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raquezha Jul 1
Sādi Riŋkonɑdɑ
akō pinaŋigin
Sādi man akō nagdakələ
Ŋāmin na natərān
sādi natərakān
Ŋuwān na arayô kanimō
migbalik na 'kō
Nalilipuŋəw na akō ki Inay
lalô na ki Itay
Sabi ŋanî kan ku mga guraŋ
"A dirî tattaoŋ maglīlî sa pinaŋgalinan,
dirî makaaābot sa pig-iyānan"
ta migābot a aldəw
na migbalik kitā sa abo
aŋgan sa maliŋawān na
kitā ku ŋāmin na
nakakabisto kanatə
riŋkonɑːdɑ, rinconada poetry, iriga city
Breeze-Mist Oct 2017
Just take me to the stars
So brilliant and so bright
What we were, what we are
Let's learn it all tonight

Let's fly up on past mars
From where we ran away
Healing Homeworld's old scars
We'll take you there someday

Yes, we come from the stars
But now we can't go back
Least not to open arms
For fear of an attack

But one day we'll show you
That land from where we came
But know that once we do
Things will not be the same

So let's go to the stars
Like diamonds in the sky
What we were, what we are
Up in a ship on high
Steven Universe fan poem.
Pam Milla Aug 2017
The more she fed me with her beautiful photographs...the more I craved her...

Even if her supplies infinitely fed me...my hunger would reset endlessly...

Like the sun in the morning & the moon at dawn.
Milo Clover Aug 2015
In December of '64,
40 years ago,
I was sitting in the Hacienda bar
on the South Side
of things
and here comes this cocker
spaniel looking
******* named
Roosevelt.

This man-man slides
in, slaps Sam Cooke on the juker,
then claps my clock with
a ******* billiards ball.
On the floor ****
tasting tooth..

It was my 33rd birthday,
but as God had-had it,
it was also Roosevelt's.
And that *******-man
had been drinking
bumpy face
and smoking jazz cigarettes
since 10 o'clock
in the morning.

Let's pause. Now. Now.
Now.
Now-you may be asking
yourself what a man like me
did to deserve this disrespect-

(Grins. Sips his drink.)
Milo Clover Aug 2015
A massive sea beast came to die.
It lumbered up and lopped down
on the docks of a grey castled city.
It’s arc heaved as it breathed
the damp sea vapors.
A final groan echoed from
the core of its heaped flesh.
One bulbous eye peered dead
deep into the wet night sky.

The gulls found it first.
Then the fishermen,
while making morning rounds.
Then the young,
then the curious,
even the lords came
to mend the unsevered.

The beast lay still.

The gulls were scattered by
the fishermen’s discipline.

The young found new spectacle around them.

The curious began to plan.
Some saw the meat.
Some saw their signs.
Others wanted it destroyed,
burnt immediately.
“Let’s be done with it!”
they said.

The lords quoted and pointed,
like they do.

The beast did not move.

A merchant arrived.
He owned the docks.
He had dominion.
“It is mine!”
he declared
“Go home!”

Embarrassed, the lords cowered and mumbled.
The curious shouted and bared their teeth.
The fishermen took sides,
the young stayed quiet,
and the gulls watched
the flames from afar.

A rain came.

The merchant,
the lords,
the curious,
the fishermen,
the young,
and even the gulls
all sprinted for shelter.

But the beast . . .

Rain became storm.
The horizon was hazed
by the mighty torrent.

But the beast . . .

Storm became tempest.
The sea swelled and smashed
against the city’s north wall.

But the beast . . .

Tempest became wrath.
Scythes of lightning set ablaze
the flags atop the tallest towers.

But the beast . . .

And wrath became the toothed face of a new god.

But still the beast . . .
remained where it was.

Nothing was said, nothing was heard
as the rain beat down on the oily carcass,
washing it clean.
Milo Clover Aug 2015
And Now . . .

as you figure
Out how I
Got in . . .

(don't forget)

at some point
You will have
To figure . . .

. . . How I Got Out.
a poem that enters

— The End —