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Dwalker Jan 2017
In three word I can sum up everything I've learned about life. It goes on.

-Robert Frost
Sorry that i haven't been doing these. Ok no I'm not.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2016
...and I'll give you half an ear.  
[L9:  Robert.  And sent a pic when returned.  And yes, I loved him, shame to say.]



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXCI)


Where gloaming filters out in greyish thence
And fading halflight, children's voices trail
Some barking canine as no birds detail
Calm whispers whose soft breath tugs at me hence
Likeas to stay my footfalls with that sense
Tis now, and here.  Ne stars yet in blue's veil
Except the evening star alone oer pale
Dead houses, and how sunset burns low.  Whence?
Indeed.  He's gone to Burning Man as twere
Or some take off that, romance forfeit too,
Else I'll wish for a date with each in poor
Excuse, how's that?  The problem is...that you
Are not here.  What are cool winds' murmurs?  You're
Who gives dusk romance.  Tell me that you knew.

23Oct16c
Hi.  Mebbe I'll share my diary pages again when I feel reckless.  Like how some date proceeded or whathaveyou.  Don't hold your breath waiting.
Joe Thompson Oct 2016
Look,
Just pick a path, will ya?
Flip a coin if you have to
But move along -
Other people are waiting.
The prancing sheep evade my mind and eat upon greener pastures.

I squirm and wince at every thought that repetitively repeats, "just go to sleep", while tracing back the day's steps and weighing the factors.

Why must my mind be so out of sync with the tune of my body?

The wise would advise physical exhaustion is not sufficient ammo to defend against morphing into a groggy zombie.

Insomnia? No...I can have a good night, windows open and naturally closed eyes.

Anxiety? No...my life is too right, for me to not realize this sleep is just something I idiotically idolize.

Change? Yes...I can grow and stow away any thoughts which summon the riot, organize the files and endless waiting miles.

Minutes to hours, hours to frustration,
all until a simple revelation, I've had singular control of the entire situation.

Through meditation, finally free of this voluntary probation.

For no longer do I fear my head touching those precious feathers, and no longer wince at the warm and fleece-ridden wrapping like tethers.

I can now dim the blinding internal light, and tear from the controlling reigns that started this nightly pillow fight.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2016
Happily he deals very gently and understandingly with me.  I love him.



(sonnet #MMMMMDCCXCV)


Not mists.  Thet ghostly whiteness as a veil
Down where the valley shivers in suspense,
Flirtatious winds' moist breath stale in the sense
Tis muggy ere dawn cast off Sunday's pale
Thought of more hallowed things, and in a frail
Excuse I button that blouse Mum gave thence
To me, to die as seeing her worn face hence,
Those precious eyes, and hate me in betrayl.
Oh Robert!  How I want to scream as twere
Until the universe is shattered to
Sheer nothingness.  But then as now in poor
'Scuse, no sound can come out. And I tell you
Cuz only you seem understand.  Mists tour
Forsooth, and I still breathe, pray, love you too.

24Jul16a
Not like I ever want to "get over" Mum's death.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2016
Don't ask me.



(sonnet #MMMMMDCCXCIV)


Not mine.  As if a stranger passing thence
From who-knows-where to whither, aught detail
Is like the accents you'll set to avail
Along with artwork for that ***** sense,
Just items in a world that's lost from hence
Its varnish.  His bare room decked on that scale
With table, chairs and knick-knacks, in betrayl
Wood toilet seat's in pieces for pretense.
Tis naked.  Yes, he's glad to see me fer
Old times--"Erm [smiling] what's your name 'gain?  You--
You're so familiar--"  I laugh, to assure
Him's fine, aye tease him.  Yet why does th'ado,
Though fun as ever, strip the dream as twere
Of all its trappings?  Robt, I love you too.

23Jul16c
This is the section where I elucidate is it?  Sorry.  Or wait...never underestimate the fuel every stinkin' bit of life provides when I is a sonneteer.  Haha.
Hao Nguyen Apr 2016
Parody of A Red, Red, Rose" by Robert Burns

"A *****, ***** Cat"

O my Boop’s like a *****, ***** cat,
That was newly born last year;
O my Boop’s like the father’s fear
That’s constantly exposing her rear.

As cute art thou, my pillow case,
So damp in ****, am I;
And I will throw thee far, my pet,
Till a' the sheets air dry:

Till a' the sheets air dry, my pet,
And thy heat melt wi' the embrace;
I will ne’er sleep still, my pet,
While I rest, her **** frozen in my face.

And spay thee soon, my noisy Boop,
And spay thee soon tomorrow or now
Yet I will forget again, my Boop,
And be cursed with thy deathly meow.
Tim Knight Mar 2016
A fortnight ago an Algerian masseuse anointed each note of my joints,
spread thumbed cursive over my shoulders and
back around to my chest;
she spelt out how I'd be shivering now knowing you were leaving.
And last week you led me to an acupuncturist where he said,
Rob Frost had quit his job on point duty to become a receptionist instead.
I knew it was ******* by the way you barked in the background.
I knew it was wrong from the rumble through the stud wall,
sound of timpani, of gusto's drawl ringing in my ears:
the resonance of windfall if saved 'in the best ISA for years!'
This has been the best February since records began
and I thank you for being a friend.
from coffeeshoppoems.com
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