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Ghostlizard Sep 2017
I saw a sheep upon a hill
Reminds me of my house for sale
In which my summers past were spent
This sheep I saw, something to represent
An equinox of sorts to me
To tug my mind, memories, and things to be
They crashed and swelled into my head
These memories of farmland red
And those sheep who grazed every hill
Reminding of those summers and everything until
Dori Sep 2017
Wolves eat sheep
and we sleep just fine.
Logan Robertson Sep 2017
Restless Encounter

Returned from the graveyard shift
I needed a lift
Puppy eyes shut
Barks abut

I couldn't sleep
So I counted sheep
One, two, three, four
There's  a knock at the door

It's an old cougar
That wants to borrow sugar
Coast was clear
I had no fear

Two hours later
The gator was catered
It's back to sleep
Counting sheep

Halfway to fourty
Lawn mower sounds, oh lordly
Two hours later
The gator's  a hater

It's back to sleep
Counting sheep
Twist and turned twenty five
And more unneeded jive

Alarm clock set for wrong time
Chime, chime, chime
Can you believe that
The gator spat

It's back to sleep
Counting sheep
I see her in the lea
Playing with me

Her wool a nice set
As my gator's lip wet
And this time the wifely returns
My insides want to burn, burn, burn

My gator sighs
As she says hi
Hi I weep, weep, weep
Please I need some sleep

She looks (esoteric) at me
With that look of plea, plea, plea
She wants her sugar fix, too
My gator singing it's blue

My eyes want to close
But there she blows
Chime, chime, chime
Wifely having a good time

On top of the train track
Gators attacked
His sheep counting on him
To stop the bedlam

Logan Robertson

9/6/17
Poetic T Sep 2017
Even though I spill a thousand lies on into
the steam of my life that others drink from.

Polluting the world around of me, I will never
corrupt your love.

The river of my confusions may contaminate
others reflections. seeing unseen's.

But with you my words are like fresh snow,
every word falling true never contaminated.

Those that I collect in my pocket are
the gullibility of sheep following a wolf.

But you I would only wrap in cotton, those before me
only following my words  to the slaughter house.
Poetic T Aug 2017
Walking on my own I found
a truth that we are slaves to
nothingness..

"Yet it grips so many in its vastness,

I'm empty yet drinking upon
life's moments, I fill  in a momentary
fulfilment.

"We drink life, to experience meaning,

I was a seedling so long ago but my
branches grew to a different way of
thinking.

"I'm more than I was, reaching further,

Never will I fit into the needing of others
nothingness, I fill myself with fulfilled
motivation.
Ryan Holden Jul 2017
Currently we judge,
Looking at angles to win
Just to please your own mind.

We throw insults and we fight,
We ignite fuel to our fingers
Tapping away like it's a race for popularity.

The world spins and spins,
Yet nothing really changes
Because we just keep spinning.

But it's as if we have weaved
Ourselves into a ditch of
Despairing linear paths.

As we watch, we listen, we observe
And try to become something else,
Something we're not supposed to be.

Just to let everyone know
That you watch the same things,
That you do the same things.

But then after it all we realise
As we grow older and as we mature,
We merely did nothing for ourselves.

We just followed the same road,
We followed the same destiny
And we lose ourselves in our journey.

At the end of it all we start to notice
We have taken the wrong path,
And the other roads are too far away.

So we turn into the side-roads,
Which lead to nothing but plagued floors
Broken doors and empty souls.

Mobiles have taken love out of ***,
Generations have missed out
How it feels to actually be connected.

You make love and your phone rings,
People stop to answer like your moments
Aren't precious enough with loved ones.

We eat meals at restaurants
With our families and friends,
All I see is arched necks and fiery fingers.

I wish I was in a time when we spoke
To one another about our days,
Not about a video that has gone viral.

I wish that as I grow and my children
Will walk amongst the earth I have,
It won't **** them into inevitable fates.

