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Ken Pepiton May 8
So likewise ye,
when ye shall have done
all those things which are commanded you,
We are unprofitable servants:
we have done that which was our duty to do.

You, lazy little 'twerdnerd. Easy. Live. Take my truth,
let this mind be in you, it does the hard part for you.

Ai ai ai this guy, I tol' you, extol the road,
ride on, cowboy.

Let go. Re
enemystic, plop. Plot to end
with a thousand swings
gnosis-not-burger 'n' fries
swung wide and low. Sweet cherry '63.
Once belonged to the gayest geometry teacher
ever, eh, in Kingman, Arizona.
Mr. Zubek, annual faculty advisor to Optimist Club,
Annual (also)Highschool Boys Speech Contest,

bi- annually, he traded in his Chevrolet.
-- voice of experience,
That triggered this then, not now

I saw a ****** lowrider, brand new, showroom floor,
yep, a certain mind set, kept with odd links,
missed opportunities to go the other way,
kicks the BTDT system of old ahas,
and ahs,
as once imagined…
not possible, pre dementia.
Wait for it, should you live so long,
it all runs together beautifully, to match
the beauty of the messenger's feet,
in your cultural awareness

of total unknowing- to eternity,
and beyond.

The Bill and Ted Trilogy, vs Left Behind.

So, crates of lemons have no thorns. See,
Lemon trees have big ol' thorns, but

lemon wreaths, all on a bough snipped,
thorns and all, to show those who never
picked a lemon, and won life's sweetest point.

Such wreaths are December treasures,
if you know where they grow 'em.

You can sell them, or give them away,
the beauty in the whole fruiting sprig goes along.
I lost count, but this is all winding together after all.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2022
Will the star
show up on my way?
Take a shot in the dark
I can't promise
to the firefly.

The moon will
morph to the sea
in the dark
swing and sway.

The robin doesn't need
to sing to the tuberose
that doesn't delay
blossoms on the way!
ryn Sep 2021
A swing slung low with weathered ropes
Worn, sun-beaten wood told tales of abuse
Once swung high - a vessel for the her hopes
Never once judged, even everyday a new bruise

It’d take her, accommodating her heart’s fancy
It’d carry her and cradle her fragility gentle
She’d forget her tears as she flew almost freely
Winds would whisper of a place far and simple

It’d scoop her up - made light of what seemed heavy
It’d drink up her laughter, release her captive innocence
It’d hold her aloft as it promised her safety
Together they’d immerse, in an intimate dalliance

Went on forever, as days turned into weeks
A girl and her swing, lost in their very own world
Alas the swing couldn’t offer the salvation she seeks
None could tell, what evil twist had brutally unfurled


A swing hung limp, silent as it woefully wept
Its worn wood sang only songs of stifled cries
For once it knew a girl, whose painful secrets it kept
Now judges itself remorsefully, as she fades and dies
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, what if I am a runaway not willing to remember???:]

possibility on a flying swing

maybe the moods maybe the winds

on my mind scarred on miles so pure so delicate

crumbling with the soon to forget forever drowned

don't know how far that red prison would grant me a benefit

lions scratching the waves of my pride

miss thirteen on lights of glory

fading on forest thorns and wilds before me

not even sure if you and me whispered in that stupid dark seen

                                                          ­                               ------ravenfeels
Ricki Nov 2020
I am the pendulum that swings
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
I find myself in equilibrium, now, nothing is afflicting me.
the slightest nudge-- a gentle push
now I'm swinging violently.
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Why can't I think?
I'm left.                                                            ­                                
                                                                ­                                     I'm right.  
I'm left.                                                
           ­                            I'm right.
I'm left.              
            I'm right.
I can't breathe.
I've lost my sight--
blinded by the salted tears I breathe, and choking on my tongue,
I can't think.
I can't speak.
Why are you screaming at me?
I am the pendulum that swings
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
Breathe. Stop Crying. It's fine. I'm fine.
I'm alright,
I'll just brace myself for another ******* night of swinging
left.                                                   ­                                         
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
I haven't wrote a poem in like a year oops
Brian Turner Aug 2020
Come ye to the meadow of the tooth
Lay down, take nature by the hands
For Autumn is braking aloof
Come join us at the meadow of the tooth

Blackwater invites us to view
The abundant bounty of our youth
Rope swing is first for me
Watch out your napper is near that tree

Break out the picnic full of choice
Scream out your pleasing celtic voice
We leave nothing there to see
Except warm memories of the birthday glee
Memories of a friend's birthday party when I was around ten at the river Blackwater in County Tyrone, Northern Ireland. We used a rope to swing into the clean water. A 'napper' is slang for head.
Whitavius May 2020
Back and forth, Side to Side
Round and round and round
As my pendulum swings, it tells me things
What was lost shall be found.

So tell me now, tell me true
What is what, and who is who
Yes or no, the answer to show
Where to go, and what to do....
Poetic T Apr 2020
An attire of cadaver obsidian
      hangs upon the expiration

of every fluctuation.

Weaving sorrow on every passing.

Considering the folly of her motionless

Her garb falters and  decomposes
              below her narcistic


She is neither Earth or Air,
                but a decompaction of

reflections fading over time..
K Balachandran Sep 2019
A swarm of bees hum?
Thrilled earth receives cumulonimbus sting ;
Mind is on a swing!
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2019
What will you do, should you do
If you are led pass to fly
far from the sight at the twilight?
Slip into a tucked away serene sky
Keeping your head held high
Sway free by posy astro ewers.
And as you please pick n fill them  
With your so exquisite star-flowers!
Then you may well fancy reaching out
to the Moon bubbling on the edge of the night.

If you then swing back at the day peep
Wake up listening to the nightingale singing
Now can you interpret what is it saying?

Or when all is in place something is missing?
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