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kaehaniya Aug 29
this is a song
it’s about math
it’s not too long
i’m sure of that.

math has always
been quite fun
and you’ll never faze
the endless puns.

math can be easy
math can be hard
but it’s never cheesy
it’s never charred

well, that’s all for this poem today
but math? it’ll always be there, in a way.
this was for a challenge - write a shakespearean sonnet about math
Thy naked flesh,
O' so beautiful-
Kissed by the moon,
Tickled by the stars,
Their light shines off thee,
Wet to the touch,
Salty to the taste,
Marred by the stain of sin,
From my crimsoned lips
ADi Dec 2019
I'm wading in the waning evening light
awaiting to be washed ashore in song
together dancing in the cusp of night -
oh, won't you waltz with me forever long?
From panoramic dusk to moonlight's yawn
meandering along your southern shore
our dance will persevere into the dawn -
these twilight steps I've always known before.
With guiding hands you set a lively pace,
engulfing journeyed soles in rhythmic peace
and feeding weary soul with easy grace -
like footsteps disappearing in the sea.
In time to singing waves does my heart beat
as every sun and moon shall rise, repeat.
Tyra Hunter Oct 2019
I address this letter to you, in part
to speak of a new time in my life.
For a dashing beau has stolen my heart -
your youngest is set to become a wife!
His touch is cold as a December day,
but his heart’s warm as the high summer sun.
He doesn’t seem the type to go and stray,
just don’t expect grandbabes - he ain’t much fun!
He’s a striking gentleman, famous too,
and he pens the most beautiful of works!
So, with this, my life shall begin anew.
Hello city folk, goodbye Georgia berks!
If y’all plan to meet, you’re plum outta luck,
alas, my dear Edgar is dead as ****.

- t.h.
Lady Ravenhill Jul 2019
The lady hath lost it, surrend'r'd it
a penalty f'r h'r mistakes
h'r failures and h'r faults

the lady hast given it up
at consid'rable sacrifice
h'r eag'r young passion
f'r a m're content'd life

the lady's hath lost 't, finally f'rfeit
despite h'r yearning desires f'r m're
f'r nay gain, nay profit of h'r owneth
just to the desire to endure
with the one the lady's with
without h'r risking of less
© LadyRavenhill 2018
Part of a collection titled: W'rds of a Nimble-Footed Mistress.
Lady Ravenhill Jul 2019
I am not afeard of the thing hath called death
       N'r yearn to testeth mine own m'rtality
I’ve nay feareth of the possibility
       N'r bethink of tom'rrow’s last breath
Graveyards holdeth nay myst'ry  
       Just a place of tranquil beauty and peace
I am not afeard of dying in the least
       And yon the part that scareth me
@LadyRavenhill 2018
Part of a collection of Shakespearean inspired language poetry,  I am working on posting here called:
W'rds of a Nimble-Footed Mistress
Breon Jul 2019
Your humble florets hug the rough-hewn stone,
Your yellow sunbursts shock against the gray,
All tangled up together, none alone
As, stem to stem, you ward the morn away
Reminding me of duties for the day:
To comfort those who suffer all alone,
To stand with those who struggle on their own,
To see an obstacle and find a way.
It's toil, travail, and trouble for no pay,
But look how far we've come and how we've grown -
A wallflower's a humble thing to be,
But tangled all together, they are strong.
The bonds we forge in striving, all as one,
Enduring tests? They will not be undone.
"Faithfulness through adversity."
Flower languages are lovely things. Perhaps I'll properly complete a cycle on some favorite flowers.
Breon Jun 2019
I know a man who locks himself inside
His head, his conversations, tucked away
Behind a maze of cheer. Each day, he's lied
A thousand times. He clocks out for the day
And, free but weary, sheds the mask for sleep.
I start the day with coffee, bitter, black,
Which suits my mood just fine. I earn my keep,
then turn around and give until I lack.
The coffee doesn't last, and by the end
I've found myself a stronger, harder drink.
I watch him bottle workdays up, my friend,
And brew himself instead. I'd like to think
We both get by. That doesn't do much good.
This place devours us and drinks our blood.
Apologies to Talib Kweli and anyone who hates eye rhyme.
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