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Keerthi Sep 10
on a Saturday morning
casuals to school
on a street
a vendor with a straw basket
selling flowers
two for five
wrapped in a damp cloth
dahlias in merlot and pink
roses in yellow and red
mother bargains
two for three
on silky braids
pink dahlia perched
like a microphone
mother laughs
at the grinning beauty.
Laura Sep 8
I want You here
with Me
all the time
I want You
to think about Me
when You are away
to dream about Me
when We're tangled up
in the same bed
I want You
to want My body
to crave a kiss
from only My lips
I don't want You
wanting other girls
just being with Me
while You wait
for the next best thing

I want to live with You
take showers with You
wash Your ***** laundry
and cook Your favorite meals
I want to spend as much time
as I possibly can
glued to Your side
kissing Your cheeks
holding Your hands
whispering sweet nothings
while We intertwine ourselves all night
under the glow of the lamp light
staying up way too late
and sleeping in until the dog wakes Us up

I'm just
too scared
to tell You
all these things
in case
You don't
want Me
the way
I want
only morning skies mourn
the death of the stars;
icy cold,
as bright as flame,
they glimmered yesteryear:
a flash of warmth,
a wink of light,
then nothingness again
will someone mourn you when you're gone? or will they pretend you were never there?
Aden Aug 31
Woke up and a feel rough
Lord knows that a drank enough
In way past midnight
Looking out to the day light
Need to rebuild my energy
Cuppa t is the remedy
When a man's from Yorkshire
No milk is torture
Wanna go back to bed
Have a nap like im dead
Had too much whisky
Scotch is always risky
Then was drinking red wine
Deffo not fee ling fine
"Goes to my heaaaaad"
Is an under statement
My head fell off on the pavement

Never wanna drink again tell me what you think again now I wanna start again shoulda smoked the reef instead

Now I really need hydration
Or maybe migration
Did i say something bad
Did I make someone mad
Woke up and I feel rough
Lord knows that I drank enough
Clearly have a hangover today.
Laura Aug 25
I write about
People I love

But I'm afraid
to write
about you

Just in case
you don't
love me back
larni Jun 10
you are now my saturday nights,
please become my sunday mornings.
Tommy Randell May 11
He woke up this morning
His world in anarchy :

The TV remote
Was empty of batteries.

His wife had made breakfast
Halving his calories.

The kids' bedrooms
Stank of underwear and cannabis.

His sinus was screaming
From pollen and allergies.

The cat had had kittens
Increasing the menagerie.

The dog under the table
Was making noises like raspberries.

The whole world in fact
Was disgustingly olfactory.

His arteries were squeezing him
Downhill to mortality.

And he was staring down
At porridge and a cranberry

Holding a plastic spork
Since there was no clean cutlery,

Silently screaming Saturday Saturday
It is always a Saturday,

And he can't go to work
To his desk and his salary,

Until quietly his wife kisses his cheek
And says dreamily that maybe

Life had gotten more perfect 'cause
They are having a Baby ....
Dead Rose One Jun 2015
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn

rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette

resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by

the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
     that true quiet
is not the absence of noise

I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve

the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion

this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented  in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity

here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
for Sally and Rebecca, who love the lushness best....

JUNE 2015
I love it-
How a Saturday never felt
So good.

It’s like I am falling into place. Every
Piece of me bent and broken such that

I may be placed, so delicately, into
The ocean, into a room with blue curtains.

If I had known I would have stuck around, but these feet have carried me too far out; there
Is no home anymore. Only the sound of the sea, supple upon the shore.
Star BG Apr 20
On a Saturday morning
I write,
as rain outside cleanses earth.
While rain feeds plants hungry
As rain calls all to umbrellas
And while eyes swell
to let me know a poem is gelling
to be released.

On a Saturday morning
I write,
as a bathroom run is ignored.
While my hunger has to wait.
As the moments melt away.
And while my fingers dance
on keyboard making way
to birth a poem.
A silly poem on a Saturday morning.
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