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A beautiful creation
A powerful persuation
Underestimates nation
Build the foundation
In my heart navigation
Hey! You curly haired
The one let the coffee said
I'm warmer than her
Be careful!
Don't get burned sir!
John B Jul 13
I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands

The minstrels bello and promenade
Causing youths to parody
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands

Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day meh paramour our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call

I will burn it into meh mind
The energy of your shape across the horizon
And the heavens beyond
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands

Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day mah paramore our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call

Flowing with nimbus a bird of pray scours midgaurd
Caught in torrents a mariner catches fleeting glimpses of midgaurd
Bird of prey stiring air the torrents becomes untenable

Inch toward shore and grasp it to understand it's only soil
With the potential of our end millenarian revelations come within our grasp
However faced with dread nightmares and the vastness of time

I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul

Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness

I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands
Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day meh paramour our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call
Yes
sir humbug Apr 14
not all **** videos are equal

one searches the index,
hopeful a screenshot
pinpricks the eye and the peculiar

peculiar need of the moment

like most things good and appreciated,
sifting through the chaff is a learned skill,
required but not intuitively sired,
not every new word in the dictionary
delights, insights, triggering a welcome!warning

the sifter’s handle fits the hand uncomfortably,
requiring egregious prodigious turnings,
till the flour is silky and manipulative, ready,
pleasure is work, luster need maintenance

you passover, skippering,
a search for the next and the next,
treasured island is constantly on the move,
it’s coordinates require GPS updating

rerouting rerouting rerouting

what does this reveal about you?

there are no simple single path pleasures,
the first bite delight is ultimately worn down,
recalled but not equally fully restored,
so we need, insistent for new thrill pathways
to get to the same old pleasured places

the body acts, the body’s acts, the body’s reacts

familiarity is a  museum collection,
everything human requires updating,
especially essentially by
the imagination’s perpetual swiping
9142019
***** Cat ***** Cat
Want to drink some Milk
Yes Sir, Yes Sir
Three Bowls Full

One for Myself
One for my Kitten
And one for my lazy sister
Who sleep for the day.
I am still a child
Moumita Mitra May 2018
I was the childlike girl next door for him.

He was a gentleman and the crush of almost all the neighbours.

He never spoke too much so I was never a good listener.

For him I never mattered so much.

But I, like all other neighbours, had a crush on him.

His body never got my focus, but his writings were.

Day by day I fell in love with his unspoken words.

On a rainy day I wanted to express my love,

As because it was his favourite season after all.

Yes, he loved monsoon a lot.

Many neighbours had asked him once, 

Why he love monsoon so much?

He never spoke too much, as I have mentioned above.

But he said he will narrate it on a rainy day.

When I went and knocked his door, 

His roommate said he had went upstairs.

Greeting him a smiley bye, I went to meet my guy.

Love for him or for his words, I was confused a lot.

But I had already started calling him as my guy.

Silly or stupid or again childlike girl, what he will address me now?

I was wondering and riding towards him.

He was sitting near the terrace door and was writing something.

Hey, hi, Writing some poems I guess Mr.... 

I was silent for a while.

It didn't bother me anytime, but I realised,

I do not know his name.

***! what a great lover I am,

Without knowing his name I had fallen in love with him.

My heart corrected me this time.

You have fallen in love with his writings and unspoken words and not with him.

I smiled and said to my heart,

May be I have fallen in love with his writings and unspoken words, 

But the love for him is pure and real,

And I believe the love for him is also devine.

My conversations with my heart was broken by his touch.

Seeing me lost in my own world,

He had given me a **** on my shoulder and said,

I am a writer so I want to be known by that.

He may have wanted to say something more.

I truly like a bad listener stopped him and said,

Shakespeare had once said,

"What's in a name!" 

And being a lover of your writing, 

I too want to say, 

In name there is no fame 

Because fame is there where creativity and innovation resides.

He actually smiled and kissed my forehead,

And then took me to the terrace and said,

When I had come,

The place was new, people were new,

But when I saw you, I felt something not new.

I do not knew by your name but your smile was very much known.

Your smile was like the sunshine which I knew from a time immemorial.

Then were you spoke to me for the first time,

Your words were like the breeze which inspires me to write.

I used to notice when you read my poems after coming home.

