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Jonathan Moya Mar 28
I have something I must confess to you
I pick my nose, eat all my buggers too.
This causes distress and disgust I know    
still off the floor I’ve  eaten food that glows.

Science says that it’s all just for the best
for I immunize against just those pests,
my antibodies delight in the twirl
of not taking a break from this ill world.

Be too clean enough, watch your body die,
a clam unable to grow pearls inside.

The history of hay fever  attests
it started an aristocratic pest
until more begats trickled it to the rest.
Years later immunity herd resets
made your older ***** hand many bros
less the cause of your sneezing and your woes.
Now cleaner living, hygienic hands,
less man, swing it back to the wealthy clans.

The fate of humanity all well depends
on the fact antibodies never end.
Evolution favors the hardy bugs
making man one of its many doomed shrugs.
Disease, extinction, not in human plan,
he will fight, fight to be part of this land.

Vaccines have prevented much needless death
giving antibodies a daily test.
We have avoided all that still does ****
yet  allergies still make one run to hills,
allowing even worst auto-inflamed chills.
Giving all your antibodies a rest
is not the answer for ****** distress.

Time to adapt bodies to the new world.
Not **** both good and bad in the big furl.
Let it listen, learn and train friend from foe,
not pay attention to the ad man’s show.

Man has conquered this small space to survive,
he must evolve away to really thrive.
We are unsafer when we **** all risk,
to immunize, immunize is the trick.

So I will pick my nose, eat my buggers,
knowing I am creating new lovers
not afraid at all to hug each other.
Johnny walker Feb 26
Nothing more beautiful than a clear night laid wrapped In a sleeping bag with your sweetheart gazing upon
the darkened night
All those amazing star lightings up the Inky black sky laid there picking out Identifying the constellations the occasional shooting star out the corner if your
Sometimes an aeroplane crossing beneath the stars  holiday jets people going away or perhaps returning then to fall asleep whilst watching the
Nothing like laying In a sleeping bag under the stars picking out all the constellations and falling to sleep with your sweetheart
Picking up the pieces;
one by one.
This time,
it will take me quite
a while
before I am truly done.
My life
has been shattered
once again,
but I write my life in pen.
What happens,
just happens;
life doesn't go back.
just have to
keep on going,
even if you do crack.
Abigail Hobbs Jan 23
A frost had already settled late that night
Into the tenth hour, when most would be sleeping
All was quiet and cold on the front
When the stars presented themselves, you presented yourself to the sky
I imagine as gracefully as sunrise
Quiet and unsuspecting,
it sprang on us like an early spring

When winter turns to spring
and daisies push their way through the dirt
when the transition is done
I'll think of your fight to push through life, yet open yourself up
just as flower petals open to this world
Even though you passed in winter, spring will remind us of you
After a harsh winter, spring will be there to guide us,
whether we've made peace with the season,
whether we're ready and however early
We'll pick daisies to take you with us on this spring's journey

For my dear Aunt, who passed away earlier this month. She was 39, but had a long fight with Cystic Fibrosis. Her favorite flowers were daisies :)
Anya Sep 2018
There’s something interesting to notice
When one shares their poems
Out there
For one and all to see

There are certain patterns
Certain people

That read certain poetry

When I write short, sweet, to the point
Two lines
Or three

Certain people flock

When I write long
With depth, almost like a story

Others stalk

Then when I let out my inner cynic,
Try something new
Rant out my views

I get a whole nother crowd all together
Comprising sometimes, those from the former two as well

Some go for depressing,
Trying to find someone who matches
Their own soulful nature

Others would rather settle
For some lighthearted fun

And still yet more
Would choose something else

And I wonder how do you choose
How do you pick amongst the multitudes?
Do you even care?
Or is it what’s right in front of your eyes?

Perhaps it’s based on what you like to write?
What you’d like to do?
What you’d like to be?
Who you’d like to be?

Is there even an answer key?
Is there ever?
Mary-Eliz Jul 2018
Aztec gold-brown soil between
rows and rows of summer green
invites berry-gatherers
shorts and sun hats
baskets in hand

techniques unique to each

stooping for close inspection
looking for perfection
color, form, ripeness
choosing one by one

bending just enough to grab
in a hurry
sun beats down
wiping brow

others mosey
the peace of this stretch
of land so well tended
so bounteous

best approach
little child plopped down
near the beginning
hand to mouth fast as she can
crimson juice coloring lips
drips down chin
beneath contented impish smile
A memory of my two-year-old niece's introduction to strawberry picking.
Poetic T Sep 2017
Life is a fall, we just got to realize that were
the ones picking up. And the only defeat is
when we don't try.

Life is getting up, and knowing were the ones
that stood tall, without hands out to others...

Were the ones that lifted ourselves up..
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