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Orange Rose Dec 2020
Tomorrow's sun brings icy wind
And hearts entwined are torn again
The wings of angels bleed and break
Reflections dance on mirror lake.

The stars are falling one by one
Darkness consumes until it's done
And fragrant flowers bow their head
The dancers' feet are made of lead.

And cities crumble brick by brick
And flame ignites the candle's wick
As icy wind begins to blow
The dancers' feet begin to slow.

Tomorrow's wind brings burning rain
All living creatures shall be slain
And after rain comes deathly chill
The dancers' feet, at last, are still.
Trefild Feb 2020
some words go US Eng, some go UK Eng
so inside the word-dividing "[ ]" is the chosen sound

‣ KIND OF A WA[ɔ]LKIN'...
‣ EMITTER OF ENDORPHINS
‣ INNER-LIGHT-EVOKIN'
‣ VAU[ɔ]LT WITH
‣ A FORMi̲DABLY ENORMOUS
‣ INFINITELY RISIN' RESERVE OF
‣ THRILLINGLY PO[ɑ]SITIVE EMOTIONS (wa[ɒ]nt some?)
‣ THE EPITOME OF DELIGHT & ENJOYMENT
‣ strollin' o[ɒ]n some spo[ɑ]ts
‣ sa[ɔ]w some gyals
‣ bein' dolorous
‣ stole up O̲[ɒ]n 'em
‣ once I'm close enough
‣ I'm explodin'
‣ with that mind-blowin' stuff
‣ I've noted 'bove
‣ ba[ɔ]wlin' "lit morning, quit mourning"
‣ so ear-splittingly like my ba[ɔ]lls just go[ɑ]t
‣ torn apart
‣ they, sE̲E̲med to me, were in total sho[ɑ]ck
‣ unloadin', givin' 'em a[ɔ]ll I've go[ɑ]t
‣ which got 'em a little overpa[ɑ]cked
‣ each of 'em got a lethal 𝒸ℴ𝓇 atta[ɑ]ck
‣ overdosed, they dro[ɑ]pped
‣ on the ground like ja[ɔ]ws of cha[ɑ]ps
‣ at the sight of girls that are
‣ smokin' **[ɑ]t
‣ A[ɔ]LSO, TRULY HOPEFUL
‣ BORN WITH LO[ɑ]TS
‣ OF O[ɒ]FFERS OF EMPLOYMENT
‣ IN TERMS OF MOVIN' FORWARD
‣ THE MOTION'S NOTHIN' LESS THAN HURTLIN'
‣ A[ɔ]LWAYS, EVERY MOMENT
‣ MAINTAIN THE FIRST PLACE
‣ IN A LIST OF POTENTIAL BOYFRIENDS
‣ FOR GIRLS THAT
‣ ARE INDECENTLY GORGEOUS
‣ AND UNBELIEVABLY JOYOUS
‣ lyrically, these word-co[ɑ]mbs
‣ come close to those a[ɑ]cts
‣ frequently a ***** does
[once was told that I have 0 SELF-IRONY]
Trefild Mar 2020
hardest party with floozies and saddo
wrathful wifey is choosing bolt cutter
**** gets naughty with ****** at brothel
problem youngin threw toolkit at father
wanton hottie is looking for lovers
step-son keeps eyeing good-looking step-mother
some ****-dropping is pooping on flower
punk's just gotten caboose-kicked by copper
dumbest blondies as students of Harvard/Oxford
Trump went shopping with Putin for armor
[oops, the last one is risky]
US Eng
Janice Feb 2020
A poem is a pathway
Of freedom from your mind
You put a pen to paper
And see what words you find
You end up with a story
From a different place and time
And experience a magic
Of a work you'll leave behind
Michael Stefan Feb 2020
This universe so massive, complexities galore
Yet terrified I am, to exit my front door
This massive world beckons, a seductive cry
How can a one-bedroom apartment dweller
Understand the sky

Circulation and life complete with each heartbeat
Each pulse pushes life throughout city streets
Microcosmic revolutions of electron protocols
As massive heavenly bodies orbit
Above us neanderthals

Why do we know so much yet understand so little
As we arrange life's pieces like a puzzle made so brittle
Around us everywhere life continues to be in bloom
We are but hungry ants
And this universe, we'll consume
My thoughts on existentialism and attempting to understand things from subatomic to universal.  A scientific conference sometime in the 70s decided that it was the ultimate fate of intelligent life to ultimately destroy itself.  We all seek knowledge, but at what cost do we gain our analysis.  What is the price of being able to order our understanding into a neat line of labels.
Alice Swatridge Dec 2019
Let the hair fall over your face
Don’t speak, they won’t reply
It feels like you’ve been replaced
Try and let the days pass by

If you were to fall they wouldn’t see
You miss how they used to care
It’s not the way it used to be
A simple smile by now is rare

And in your head there’s only black
So tired of make believe
If you smile, they won’t smile back
Why don’t you just leave?

You’ll never be the way they are
Their level is just too hard
Just try and reach that social bar
And keep your feelings jarred
on feeling alone in crowds and out of place among friends. written when i was 15.
Kai Mar 2019
The phoenix burned, once more returned, from fiery pyre aflame
With wings outstretched, soared o’er land wretch’d, seen, by the bird, as the same
old forests of past, which never could last 'gainst nature's violent outlashes
Yet in dreams surviving, defiant, and thriving; though the air still reeked of ashes

The scorching sunset cast its melting gold net o’er the equally, if not more scorched earth
Night's moon and day's star hung above the earth's scar; two eyes judging the wasteland's worth
They deemed it as decent, though the charring of recent corrupted their judgement in part
And through the cloud's pain, the celestial rain cascaded down to the wood's heart

The tears of the sky rinsed the aching dirt dry, and quenched its desperate dreams
The caked floor, satiated, filled up and inflated with life bursting at its seams
Beneath vanished leaves, under wire canopies, green shoots had begun to grow
The Phoenix, all seeing, saw the passionate being of the young plants below.

The forest will burn as time’s wheels turn, evermore reaching its end
Everything dies, yet The Phoenix still flies, watching all birthed again.
This is sort of a first draft...? I might rewrite the poem and make it better one day but at the moment it's also technically a finished poem.

I guess it's about humanity, sort of- with the Phoenix as humanity, burning the forest down itself and then blaming it on nature; then regaining inspiration as the world is reborn.

I liked the idea of the sun and the moon acting as eyes which weep when it rains, so I kept it in- for now, at least.
Tyler Smiley Dec 2018
I’ve been walking down the city streets,
wild night life running on disco feet.

I hear you with every step I take,
the loud cement cannot take your place.

Rushing blood in cracked bones,
your body was my home,
an avenue not of my own.

But people change with the weather-
saying the sun will make them better,
but 3 straight days of rain just left us
wetter than ever.

4 am reflections in the puddles of what
we used to be, imitations of you and me,
I’m so sick of reliving our tainted history.
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