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Cash Carlos Jan 29
We met
in a blue cafe,
a women in red,
with eyes
that turned me into a Spanish ghost,
and her radiant display
of laughter,
the wind she wore
the coffee she drowned
the kiss
she gave me on a platter of gold.

Two lives,
woven together
with fire
and sweat,
honey
sand,
sea breezes
and the cool wind
of winter.

I still love
to watch her sleep,
and count
the minutes
of love.
Wet pupil-ed gaze of pink
Petals of a peony stretch 
the refraction of flighted insect: ***** dissolves to salt 
******* for maternity unrequited. 
Soppy petals, 
liquidly fall.
Mohannie Jan 7
!COLOR!
B * A * N * G
sssswwiiiirrrrlllllllllllssss

take
     a
       step

INTO ART

j      m      !
   u       P    

into a new WORLD
of OPPORTUNITY

don't stop your  ~D R E A M S~

                                                 yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
                                flyyyyyyy
let your paintbrush

onto the canvas
                 and into your
                               <3 HEART 3>


IF YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN
          

               ...then you will...
trying out a more odd side of poetry for today. I have an art project about surrealism and became inspired by its whimsical ways. Hope you enjoy!
Taliesin Jan 7
Electric snakeskin
Draped, casting green-grey shadows
Over the pine trees
James LR Dec 2018
Strange thoughts, strange dreams
Bulging at their seams.
Teeth that feel and think and breathe.

A shattered sky, a shattered mind
Locked and thinking out of time.
The satin droplets from on high
that sink into the burning snow,
The mountain stoops to squint at stone.
Derrek Faraday Dec 2018
I've bent my mouth up to my ear
Believing in the stuff belief is made of
Milk replaced by silky biers
Losing my fingers to the Barren Baron Dove

Hurts to admit I'm stealing away
A curly knife held to my ear
Simple, crimpled, waning days
Throw unto the heart of the pier

Lark and tumble
Bark and fumble

Still those tired eyes of dust
I have found the beveled rhythm
Among the pristine clouds of rust,
Entropy's daily rhythm

Wake away the roaring morning
Rising heat in fuchsia dawn
Spend the many days adorning
The beating pulse of the lawn

Stupefied, nullified
Numb and in crumbs
A stump to the vein
A lump of sweetened pain
Jodie-Elaine Nov 2018
You watch the plastic frame meld into itself,
The second hand turning inward
Smoothly running down the walls like fingertips trying to find their hands,
Tapping the pencil against the desk,
Tapping soles onto tiled floors,
Toes rhyming in spite of themselves, waiting.
Ode to Dali. 2015.
EP Robles Nov 2018
PET this pretty kitty,monster
oh, WET is progress-pink disease
of love,my victims(like when i break
your heart i won’t deny it all
so we suffer the Bigness of your
LITTLEST pelvic region
so unwish a world of pity flesh
and my need for guidance is so much
like-more the world born–pity my
poor flesh(i “hyper-magical beauty”)kitty
so WET and in need of a good petting hand
and two eyes upon
my ever unwished words(never save me
from these evil deeds of desire)ugh,
ultra-omnipotence makes me hot and with
a **** to pay the angels say,”what the
devil needs to know I always seem
to suffer myself;”
so pet this pretty kitty,monster
yeah, a wet progress-pink disease o’love

:: 09-01-2015 ::
Copyright © Ernest Robles
EP Robles Nov 2018
This spread of paper          so cold that
      my tongue-tip    aches-freezing
the    dense flowing words    as ice
    down the ***** by gravity

Katabatic attack
    relentlessly      for weeks
My preception --whiteout;
rain, snow, hail, sleet.
    Precipitation always
measured by soul & pain

:: 12312015 ::
EP Robles Oct 2018
WHETHER morticians wear
the makeup of cadavers
or madness is the friendliest
voice makes no difference
you are sick
to believe loud colors
have no mouth
and the trunks of people
grow deeply rooted roads
that have many toll booths
the rich pay for free things
and the poor steal dreams
those dead envy the living
and those alive
feel so dead.


:: 10-27-2018 ::
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