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Liam Peare Jan 2019
WAR
Beautiful paradise draping in wanton vain
Men and women visage in pain
Storming the Homeland with sorrow's wind and rain
Laundering the beauty of morning's eyne.

The carcass of Country men blown by the wind- identity.
The Clamour of torment soul of Fellow man to despair- scythed the sanity.
Tears  in woe as thy'd watch the Homeland in ash
Threaded in enduring the shrieking of Homeland.
Sharon Talbot Jan 2019
Perhaps his duality would always be
Irreconcilable,
For had he not been made this way
by genetic chance?
A hulking man with gardener's shirt
and biker's leather pants?
He might speed along a coastal highway,
Wind in his greasy hair,
Unchopped Harley shivering,
Eyes watering from the wind,
or was it because of sheer depth of soul?
As he peeled along, avoiding fatal curves,
Did his thoughts of roses blooming
keep him from launching himself
into the fog?
Were the droplets on his face,
full of salt from the sea,
the same as those he saw
in the morning dew on his flowers?
He was a not a Hunter Thompson,
who might return home to drink and write
reams of rage against the foul Effendi,
who beset him at night
after descending from their mansions.
Yet he too needed respite and beauty,
an Owl Farm in his mind,
Or a hotel on Sunset Boulevard,
Safe under the canopy, among the palms,
His security, not a typewriter
but a garden of perfect roses
that he would tend and breed,
Keeping beauty alive to feed
His hidden desire for peace and order.
Like an old man in the country,
The “rose rustler”he played
Lived in a little house,
His unassuming paradise,
with a cat, as secretive as him,
a lone goldfish in a bowl,
who looked out each day on
manicured paths and brick walls,
worthy of any English manor,
with acres of flowers,
dozens of colors...
but every single one a rose.
This whole thing sprang out of a title from a photo site, combined with an excellent book I read, "Freak Kingdom", by Timothy Denevi, about Hunter Thompson's "Ten years of fighting against American Fascism". If you read this, it would help to listen to Elvis Costello's "Brilliant Mistake" simultaneously!
Patricia M Jan 2019
Another sleepless night,
spent in the labyrinth of the dystopia I hide.
eating away the innocence that I have left inside;
and its leaving the feeling of hopelessness on its flight.

nights that is filed with thoughts,
thought that are about death.
keeping me up all night
on days that I don't need it the most.

it's endless;
it won't stop,
i can see light.
but can't seem to reach it.

help! help! i cry out in plea.
but no one notices .
its the reality of which they do not want to see;
and its all because they want to live in a place called paradise.

a place called paradise...
where everything is perfect,
where you do not need to feel troubled,
a place where I want to be.
Ian Robinson Jan 2019
March winds
And April showers
Make way for sweet may flowers
Then comes June
A moon and you,

March winds and April showers
Romance will soon be ours
And outdoor paradise
For two
Philomena Jan 2019
Your words are lingering in my mind
And I can't help but wonder if you're right
If you're not meant to be mine
Because I've been wrong before
And I see the way you look at her
And i'm stranded in this island in my mind
No ship of hope in sight
Because I thought just maybe paradise would last forever
But I am now forced to recognize it
An inevitable storm on the distance
And it might just tear us apart
but if it doesn't well stand strong together
Because then you were meant to be mine
Doubts are never really fun are they.
Thera Lance Jan 2019
There once was a paradise, now is lost.
Perish the thought, it was said in a rush.
Tell me now, was it worth the cost?

Together, they walked in the snow lands blessed by Jack Frost,
A young man and woman, even through cold did they blush.
There once was a paradise, soon to be lost.

Too soon, illness came and caused life to exhaust.
Now, her face exists only beneath his bleeding paintbrush.
Tell me now, was love worth the cost?

In desperation, he declares Death itself he will accost.
Through magic or science, it is fate he will crush.
There once was his paradise, it will not be lost.

A golden glint in the dark beckons to the heir of Faust,
So he awakens the magic that destroyed the ancestors of us.
Tell me now, is one’s soul a worthy cost?

Through the barrier, he will let monsters and darkness cross,
All simply to see her alive and, in the face of her beauty, blush.
There once was our paradise, now is lost,
Because he said that the peace of our world was worth true love’s cost.
David Adamson Jan 2019
In this place
The air is so dry that water sulks.
The sky is a viscous brown mosaic.
The sulfurous fumes of old suffering linger.

A woman stares as if trying to unsee creation.
Words on a man’s tongue sound
like rhythmic coughing.
At the only stoplight
the crosswalk sign flashes “Don’t waltz.”

Strangers recoil from me
as if from an embarrassing stain.

People stream to the town square
for some indecipherable ritual.
Probably a funeral for the sun
or a snake oil sale.

Welcome to humankind’s true garden.
Not paradise but a place of desolation,
and what comes after is not exile but striving
and getting the hell out.

So long, mom and dad.
Northern Poet Oct 2017
I feel empty
Empty inside
I want to run away
But there’s nowhere to hide
**** it
I’ll just get in a boat
And go for a ride
Set the sails
And go with the tide
I’ll go with the wind
Wherever it blows
All I need is a drink
And something to smoke

I’ll escape to an island
To a place in the sun
With no one else
Just me and my gun
That’s all I need
To be out in the sticks
Peace and quiet
And somewhere to think
It’s not the end
Just the start
Only me
And my broken heart

We’ll just sit there
And talk things through
Look back at the times
Of just me and you
When I’m down
I just look around
I see the trees
And some clouds
Grey skies around me now
I close my eyes
And look at the floor
Flick the switch
And feel no more
Kewayne Wadley Jan 2019
Your beautiful.
Everywhere I look is paradise.
I thought of moving there.
Closer to you.
For sure, sometime next year.
Today, tomorrow.
Sometimes I miss it.
This glorious overhead view.
A bucket list dream come true.
A place that takes my breath in slow pace.
I wanna go so bad.
This place of senrenity.
This place of peace.
Everywhere I look is paradise.
I've been told Tuesdays aren't bad times to fly.
Head in the clouds.
The sunset of your eyes.
Discovering a love like yours.
Paradise in the blink of an eye.
For sure sometime next year.
Today, tomorrow
Ken Voltaire Jan 2019
Your rose petal lips kiss breezes softly by.
Along your cheeks,
Glassy rivers smoothly glide.
Two bright suns peek out from beneath moonlit sky,
Overlapped with rich darkness,
Beautiful and shy.
From a mountain of the gentlest curve,
A gust of wind comes down,
Scattering your rose petals all around.
Containing all of these wonders,
A valley.
Two crests so very distant,
Come slowly together, down.
Between these crests,
The mountain, the rivers, the roses, breeze, moonlit sky, and suns,
All lie,
And hence is where your beauty can always be found.
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