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I've change my script.
Don't read me in the same.
The Unique of print.
The calibration paint.
My picture stayed the same.
Don't search for my Id.
That difference in the vein.
Encrypted code on lips.
Installed program new.
Red mark, my unique.
Don't search me anymore.
I'm different but in same reality.
B D Caissie Sep 2019
It’s never good when you find out there’s strings attached. It’s even worse when you find out you’re the puppet.

Brynn S Mar 2019
Sometimes I watch the paper as it fills with words; much like an overflow of a cup
Pen ink spills onto the pages with words only to be read in a certain order
If read closely the true intentions are met
If not the words are incoherent and absolute *****
I do love writing with my face centimeters from the page
The words flow like waves and their radiance proves brilliance
Watching someone write shows their heart
Their true mindset
Watching their words curve is like following directions to a new world; one of which leads to the heart.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!  

Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.

Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.

This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
People think it's the love and the ***
The deep emotional vex
That completes the hex
But it's really seeing the piles of paper
That never seem to taper
Get put into print
In a text size that you don't have to squint
A sense of joy and accomplishment
That's why I get so much elation
An old house always getting renovation
Some of us attempt to deconstruct those walls
But we're invincible with the notepad and pen
I have this giant grin on my face
When I write in a cozy place
And meet the quota I set
No matter what response I get
I shall be happy to be able to hike up the word count
And do what I enjoy
That's what makes this all worth it.
Eleanor Rigby Sep 2017
i am lying on my stomach
starring at the blue elephant prints on this duvet
i got from Sri Lanka last year. and there's
a small voice in my head
that says to me, do not fall in love again.

but i do it it anyway.

-- Eleanor
Tony Luxton May 2017
Many sing of Shakespeare or of Keats.
I look to a Scottish lad for my treats.
He was of Irish descent,
and but for friends he would have lived in a tent.

From weaver he rose to a poet of renown,
but his contemporaries treated him as a clown.
Employed to give recitations of his masterpieces,
such as the famous 'Tay Bridge Disaster' he was a poet
of an entirely different species.

Spurning fashionable poetic metaphor and scans,
his simple language amused his many fans.
Alas he died in poverty. Yes he was skint,
but unlike many others of his time,
his poetry's still in print.
If you think this is bad, you should try some of his stuff!
Tommy Randell May 2017
It's all bells and whistles these days
Near rhymes and Doc files
Synonyms for that perfect flow.
It's hard sometimes to cast a line
That gets spoken, that hooks an ear
And becomes a Poem.

Harder still to make it to the page
In these electronic times
To get that kudos paper bestows
That magic pass from print to eye
As words become potent and more clear
And the mysterious becomes the known.

Tommy Randell 11th May 2017
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