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Penny vase made from
the brown voided canyon rusting.
Friends that were made of waste,
they said time was simply turning,
the boat spoke back and said the depth of ones nature
could walk on water
But a deep voice
Was all that sprayed in pungent
aerosol and
displeasure.

Do we need to be on the same boat?
To drift into the beguiling surf?
Altogether
Better if we were dispersed
Dropped by the caving soft curve
Sliding through the unseen wash, watching your muddy glare.
Track the force in
blueberry motion
pulling and pushing us,
a sollen hand
and flying sleeve
The touch of flaunting fingertips and strings,
The fluttering wick
Swing and swished.

The chest of wonders beaming
Transmitting
a map
and lines like hay and wires
They were all exposed in the lines of her eyes
Maps

You frightened me that sleepy day
The dusted arsenal stick
Casted me on a rod made of hibiscus dew and syrup
A venomous hook that entangled my earrings
The push and her wave of desire,
Maps
To her treasure,
Reeled it now all over her wet webbed feet.
Caged,
Maps
and pressure
of the rocks falling against the time ticking
Hours away from the swaying shore.
The meaning of the word ''sollen'' in Dutch provided by Wiktionary,

Dutch
Etymology
From Middle Dutch sollen, from Middle French soller.
Verb
sollen

to throw back and forth (of a ball)
to play, to mess
We laten niet met ons sollen!
We won't let anyone mess with us!

© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Mic
Hail
Rough
Hail
A body made from the undying devotion was to be forgotten
Built by the memory of devotion's husband.

A swaying heritage
Under the surface
Resting
On a sleepy cloud made of forceful courage.
Her voice
The forest hovering
Above
and all of life
Hanging
From her glass lips of
The worldly wife.

Her weightless gold of skin
Running,
My saviour is a Queen.
Precious beyond anything,
Hey! her love is in everything.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
There the merry hologram glowing blue purple blue
Cactus human cherry on a stool
Beyond the window he would not look
Inside the sky made of wood.

The barber talks to his ferns
The flowers he understood
The living they earn
Sparkling its rough nails of your barber.
The breath and life he will spruce with apple-pie order.
He listens to
Each one story
Always about a time
A time which was cheery.

He looks piercingly to all their prickly
What he touches intently
To turn the time that latches onto your head which started feeling heavy.
Lifted into glee so jolly and carefree.

A man
Or the boys
They finally stand up easily.
Capes dusted
Top hat powdered
Their voice of fears collected as tips
For pricking up his ears.

The door that opens in the end
The swirling light that beckons
Hair became a way to lighten ---
When times get rough and belligerent
Cut it off, rugged and ruffian.

The barber hears him and all
The others like soldiers
They share their laughs
Troubles leaving shoulders
Leaving like a waterfall.
The barber knows everything
The barber knows all.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Rhymes are better heard than seen.
I feel like that is what makes poetry...
My pants are stained

I'm walking in the rain

My feelings can't be restrained

Sadness and love reign

Thoughts are overwhelming

My spirit feels like it's almost swelling

I can hear the pitter patter and the sound of the rain in the well ring

Usually you can hear animals here but because of the weather

They won't sing

The old man sitting on the porch near me has just spoken

Please be quiet

I don't want my young ones to be awoken

So I tried to be silent

I tried to be silent in this small world of strident

In my own mind

My own thoughts

I confided

On this very street a criminal was sighted

I could see the sirens

I can see two men fighting

One of the men was well known

He was considered criminally insane

But was still able to buy guns

Then a guy comes and tries to bend my thumbs

A guy was shot

Multiple bullets

A single was all it took

But he shot more

And of all his few bullets

He wasted nine ones

The intensity level heightens

Another one comes up to me

He runs

A guy told to get out of here

This entire situation made me out to be a deer

I felt hunted

While I was running

I tripped

My speed was stunted

Run, unless you want to see red!

I regained my balance and I sped

All of this is from a memory in my head from when I was eight

My younger life wasn't that great

In the street's, I always felt like bait

My thoughts were mine

In which I carried and conveyed

I felt disdain

I was still in the rain

No one came

I never looked at life the same

I snuck back in when I heard the train

What was said next was feigned

I'm sober, I promise

I PROMISE ON MY DEAD UNCLE CHARLES

My dead great uncle's name was Thomas

So much for that promise

She was a novice at honesty

And modest when it came to drinking tonic flawlessly

She was lawless

She was lost

All the ciggarettes

All the alcohol

She didn't know the cost

She didn't know the toll

Until all of what was important was sold

If she only kept true to a promise that she ended up locking in a closet

Maybe in my life she could be there

Maybe in my life she could be less rare

Just one promise!

Does that not seem fair?!

Why couldn't she just care?

It's not like her to care?

She wouldn't dare

Especially when she drinks

If she didn't this wouldn't occur

She wasn't sober

And all I wanted

Was just one last promise

That didn't end in a blur

One last moment with her

Instead I ended up with a cop as my chauffeur

Back of the car crying

Thinking of her

I ended up sighing

It's her choice

She's just quickly dying

And as time goes on

My memories with her are frying

All because she was lying
One of the many stories of my childhood
jd Sep 2014
Hvad er det dog
du leder efter
som du tror
du kan finde i mig
Har du søgt alle vegne
og er endt hos mig
Fik du et kald
der sagde
at det var jeg
som holdte nøglen
Eller er jeg blot det sidste sted
den kan være

— The End —