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Palpebra Oct 2020
You   were
supposed
to be my
anchor;
But
U
end
ed up
burnin
g my dr
eams. Yo
u  became
my  very  o
wn brand  of
ca m  p  h or  ;
A ban  d  onin g
me in the ab
undance o
f my scr
eam
s.
annh Aug 2020
She offered to walk in my shoes, but hadn’t factored in the soul-destroying task of having to bend over and tie the laces every morning.
‘We're all kind of weird and twisted and drowning.’
- Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
Maniacal Escape Jul 2020
Tuck into your suit and power.
Stand tall amongst dwarves.
The ditsy mistress polishes the pleather
Fake sheen, fake ****.
Fake smiles, fake gits.
Cheesy grins all round,
Lap up that cheeky cheddar cheese.
Now onto desert.
Amanda Kay Burke Jun 2020
They say at the end of your rope to tie a knot and hold on

There is light touching the horizon

But what do you do when your grip slowly slips loose?

When insides of your palms are lubricated with sweat

And the crevasse below darker than a black hole

So much that it threatens to rise up and with one tug take you spiralling downwards to swallow you whole

So instead of making a knot at the bottom of your fraying rope you may as well tie a noose instead
The whole poem was really just written as buildup to the last line
Bhill Nov 2019
Wearing shoes has always been fun
We learn to tie them and off we run
We run all day and into the night
We have to be home when street light, lights
It always seems that the lights light, too early
Because hide and go seek when its light, is just girlie

Dinner is served when everyone's there
Who's turn is it, to say the prayer
I know it's not mine, cause I said it last night
It's got to be Sis’s, I hope there's no fight

When dinner is done the TV goes on
Or we play family games sometimes time until dawn
We really don't play untill it's that late
I just said that because bedtime is eight...

Brian Hill - 2019 # 273
Who remembers?
Mark Toney Oct 2019
Woke up Sunday morning
Put on my Sunday best,
'Cause I didn’t want to go
And look different from the rest.
When the meeting was over
Was among the first to go.
Made a beeline home
Put on some comfy clothes.

Every weekday I work
Must wear a suit and tie
Feels so **** confining
It makes me wanna cry
By the time my shift is over
Tell you goodness knows
Can’t wait to get on home
Put on some comfy clothes.

Comfy clothes are great
Doesn’t matter what the season.
Just can’t quite explain it
There is no rhyme or reason.
But if you feel uptight,
Don’t know which way to go,
Things will get a little better
You put on some comfy clothes.
5/18/2018 - Poetry form: Rhyme - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
Enigmatic Sep 2019
Fear is the trap that confines all
Fear is holding hands with the grim reaper
It will haunt you to your grave
Taunt you in your dreams
Tie you back with the strongest rope there is and the hardest knot to escape from
Fear takes no time to find you
Takes no time to hypnotise you
Distorting your beliefs, questions are all that linger
Yes fear is strong but we go on
Kent Delos Reyes Jun 2018
Tie me a knot
A knot stronger than the wind
Tie me a knot--
A weapon I will wield

I'll carry it all day
Treasuring the knot you'll make
Walking a mile distance
From the draw out line I gave

Heave it strong and brave
Carefully making connections
Between the rope you made
And the rope I kept

Heave-- tie our ropes
The rope you used to save life
And the rope I used to end mine
Ken Pepiton Jul 2019
cognitive dis
sonnance sonic vibration shaking
the core
of our age

constant hey, hey look this way,
walk this way,
talk this way

bitchnmoan
groan, big stretch intended

to en
velope volve gauge and me
asure real if I can make
my bubble gobble yours,
you're in mine,

your's popped.
It's okeh, I expected you.
I prepared a place, come and see.

you can't go on pre
tending to aim at invisible hope
for things you see, right here.

The end of any mortal moment
is always near. In your heart, you know.
The kingdom of God (a term yet undefined),

if this is a place,
this stack of lines your learning lets you read,
then this is your heart-felt happiest possible place,
sometimes
this is like heaven to you,
after all
is said, and done.

--- that's published ---
a seed
or a flower, or leaves of grass
as good for me to grow on as
any sacred cow,

chewinginging blissish backward belching
methane, to warm the wind,

to ease the groaning from below the ice,

chewing leaves of grass,
as in times past,
when fusions were being warmed

from industrial effort to make the Iron Legged Monster
trample the idea

of calming words easing pain as sure as momma kisses
always did,

when you thought, as a kid and could believe such kisses
evidently worked,
you felt un-pained, the kiss alone could be blamed.

Did you notice? When kisses made hurts go away,
was your attention the price
of the kiss or was it a switch clicked as the lips of another

touched your skin and authoritatively declared,
all's better, and this is the direction
the vector from one remembered kiss of this sort

epigenetic trigger cocked, then pulled

endurance of developing process patterns with all the pieces
scattered

laid out
before our eyes, asif
intended to be seen, pain,

pay attention. Sharp can be evidence of fracture or
proof that whetting the edge makes our shaping
painless on this scale.

Aim at nothing, imagine what you hit. High five,
one hand clapping,
one more way to see the sublime.
This is blantant flow published for cause quite mysterious to me. Mysteries in fiction are not so -pointy- few unknowns known knowable are easy to chew.
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