched from where he was shot
Monsters had come for him once before this day
They took his spouse and his daughter and then took them away

He can hear but does not hark to the battle aloft
It is now like the rain and the trees in a gust
But to the boom and the shake he stands with a cough
And as he cites the invader he sees he must do what he must

The grower limps out with a Chassepot in his arms
As the airman’s hands reach up and he falls to his knees
With beads on his brow the man pleads with met palms
The crofter sees naught but a Prussian blue monster disease

The pilot knows his death, ‘Ich bin nicht sicher, wo ich will gehen?”
The old Frenchman just sniggers as he thinks never again
With the rifle’s slug now spent and the horror sent back to his hell
The farmer mumbles to himself, ‘je dois me chercher une pelle,”
Wars happen. It is *******

— The End —