I don't want them to be another
White sheep hopping the same fence,
Like the rest of this miserable world.

Systems have taken individualism
Out of individuals and get labelled weird,
They give us titles like "OCD, ADHD".

I'm not either, and I don't actually have
A label to my name, yet I feel I should
I feel why shouldn't I?

After all I like to think different,
I like to think one day we will see
The clear glass in front of us.

But most of all, I truly hope one day,
We can become a better world
Instead of repetition in characters.
Just some quick thoughts I had on my brain. But this type of thing doesn't get spoken about enough. This may "offend" some, but I only speak in truths. My heart can only love so much until it gets stretched beyond its limit.
Àŧùl Jul 2017
The Thames river froze that year,
Ênglish sheep husbandry I tell ya,
The Thirty Years' War continued,
Epic losses to sheep & men alike.

À cataclysmic year for many.

Testing year for **** sapiens,
Ênchanted were the scavengers,
True bounty for dogs & vultures,
Europe almost killed its cultures.
A tête à tête with history.

But human beings are hardy organisms.
They have always recovered from worse.
Most English sheep succumbed to winter that year.

Out of a flock of 20,000 sheep only 35 were left in England that year.

The 30 Years' War (1618 to 1648) that had killed 8 million people overall, had killed many people due to their injuries and the merciless cold.

A retrospective poem reminding the ability of humanity to preserve all life.

The English people had regained much of their sheep flock soon in the 5 years that followed.

My HP Poem #1620
©Atul Kaushal
Hannah Jones Jul 2017
It’s interesting:
you can spot a fallen-away Catholic
by the language they use-
once learned, it can’t be taken away.
Catholicism leaves an indelible mark
on the tongue,
a pattern in the script.
People jaded,
wounded,
even rejected by wayward sheep
and wolves in their skin
bear the same brilliance
the same cry for understanding.
The Shepherd didn’t meet their expectations,
or maybe they’ve abandoned all belief in His existence.
No matter the qualm,
they all bleat the same.
There’s no removing the brand of baptism,
the vocabulary of vocations.
Even if a wall has been built
between them and the Church,
they still write the creed of their Fathers on its bricks.

This is not a reprimand,
nor a criticism;
it is a hand outstretched
to all who broke away.
It is a voiced desire
to teach
and learn
by their side.
This life does not hold all the answers,
but we can pursue Knowledge Himself
and reach the peak together.
I don't know everything about my faith, and in this lifetime I probably never will. I want to learn alongside all those who seek, knock, and ask for understanding, acceptance, and love.
moneysha Jun 2017
Creeper
Oh thou! on whom i creep,
                             thou giveth me space and thou lets me weep.
when i spread my palm in mid air
               thou provideth me space to creep
                    and then thou lets me grow and enter my sombre sleep.

i am a creeper but i was never taught to creep,
             there was a calling i heard as a bud
                     and i knew the echo ran deep,
                            the voices screamt,''creep,creep, creep´
but i could hear the other flowers and bushes calling me their black sheep.

I had seen no creepers (who ever taught me how to) creep,
      i was all alone in the vastness of the plant sheet
           but i had decided that i had to stand tall and creep
                   so when i felt the wall next to me,
                       i opened my palms so i could start the long march before i fell asleep.

I crept, crept, crept, day in and day out
        all around that wall, and,
           when i reached the top,
              yes the top!
                    i felt all lonely and lost.
But then came a bird bringing stories of other creepers who had followed their calling and who stretched and crept and crept, before they fell in to a deep sleep.
               The bird promised that he will bring flowers from different creepers
                     and seeds to sow of baby creepers
                                    who could learn to creep from me.
            
So the next few days, hours and months, there were all these tiny creepers who kept looking upto me
        and awaiting advices on how to creep.


(After i read what i had written, i felt the book SEAGULL in the background echoing itself)
BRAVERY, BLACK SHEEP
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