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Grey Feb 13
"Pretty girls don't smile!"
Those are the words of wisdom
fake soothsayers preached,
not thinking that she'd listen.
Alas... now she's cold as ice.
Feb 12, 2020
Grey Dec 2019
His mouth forms a wide smirk
as the others laugh at his words.
But it isn’t funny.

She lowers her watery eyes, glasses slipping
down her nose.

Book pages flip
in the breeze that picks up.
She loses her page.

His mouth opens, sharp daggers sliding
from his lips
Their laughter echoed by the trees.

She gets up, stumbles, falls.
Lines of carefully thought-out words tumble to the ground
his foot stretched out in front of her.

Their hands reach for the pages.
Fingers wrap
Around worn bindings.

They play tug-of-war,
trying to pull it out
of each other’s grasp.

A rip.

Papers scatter in the wind.
Snickers fade with the footsteps
as her eyes rain tears.

I bend down.
Papers fill my hands
one by one.

She looks up.
The sun lights up her clouded eyes
as she takes the faded pages,
in her grasp again.
Not too proud of this one.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2019
His head and his body were
Bald as an egg for all to see.
His parents named him Harry
But he did not turn out to be.
As an antonymic masterpiece
His name is rife with humor
But in poor Harry’s opinion
It was taken as a social tumor.

Every joke that would be said,
No matter how crass was made
At work, at play by everyone
Beginning in the seventh grade
When his baby fine blond hair
Began to hide on back of head.
It hurt his feelings to frequently hear
The things his peers all said.

By the time he reached maturity
He learned to accept his fate;
Everyday friends could not resist
Making light of his name and pate!
While it’s human nature all of this
It’s a constantly rather bitter pill,
And though he learned to smile
It kind of hurts his feelings still.

Bare Harry, bald as a shaved baby.
Plenty of tacky hairless jokes to spare
Shouldn’t we cut him some slack maybe
And focus on something besides his hair
Or the obvious lack thereof on his head
And point out his forgiving personality?
But sadly, that is just not the way
Of the reality of the world’s humanity.

Brent Kincaid
4/29/2019
Perdue Poems Apr 2019
Whispers fill the air
They fall on straining ears
Who want to hear the reds and blues
Of those who are not there

Smirking with delight
They draw close and near
Looking at the figure lone
Their snickers left in night

Crafting yet smiling
They turn and greet their (friend)
Loner, who is statue still
Is warmed by their lying

but unknown to the figure lone
His friend had drawn his blade
And left it in his back
For everyone to see.
Róisín Mulliez Mar 2019
A tender voice.
Dulcet tones reach tingling ears.
I soak in the details no one else hears.

Teasing blue eyes
Whisper
A secret song

Unpinning my heart,
- In a flash it was gone.
nd Jan 2019
I know that feeling,

When you're angry
    but dont want to hang up.

He makes you mad
    but still, you dont want to hang up.

He says something that annoy you
    yet still, you don't hang it up.

We tease each other
     and still, you dont want to hang up the phone.
B Sonia K Dec 2018
The rays of the sun
Shines through the transparent glass window
Illuminating the room
Sunbeams playing around
With shadows on the ground
My gaze upon a golden figure
Glowing in the standing mirror
Teasing me
Into a world of timelessness
And endless whispers
Roaring within me
With laborious vigor
It’s heat most appealing
In this dry cold.
Shadows appearing on the edges
At the end of the sun’s rays
Dancing on the edges
Taunting me
Yet teasing me
With unspoken words
A glamorous invitation
To a sonorous congregation
In the shadows
Beyond the rays of the sun.
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