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wordvango Jun 12
Can you tell me please,
Who the **** finds it a breeze
To scan poems in several identities
Just to minus all the
Comments?
Wow;Eliot has sure sold out
A work of charity give money we'll
Stay free. And the phone app is coming
"Who runs the site?
Ah, this is where I introduce myself. Ahem, hello, my name is Eliot York. I built the site in the wee hours of many hot summer nights in 2009. Though the site has changed a lot since then, I'm still working on it part-time and it's intention is exactly the same: to create an online space for poetry that is, as much as humanly possible, 1) open to the dark 2) glowing with light, and 3) run with money but not for money. How're we doing?"  Which never did and now I try to scroll and get a blank screen. Guess someone offered enough to make his work for us turn into a marketable scheme. Guess the rent went up. In the big city, York
Heavy Hearted Dec 2018
An outlet of articulates, is this solemn, surreal site.
Many minds, and many more, shall glow beneath its light.
Yet sadly for myself I've found, the holes within it all,
and now no longer does my heart, answer to its call.

Goodbye poetry, and thank you always; you deserve all you achieve-

Thank you for giving us a place
to share what we believe.

I will say hello to you, and glow with all again someday,
But for now I say goodbye- as I go on my own way.
brb
Johnny walker Dec 2018
I have to face the 23rd Dec
not going to be easy but I know I can get through because of all the help I'm
receiving from everybody
on this wonderful
site
All you kind people who read my poem and give
me such kind comments
to which I'm very
grateful  
Because your comments, me reading your wonderful poems that help me become a much better
writer of
poems
A thank you to all here on site not just for their kindness toward me but how you've shown much kindness to my
wife that really makes me happy
TheStartOfMyEnds Nov 2018
**** that smile
Reminds me of the beach
Bright hot sand
And clear open waters
Gets me swimming with butterflies
And delusional with heat

The uplift of his lips
Something so simple as a boyish grin
Wraps my thoughts around beds!
Beds and blankets...
                  Doritos and a series of comedy shows on screen

Just to hear him laughing

That would be ****** illegal for my heart
His laugh
His star fire eyes so full of life

Like a deer caught in the headlights
All so new
That's what he does to me

And I don't even know his name
He's real, but he's like a dream, my little secret
Anya Sep 2018
One thing
I love about this
site
is that
it's free
...
You're free
to write as you please
...
You're free
to comment as you please
...
There's plenty of room
for self introspection
..
And everyone here is either
like minded
or has an interesting
new
perspective to
contribute
Terry Collett Mar 2018
You walked the bomb site
with Benny,
he was relating

about some gunslinger
he'd seen at the flicks
and how the gunslinger

had his guns different
from other gunslingers
he'd seen,

with guns back to front
so that he had
to cross his hands

over to reach guns
from different holsters.
You listened as you often did

to his talk on guns
and gunslingers
and cowboy films

he'd seen.
He bent down
and picked up a stone

for his catapult
which he had
in the back pocket

of his jeans.
You told him
about your young brother

and how your mother
wanted you to hold him steady
while she changed his *****,

and how he kicked his legs,
and how hard it was
to hold him there,

and your mother saying:
Hold him steady
while I get

his clean ***** on.
Benny weighed the stone
in the palm of his hand,

then put it in his pocket.
So did you managed
to hold him?

Benny said.
You looked past him
as a copper walked

towards you both.
Copper, you said.
Benny turned

and stood beside you.
What are you doing here?
the copper said.

Looking for ammunition,
Benny said.
Ammunition?

the copper said.
Stones for my catapult,
Benny said.

Bomb sites
are dangerous places,
so clear off,

the copper said.
You stared nervously
at the copper.

But I need stones,
Benny said.
I don't care

if you are looking
for the Crown Jewels,
the copper said,

sling your hook.
You followed Benny
off the bomb site

into Meadow Row.
The copper stood
watching you,

hands at his sides.
Let's go to the other
bomb site,

Benny said,
up off the other side
of the Square.

You looked back
at the copper
still standing there.
©
Martin Narrod Nov 2017
She’s a dimple and a drag, corner of Worth and Magpie, French Vogue idioms and her mother’s red flowery hoop earrings. Aloha! Aloha! Oopty-oops in contract loot thru streets and backyard parties, concrete larders, her eyes lie like presidential promises, a slipknot of licorice around her neckline to keep her rising tide from the Menarche Moon.

Anything to keep the little penny featherweight dancer from slipping. Her siblings poke fun at her funny way of speaking, her bath tub is just an excuse for chiseling at her innards, taking a drag at her lungs and punching her duck-billed platypus in the kidneys; a heavy-weight champion of the worm.

That until all the saints come writhing off the fishing lines. Until the ballerina’s edema coexists with Tokyo extremists, serial killer behemoths that keep body parts and *** toys in the freezer. Here, here! Wrath goes to the fella with the wicked demeanor. In an area of limited sight, this country, it’s people are sickened at the sights of themselves, and the wackos are coming out in large swaths, minerals and dimples strapped to their waist belts in the throes of a menopausal demagogue heaving OxyContin down El Camino Real.
the owner operator
of the poetry
site
doesn't adhere to
his own guideline's
rite
it states that all members
must be
polite
yet he allowed slurs
from the Michigan
*****

one clearly recalls
what happened on that
day
a lowlife bloke used the term
***** in an offensive
way
whereupon the poetess who'd received
his nasty comment, left the site's
bay
she'd not be subject
to this derogatory
spray

no action taken against
the one in the
wrong
he still remains part
of the site's
throng  
an injustice within
the owner's weak
song
the smell of it is unforgettable
of reeking
pong

would seem that the trash talker (****)
does whatever he
likes
and the webmaster is complicit
in the words he
trikes
Seema Oct 2017
Error 500 slammed on my face
When I wanted to post
It raced its pace
And left me standing at the coast

Not the first time to be
Now it's like something's wrong
I am able to comment and see
But then the page load takes too long

Is HP comming to an end?
I hope not, please!
See to this, mend or amend
And put this error 500 on freeze.

Thank you.


©sim
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