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Aa Harvey Jul 2019
There is nothing chivalrous about a ******.


In days of yore, when the rain did pour;
Inside an inn, they spoke of was and when.
Even then their present was defined by their history,
As they prepared to march off to war again.


With muddied boots, we stomp on those which we call our enemy.
With feasts of meat and ale and fruit, we happily fill our bellies.
We raise the roof with our own self-importance.
We sing of past deeds and of how the battles were won.
Where we once used swords so chivalrously,
Now we fight each other using any surreptitious means;
Instead of swords, now we use guns.


Will we ever learn to end these battles
We insist on having with our fellow humans?
We are righteous in our reasoning, never mind the consequences.
If I am stood before God and He asks me to defend humanity;
Humanity shall stand alone; indefensible and defenceless.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Paras Bajaj Jul 2019
if you think writing about you
makes you the one in power
then you are so wrong cause'
you are just another piece
of my unsung song.

if you think leaving you
makes me constantly sad,
then you are so wrong cause'
you are just another story
that I left unsaid.
P.B
solfang Jul 2019
I like how you're
the sunlight that
lands on my face
during warm winter days

I like how you're
the meaning to
the sun in sunflower,
and the breath
in a baby's breath

I like how you're
the laugh box
in my body,
and the batteries
are still running

I like how you're
the happy ending
to fairy tales,
with prince and princesses
but no villains

I like how you're
just the way you are
so I can write this poem
in remembrance of you
I like how you're reading this.
Warming up my brain for something more maybe.
Tatiana Jul 2019
You make me want to tell stories.

With such fluidity,
such grace,
my words are dancers
spinning in space.
They're airy
and light
floating on by.
No weight to them
at all.
Follow the path
I lead you on
and don't ever stray.
My words are
pretty
and
meant
to
distract
you from pain.

You make me want to tell stories.
©Tatiana
Maia Jul 2019
Love, don’t be afraid
We’ve all gone places we cannot hide,
Written stories we won’t deny,
But look at us,
Living. Tonight,
Alive.
saw:

the adoration of the daddy,
as his red haired babes
leaned into
either side of him,
courtiers to a king
on the way to school this AM,
transfusing his magical super~fatherly,
by inhaling his special powers through
their nostrils, direct from his
broad and powerful brave-heart chest,
for use later in the wild jungle
of second grade
•••
an elderly gent whose walker rattled
with every lift and kerplunk on
the street~steppes of a dangerous city
for the brittle of bone and the easily dentable,
and the crowd that gathered round walking
at precisely the same pace he required
to make it across the widest boulevard
which was thirty seconds more than the
Dept. of Transportation's asinine calculations
and a miracle from Lourdes occurred -
not one horn honked in ire as the court
escorted their Long Live the King
safely across the street, as if
idiocy was like rain, against the law,
until after sunset as in Camelot

•••
an elegant germanic man,
in homburg and velvet collared overcoat,
taking care of sales and distribution of
newspapers and candy at the corner paper "stand"
while the elderly owner, whose partner~wife of
fifty years had recently passed, now had no one
but someone's pop whose was out
walking our cocker spaniel,
to tend the place while said candyman
obeyed nature's callings

and all his fans and friends who passed
on their way to the adjacent subway station,
exclaimed Erwin, Erwin what are you doing?
his twinkled crinkled eyes replied,
enjoying their puzzlement, laughingly saying
"making spare change"
•••
where I lived these little miracles occurred so frequently,
was told a story that the ministering angels
could not keep up with their duties,
complaining to the On High, who resoundingly loudly
commanded their silence! by reminding them that
all these, his creatures, were his own precious,
the reason for creation and why they were needed,
and the sum of all these small acts gave them their own
existential purpose, now angry at himself for loss of temper,
soft spoke as a parent and told them better,
hush my children, we have much to do!
•••
so now you impatiently need to know
why this scripture
came to be known as
$$$$$
for I was witness to all of this,
all on that day,
that was twenty fours hours long
across many hard hearted Hiroshima decades,
that made me
temporarily
the richest man in the world
a proud member of the collective of the false.
MisfitOfSociety Jun 2019
Ride this moment till the end,
With your consciousness strapped behind a seat belt.
Who knows the roads we will take,
The views that we will see,
And the stories we will make.
Harry Roberts Jun 2019
Seashells roar a deafening melody
Seashells remember a blinding old memory.

The beach with the shells
The shells that lovers would carve
The beach has its tales
Tales of lovers that starved.

Unforgiving waves with rocks as sharp as knives,
Bitter winds howling as the sea fog is growling,
This line of coast has consumed many lives,
The sea swallows the sun and the night has just begun.

The darkest night for two souls stranded on the coast,
The night where the darkness whispers secrets like a ghost,
Natures truth laid bare like the naked bodies of our lovers,
The price of knowledge was admission into the afterlife. The Lovers.
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