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Ruheen Oct 16
I can see the way
Your rhymes they play
Your head
You've got that blame
On pause
Now hit repeat
I don't do rhymes
Patterns
Circles
Or anything
That spins my head
Because I get dizzy
And then my head hurts
Then I get awkward
And I don't like it.
Then I get nauseous
And I hate it.
And then someone out there
Decides to hit
Repeat.
...sorry it took so long.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 11
As with all great losses,
not very much from here forward can be the same.
Applaud on your way out.
Despondently, once again, Mavis begins to play.
Isaac Ward May 11
My ceiling fan hasn't spun since the last rhyme,
I wonder if that was the last time?
Steve Page Feb 28
Is truth now a muddy thing?
Is that how we prefer it to be?
Is truth a muddy clay
ready to be shaped ‘til it pleases me?

Is truth now a muddy thing
thick and deep, hiding what's beneath?
Designed to hide my face
as I seek a private relief?

Is truth now a muddy thing,
wet, heavy, gritty and cold?
Can I scrap it off my boot,
leave it beyond my safe threshold?

Is truth now a muddy thing,
slowing me wading ashore?
Immune to curses and stumbles,
dragging me to the floor?

If truth is now a muddy thing
can I filter it and sieve?
Is there pure clear truth that's not been eroded?
Will I still find true truth within?
First line taken from a writers comment: Truth is a muddy thing.
Maruko San Apr 27
As I count one two and three
the bottle landed on me
who could it be

is it a he
or is it a she
we'll find out and see

as I sought  it's identity
I can no longer find tranquility
cause it's the girl that makes me faulty

what is this feeling
that I'm feeling
it's so frustrating

not knowing what to do
with this overbearing
feeling called loving
nightdew Mar 25
you caught me spinning on my axis,
only to knock me off my spin.

and now i'm afraid i'm the only one,
falling off their routine from missing you.
cant stay stable
annh Dec 2019
Cut me a hook to catch my heart beat on.
New Year’s Eve - lazy expectations, summer tunes, and a walk in the park with an earwig.

‘I am a DJ, I am what I play,
I’ve got believers,
Believing me.’
- David Bowie, DJ
annh Apr 18
Spin,
Mister
Fisherman,
Throw me a line;
A fluttering lure of burnished vowel chimes

Bait, braid and bailor - snap, swivel and fly;
Dub well your quill,
Hook me low,
Run me
High

‘The reality, however, is that fishing is about the closest you can get to physically experiencing poetry. It is a pursuit based on contemplation and solitude that involves an appreciation of the elements; it is a game of chance, hope, escapism; a step into the murky waters of the unknown. There is little difference between the angler setting forth on a misty dawn and the poet staring at the blank page. Both are hoping for greatness, but will settle for a brief silvery flash of the transcendental brilliance that lies beneath the surface.‘
- Ben Myers

Fishing parlance is a language as complex and arcane as the sport itself. What a happy coincidence to discover that a ‘quill’ in angler-speak refers to a float (or bobber). How ‘bout that? ;)
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