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Silverflame Nov 2019
You brighten up my day
in such a peculiar way.
My usual blue feeling
morph into a smile which the
familiar tears can't wash away.
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
In the weirdest turn of events that day
As a cop toting guns and pepper spray
I gathered an urge to pen my first ode
In my lunch hour, before hitting the road

To sirens and light of my precinct's space
not a stanza wrote, yet my mind's apace
the pen's the problem; confidence recede
Pondered a visit to a friend, indeed

Thoughtful I'm moving, this old clue I'd act
on Brooklyn's pen thief; kleptomaniac
acquired from him, an ink dipping quill
of Huia birds, still boxed with its bill

Case solved; on the back of the bill it hints
"Dear Mayor, pen's for poems; lead's for thugs."
A Peculiar Pen's Poem...still beating the street
N.B. Huia (pronounced HOO EE UH) birds feathers cost $10,000 a single pluck
Puzzling and cryptic
Quite an unpredictability
Bizarre and eccentric
This is such a mystery
Filled with suspense and darkness
Such an unclear scenery
A clouded situation appears
That is a peculiarity
K Balachandran Mar 2019
Out of the blue, she blurted out,
"Peculiar stuff, I want to assert"
I had no guess what was her find.
(More like many a times one sees onself
in turns of life, unexpected, I presumed)
"Oh! is it? tell me all about it " I enthused,
And woke up at the very same moment
in to a dream, of different kind, half progressed,
There was no trace of a 'her' in this dream I wormed in!
What is 'real' what is 'imagined'?
Where ends the 'real' we imagine.
And what we think dream starts?
Andrea Mar 2019
Idk
Confused,

I don't know what this is, it is new and peculiar,
Is it love? or am I just getting used to the feeling?

You are always beside me, You make me so happy
Yet you give me so much pain.

You're in my head,
in every direction i turn,
in every route i take,
it is you, always you,
always coming to you.

I closed my eyes,
I see no dark cos' there was you i see.
The light in my dark.
You are the moon and I'm the wolf.

I don't know what this is,
but all i'm sure of is that im half a heart without you.
Tori Mar 2019
There lived an old woman
In a tumbled old cottage
In the midst of the silent wood.
She kept figurines
And the most peculiar things
In her little old cottage in the wood.

Her vases were chipped
Her tapestries ripped
And her silverware bent like her back,
But beautiful was she
And her beloved oddities
In that little old cottage in the wood.
Blade Maiden Oct 2018
I don't think I know
where to begin or
where to go
How to leave chance behind
how to change perceptions
how to treat my own mind

I don't know
why I have this need
to share and to show
Exactly where I stand
ever spilling heart in hand

I don't know why
I keep asking for truth
from strangers only passing by
Same old retreat
numbing sadness on repeat

I have no idea
what to tell you now
how to make myself more clear
How to leave and how to save
how to make my feet behave

I'm a glass full of shards
a peculiar collection
lots of shiny unknown parts
I don't know who I am anymore
I don't think I knew before
People couldn't find the way
        probably they forgot
could it be they were too hurt to remember
                   or to happy to notice
    If my mind was a road
I'd give you a way
        a perfect example of a person
    who thrives for other's needs while  
                            loosing his own way
    If you broke down
                clouded with sin
        only you can heal yourself
           it starts from within
Bella Jun 2018
Imagine
blonde ponytail swinging from brunette root
angled in a straight line with her jaw bone
Pouted lips
and manicured eyelashes
layered in dark,
heavy fabrics
to counter her fair skin
and tall golden brown boots

Her hands are heavy
sharp.
Her eyes are tired
her jaw compresses.
Up and down
chewing on gum
she has a few red scars
scattered on her cheeks
like freckles

She's curved
not necessarily slouched
but more like
it's the only way to fit all of her into her chair
her legs are crossed
her earrings dangle
as if in mid-air

She's thinking,
constantly
thinking
This is for Lilly
Gray Jun 2018
Opening up my front wooden door,
I already know it’s going to be an exciting day once more.

People. People. There’s so many.
People. People. A supply that’s plenty.

Down the street on a morning stroll.
It’s hard to be kept under control.

People. People. Never suspecting.
People. People. Always inspecting.

Alongside the sidewalk a dog frantically barks.
Luckily for me i managed to hold in my spiteful remarks.

People. People. I’m obsessing.
People. People. Keep you guessing.

It’s easy to notice your neck so fragile.
Perhaps today I’ll be more agile.
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