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Jordan Hudson Feb 2019
Born for this life
Raised for this style
Others don't get it
Running by miles
Not about speed
Style by intent
Rice by you, nice by me
I'm not tryin' to be
Quick like you
I made it what I like
So negative
Don't you know
What style is
It's all about one's thoughts
What I bought
What I see as great
What you see as fake
It's an art form
As one can say
It would improve
Only if I could choose
The one I use
I am stuck with this
All the limits
Make me sick
So limited
So limited
I am stuck with this
Rice has me glued
Limited from you
I am stuck with it
My rice car is all I can afford right now
IncholPoem Jan 2019
Alternative  prizes
are   ready   for

RICE  and  NICE  plant.


                                        
                                          Alternative  of  prizes
                                           are also  there.






A  flying     digital  clock
can  release   your stress
by  singing  
Lady  Gaga   and
Justin Biber's
slow  songs.



                                          Alternative  of   prizes
                                            are  also  including-

                                    A   digital  robo  cat

                                    eagerly    will  wait
to  have   fried
sea  fish  to
compete    your
neighbour's  two   natural  cats.
Pyrrha Jan 2019
I feel like my body is made of grains of rice
When you hold me I collapse and slip through your grasp
You just aren't the 'forever type' are you?
One day someone will either slip with me or help me hold us together

Then you'll see what you could have been with me
Listen, I wrote this at 4 in the morning im not even 100% sure what I was trying to say here.
K Balachandran Sep 2018
Bristling green rice plants,
Make waves reaching the far hills;
Wind’s jugglery spooks!
Jon-Luc Sep 2018
Rice is thrown from the pews
Flowers are embroidered upon the
Faces of those who stare at the stage

Mustn't we not decry departure
Are we to lay idly by
When
**** goes astray

NO!

NO!

NO!

Speak, for you have a voice.
James smith Nov 2017
Skin is skin,  Heart is a heart.
What makes makes a mind to consider any is less like an empty bottle?  
To sense one is second-rate?,
Skin to skin, dust to dust, Bone to bone.  
Heart to heart superior Judge will sit judgment on disgusting hearts.  
Equivalent we are, as transgressors, we are.
01– November 1 17, made straight by propaganda crooked album, Sho Baraka Talented. 10th. Jesus Christ cover by Dustin Kensrue where music inspiration when I was writing this.
02–this poem is about what makes a person to think one race is better then the other or lower. To me the Bible teaches me everyone of us is low even me, God is the Commander superior.
SQUID Aug 2017
The test results are back!
It appears that a:

sack of rice

                       has

replaced your brain.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
YOU delirious about the coastal span - from
the country that went on a hot year - then become the
beach your body: spread out - fragrant and hungry!

Like the perfume ad page, which is torn off
thick copies, magazines that chock short of pictures!

The one on you lies, I, which is released by the wind,
large pickaxes, mooring the sky, then sprinkling wildly

I started this guerrilla, facing my own shadow,
your spicy sand bath, quartz that grows hearts

Late afternoon. The sun goes past: yellow past
soon it was broken and glowing, the blood of a snake
I've repeatedly looked at digital numbers,
Casio - waterproof, 200 meters - an hour of the day



If the sea yells, the sentence is the waves!

He did not carry any name, until he called the bay
Place turtle loggerhead, from far journey,
Thousands of miles pilgrimage, to the sand he had hatched,
littered, food wrappers and beverage cans

This *******, like undesirable verbal abuse!



What have I found? Or broke it? I'm a farmer
threatened insect pests, certainly can not keep, seeds per
Seeds, immature rice. The season is short-lived.

When I see the location of the taxi to the North,
I also had to go back there, fold the map, then
stepping like a man's footstep -
like the song I heard from Springteen - and
write down a poem that I am afraid of his verses.
K Balachandran Mar 2017
Ripe, golden rice,
Endlessly billowing in wind,
Wafting fresh scent.
Bryan Amerila Apr 2016
Can you hear them?
Yes, they are crying.
Can you see them?
Yes, the farmers, yes.
No, I mean,
The blood, the blood.
Each grain is pregnant.
With blood, with blood.
No! let’s fill the rice fields.
Let’s plant bullets.
No, with blood, with blood.
When will they learn?
Why? Is there something to learn?
Why is there something to learn?
Why, is there something--
They can no longer learn.
They can no longer hear.
They can no longer see.
Why? I demand an answer!
Why do I demand an answer?
Why?
You killed them.
April 08, 2016
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