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Ackerrman Aug 7
Red. Blue. Green balloons skip from hand to air.
Their buoyance pulling taught on string without a care
For cutting of birthday cake or pink frosty icing melting
In the sun, party plates pass from Nanna to Papa.
The sleek magic man pulls another trick, waves his hands and ‘ta-da’.

The birthday boy sits unblinking,
Whilst those around make merry clinking,
Stupor with drinking.
Unmoved in his party of one.

Pink candy, fluffy pillows, sugar spun round like may pole in June
Sun, gliding through shrouds of baby blue glue on the day when somebody loved you,
The faded scent of burning popcorn scars memory.
Faint, old, warm voices rise in chorus of lukewarm water, embrace the scene
As children in play, chase white rabbits through hedges all summer day.

The birthday boy sits with guard folded,
and his mind is moulded,
his memory of play is shrouded,
thoughts making merry grounded,
unmoved in his party of one.

Sweet, suckling, pig aroma, dancing through the air and making merry
all the guests, with hustle and bustle, meeting and greeting with every
burst of laughter, rising and drowning in the air like Ariel,
Enchantress of Garden chairs, thin napkins caped in Tomato,
Children bounce around on castles, kings clinging to memories of tomorrow

The birthday boy sits far away,
Where his thoughts are free to flay,
All memory of that savage day,
Where innocence and virtue lay,
Unmoved in his party of one,

Ice cream Sundaes glitter as diamonds, yawning and smiling
As cream floats down the exquisite vase in timing
To lecherous looks promising requiem to appetite,
A chorus of laughter fills the air with, pop- another bottle,
Warm embrace of familiar friends, we smile soft as a bubble…

The birthday boy,
with stern and solemn stare,
Dares not cut the air,
Or insist on what is fair,
But sits to fester in the sun’s cold glare,
Looking like he does not care,
Unmoved in his party of one.

Sun flakes leaping over my neighbour’s
Stubbly white palace, beams trickle round its walls in party favours,
Death lightning blinding, level-climbing, stupor rising, smiling clowns,
Gracefully rummage through pockets for silver-shining keys,
Embraces kind faces with kinder eyes and another cherished memory leaves.

The birthday boy sat silent as the grave,
His parents want him to behave,
No boy like fancies left to save,
Stooped low in his plastic cave,
Ruing the knife that thought him brave.
Unmoved in his party of one.
One day a character from a book i am writing decided she wanted write a poem about her little brother.
i. have seen
love. with my eyes
you. are that image from within
Juhlhaus Jul 1
O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I my go labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.
A tribute to the noble toad of the Northwoods.
MB Lewis May 22
The key won't turn in the lock
I've tried everything apart from knock
Twisted it, bit it, bent it, the lot!
The key won't turn in the godforsaken lock

Peaking through the windows; a scene fit for a king,
A spread as far as I can see and a pool for me to swim,
Life seems carefree in there, all void of awe and shock,
Unfortunately for me, the key won't turn in the lock.

Frantic now as my mood begins to change,
Left out in the cold like I am the one that is strange,
Why won't they let me in? Or do they intend to mock?
Don't they know my key won't turn in the lock?!

Twisting it with anger, faster and faster,
Can't remember life before this task became my master,
I want what is inside and what's in there is ad hoc,
The only thing stopping me is my key stuck in the lock.

We all have that vision, of a perfect house and home
We follow it so vigorously we end up sad and alone
If I was taught from infancy how to follow what is true,
I'd probably realise I have the wrong house,
and no longer bother you.
G Rose Apr 18
You gaze at me with half-lidded eyes,
stoic, bored, indifferent,
so frigid that my lips tremble at the sight
and turn blue to the touch.
chitragupta Mar 26
Love is a phenomenon
Not dissimilar to gravity
Like an ignoramus
The stoic heart denies it

Until it falls.
My dear friends,
should you fall,
I hope the surface is soft.
you were on your break when i walked into the bar
scrolling on your phone
to fill the void of boredom;
i presume.
didn't figure out your name by the time i left
does it even matter?

what does matter
is what i noticed about you
in that short amount of time:
a cold aura that surrounded you
a neatly trimmed beard to hide your acne scars
and a shy, yet assertive look that you shot my way a couple times
it was nice seeing you
till next time
the bartender was cute, and his stoic demeanor made him so much more enchanting
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