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My dog its name is Gizmo with a capital G, he isn't
very tall and not very long. He's very playful doesn't
always listen to what he's ever told. But it's like his name,
as others have said so. If somethings missing the blame
would always be on him, to this hairball this is just a game.

His favorite season for walks is when autumn comes to call.
The puddles on the floor and the leaves on the ground, all
he wants to do is be playful in the heaps of color and crawl.
Beneath them playing hide and seek, but he is always so
easy to find, following his lead a tail-wagging to and fro.

He never misses a puddle, his hair soaked, and has very
muddy little toes, chasing all the birds, but he's not scary
at all. They fly away squawking and he just looks at me
then runs around again chasing nothing at all. We see
in the distance home letting off the lead, he runs in glee.

Towel now around him, drying him quickly off. As his wetter
than a puddle. Shivering we give him a cuddle, feeling better
he now falls asleep upon his bed. Five minutes of peace before
he gets his energy back, and then a zoomy around the floor,
and then I'm like, has anyone seen my sock?      Gizmo!!
Wrote this for my youngest daughter :)
Mark Wanless Nov 7
do you walk upon
water the exigent wet
do fishes know swim
Hot, wet, nasty and painful.
Why is that all they want to do?

I just want someone to hold my hand,
make me smile and laugh.
Why cant I find someone who wants that too?
I'm not hard to please.
Norman Crane Oct 1
After autumn's leaves depart, the branches
hang like spiders after dark, impending
winter moons and ice: The night advances.
Silence echoes the silently standing
trees. Ravens sail upon the frosted breeze,
and the small burrow for the longest sleep.
A cold rain collects in puddles of unease,
The naked forest unobscures a deep
uncertainty about tomorrow,
And the foxes speak in quiet snowfall voices
of the days that were and will be hollow,
Lanterns light a carriage.              Doubt rejoices.
In the dusk black vegetation spreads like cracks
in glass. The carriage scratches tracks
into a muddy past.
Delluna Sep 7
Under the gallows wet tree
I sat there alone
The droplets drenched my left shoulder
Free birds sang a good song
The sky above was blue
But gloomy on the east side
The sand was sticky
I felt the grains on my dry feet
The sun hid itself behind the white cotton clouds
The trees stood still
No breeze but it’s cold
After morning rain it was.
Poetic T Sep 5
She ad this hobby fishing with
    A pole.
      No worms wanted

Dats a fact.

I played it cool rod in da pond,
  That became a pool.

  Waves splashing out.
     Rod didn't catch nything..

But the fish were swimming
    Deep now.  

And we just smiled,
       Who need bait

When the rod catches

    Her every time.
Your toes curl under quivering breath

     in abandon to the power of sweet caress

Yes! to the dripping ecstasy of our union

     to the penetrated walls of the Self

we dance wildly through puddles & stains  

     free of the pains of fetters and chains


we cast into the fire the boundaries of flesh

     & weave our bodies into euphoric mesh

prostrate at the flowing alter of Love.
Marri Jul 26
I touched myself to the thought of you last night.
And, God,
It felt so ******* good.

The thought of you above me,
Hand around my throat,
With your teeth clashing into mine.

It felt so *****.

Our spit and other ****** fluids mixing and creating the chemical reaction for love.

I could hear your voice edging me on.
‘Go faster, you ****.’,
‘I know you want me to make a mess of your innocence.’,
I can still hear the echoes of the filthy and twisted fantasies we have.

My fingers spin the most intricate and intense shapes over and over again.
In hopes of merely grazing the ******.

I can feel you,
Pulling my hair,
Digging your nails into me,
And slapping me senseless.

Everyone must think we’re sick—
But I don’t care.

I need you,
I need to ***,
I need you like never before.

If this is the image of true love,
Me with my hand down my *******,
Head thrown back,
Back arched,
And sputtering gasps of “Yes, Sir.”

Then this is a fairytale.

Growing wetter and wetter,
I’m soaking through my moans of pleasure.
Closer and closer,
I’ve almost reached the end.

With a happily ever after
You growl into me animalistically.
You spread me open to lap up each and every last drop.
You look at me—
You smile.

“Who’s a good girl?.”
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