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Alan S Jeeves Apr 29
Watch it haste and watch it fly,
Why try espy it flashing by?
Now you see it, now you don't,
Then you heard it ~ now you won't.

First it's here and hence it's gone,
It's much the same for everyone.
Like a cloud high in the air...
Glance once more and it's not there.

Like a bubble drifting past,
Though you know it cannot last.
A tranquil breeze, the bubble stops ~
Attempt to touch! the bubble pops.

Where it stems from no one knows;
No one sees to where it goes.
You know it's there but you can't find...
As not a trace it leaves behind.

Man can't beat this mighty force,
To try and try he'll fail, of course;
He'll never grasp the where's and why's
Quam tempus fugit ~ how time flies.

I was busy chasing rainbows, dragons, and unicorns
I probably caught a leprechaun or maybe the Jackalope
Do I regret being busy? Nope!

I was busy solving the world’s problems with love’s power
So busy I forgot to shower
And grew my personal jungle
Where I was busy chasing tigers with the help of bears and panthers

If I say I was busy
I was actually a bee
or maybe a bee’s knees
Because nothing’s more busy
than a bee collecting pollen

If I tell you I am busy
A volcano exploded,
and my path’s corroded
by lava pits perilous
and hungry magma monsters

If I tell you I am busy
I may be counting sheep
for little Bo Peep or to sleep
Trying to cuddle with my stuffed buds

If I tell you I’m busy,
I’m busy in a way most people may not understand
but you do, because you’re grand

*for Harly
Himangshu Singh Nov 2019
I don't know what it is...
Maybe the month that follows
Or the unsent texts in my phone.
Maybe the silver lining of your dress
Or the glamorous heels of your shoes.
I really have no clue of what it is...
The feeling of jealously
Or the pain of betrayal.
Julie Grenness Sep 2019
'Twas after a frosty night,
I caught a glimpse of sunlight,
Sparkling on a spider web,
Miracle, enough said,
Patterns so intricate,
Did not brush aside, delicate,
Yes, 'twas after a frosty night,
Spied a web of sheer delight!
Feedback welcome.
Ki Danshaku Sep 2019
She...she responds to a soothing bath.
He...he prefers a different path.

They each disrobe from the day's affairs,
the formal restraints they each do share.

Their clothes lay scattered about the floor,
both stand naked at a tiled shore.

She eases herself into this sleeve,
a temperate knitted liquid weave.

He guides the stream from it’s perched spout,
the water finding the perfect route.

His face is wet, his eyes are shut tight.
She prefers ambient candle-light.

She gently sponges her supple skin.
He grips the soap...oh, so masculine.

She contemplates his rugged terrain,
he puts his hands out to feel the rain.

His caress yields a lathery foam,
her fingers begin a downward roam.

He too diverges, or so rather,
deviates from the task to lather.

Much attention in just one region,
cleaning can’t motivate this legion.

His thoughts of her, and her thoughts of him,
nothing stops what’s about to begin.

Tremors start from her head to her toes,
a smile blossoms as she plateaus.

He feels the pressure stiffly increase,
it brings to him an immense release.

She savours the last rippling quiver.
His knees weak from such an endeavour.

They catch their breath, and resume their chores,
have they been remiss in these detours?

Excuse the news they misuse shampoos,
they choose to amuse with such taboos.

One can’t ignore in the aftermath: he takes showers
... and she takes a bath.
Written by request for an anthology of like-topic stories.
This poem is dedicated to the molar mass of 18, and is 18 syllables wide and 18 sentences tall.
This is my one and only poem.

'One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one'
Poetry Addict Sep 2019
Ripped off my branch
By the wind’s breath
I drifted downward
Into overgrown hair: what indignity.

I hummed and pined for this day
To erupt out of my branch
To proclaim like a herald the spring.
Now my petals’ dance
and delicate perfumes end too soon!
Inspired by cherry blossoms on a spring day.
This morning, I glimpsed three little children,
They were burning with bright passion, as little children do,
I watched them for a while, and lamented a happy youth,
But beautiful they were, aglow with smiles on their faces,
I like to think that I'm tough, but I fell to my knees at a single wink,
A single childish grin, and I was gone,
Lost to a world of soft fantasy, and shining smiles.
I would like to think I caught a glimpse of their whimsy.
Though I've never been the whimiscal type,
I like to hope that maybe,
There's still a part of me that dreams like they do..
Children are the world,
Please let them smile..
Juhlhaus Jul 2019
In June, I saw
A beautiful white spider
On my backpack.
It was eating a mosquito.
I will write a poem
About it later.
Arpita Banerjee Apr 2019
Misty little corner
In a blue Room
Calls out to the mourner
Immersed in doom.

Grey furniture makes
Greyer memories
Faults, taunts and insipid

Blue is the colour of the eye
It's inside is filled with a neon so fly.
The pink tree of life ******
Venus flytrap dissolves in juices.

The eye looks, the eye appalls.
The eye resigns, the eye dissolves.

The pink trap reopens again.
Lust curls into the corner in vain.
The misty blue corner like a white canvas,
Fills with all its colours again.

Pink is the monster,
Blue is the perpetrator,
Green is the debilitator.

And I, the wild colourless mind,
Sits by the wall and conjures this mishap.
All dreams are flies,
And I, the Venus flytrap.
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