Your comments after reading my poems everyday,

Was the best gift for everytime.

And you thought you never mattered so much!

I was happy that you understood my writings more than I had expressed in words.

I am not worried about the answer, I may get now,

But after knowing about your favourite season, 

Monsoon became my favourite too.

Without any fear, I want to confess that, 

I have fallen in love with the childlike girl who stays nextdoor.

Whatever be your answer,

Just say it keeping the raindrops as our witnesses.

Drenched in rain but my tears were real.

I felt like Monsoon had gifted the best rain that day.

Without any confusion, I hugged my guy.

Many days, months and years had passed since then.

Then what! 

He continued with his Writings and unspoken words.

He now goes for world tours,
To spread his unspoken words.

And I?

Being his better half, accompany him everywhere.
A small dedication _ /\ _
Bryce May 2018
2%
How many songs wrote never known?
How many crescendos
lost to the echo
of merciless Fortune's squealing tired tire?

How many words?
never perturbed
silt beneath the oceanic span
between here and fame's centurion?

How long until god thrusts them into day?
to trace glibly along the interstate
for some passing child to stumble upon
and resonate?

How many bodies
removed of soul
Riddled with bullet and dirt of metal
sank deep into the earth and turned to worms
and protozoa
and chirps
and birds
and grass
and bark
and leaves
and trees
and Pax
Humana

How many greats' fate
Do we forget in our mad scramble
and the many fateful decisions
To save
or burn
Their words
and hands
And let Destiny
or Jesus
or Allah
or Krishna
or Mahayana
Guide their thoughts
to greater heights

Of how much
Have we lost sight?
In the audio recording you sent me
An hour of touching yourself
punishment for misbehavior

you giggled and cried at the same time

The "Oh, ****"'s
"dear, God"'s
They built up inside

screaming for the pain to stop
With a trembling whimper.
"This is fun, but I can't wait 'till it's over"

If only you had said this sooner
In the daylight
We could have known
Time was running out.

We were never so honest
as our ***
Not even to ourselves
Insane, insane what follows old
This tragedy you're about to be told.
Though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
It is love that we most of all bequeath.
Amongst green pastures grows a flowering field
One not tainted by what this life yields.
Somewhere in the withered forget-me-knots
It lives long enough to be what it ought.
A shining prince upon a silver steed
Riding home to find that which was decreed.
Nothing more than just a thought
Of something born here in Camelot.

Oh mastery of misery art thou my friend?
Do we have so much to gather or defend?
Send us upon this grievous plain
To battle for all that must be regained.
Oh ported soul of Arthur’s gallant lot
Send to us the dear Sir Lancelot.
He be the bravest of all hearts,
His bravery known right from the start.
He hast no legend braved in fear
Doing the right by his lady Guinevere.
Life deals us such a broken art
Of a finger painted love here in Camelot.

The quest be of ill fated charms
Where love survives the coat of arms.
To be so brave is to be a slave
Fighting for the thing we crave.
For no coat of arms can delay
Love’s onslaught once on display.
For to pour the grail back into the flask
Would be to hold love as a captured task.
For ‘tis love that captures all at last
And nothing loved can truly pass.
Though the lance laid silent Lover Lancelot
His secret survives him here in Camelot.
Always liked the Sir Lancelot stories. I hope I did him justice
Ksjpari Dec 2017
Jaimin sir, a kind man, with smile cute,
Prepared for supporting me in lawsuit
Is ready to fight against any odd acute;
Managing school and university with astute.
In the premises everyone does salute!
Revered for his perseverance which dilute
All miseries, anxieties and commute
Joyfully with him in leisure to compute
Your mistakes and victories that overshoot.
All liked him for his ability to refute.
Grumped man speaks cool like flute
Under omnipresence, one who does hoot
Ruins his own impression and does salute;
Unacceptable people do get execute
Surely; teachers like me are with parachute
Inspired by him to remove Prafulla persecute,
Remove such drastic elements for institute.
I wrote this poem *** Acrostic in Pari Style to show my respect and love towards Shr. Jaimin Rajyaguru, who was my previous school’s trustee. I had always got assurance and acceptance from him. I left that school not because I had any problem with him. This man was a gem and a true inspirer. He always helped me by all sorts and means. So this is a thanks giving Monorhyme in Pari Style for him.
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