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Of which sorrows—dear Poet—Thou never write?
This thunderous turmoil—that pierce Thy shadowed Soul!
This solemn raging—emotion's silent plight: 
 Tears!—Thy Sacred anticipation—to foul
Days emptiness—fulfilled with bittter, sweet,
Hopeful—remnants of The Eternal Empress;
Sailing the Infinite Oceans—where Muses meet—
To play harp melodies on our heart strings. Digress—
Never ! for the lonesome nights—from me—nor for the ****'
Fine Grin of Time stretching 'ur body fibres Songs;
. . . Know—I cherish Thou Gaze—Thou Immortal Wit. . .
Words must have failed this utmost yearnin'- indeed!
For ever 'n ever loving Thee. . .so. . .long. . .
For ever 'n ever loving Thee—So—long !
~~~~
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic beauty
~~~~
It seems
That we know why roses bloom and why the trees are rooted deep in the fertile poetic soil. Mother Earth is loved by Father Sky. That's no secret.
And we were made by love for Love. . . For there's always a divine scent of love blossoming somewhere alluringly floating around with whispering winds. I would love to see you fly on wings of poetic creation. . . Playing with rose petals and green tree leaves.
We hear this grand symphony of life and light. . .Love. . .
And we are grateful!
Across the plateau
The old fountain is
Quite new
In fact
Up
There is a better beat
A map of a jade lake
Reminded her of
Canues and free
Hiking rides,
Parachute
Glidings
Skis and skies
Playing with contours
Of trees around the
Shore, cracklings
Of tiny pebbles
Under her
Feet
Music in Jars
Shaking them
Vigorously happy
My laughter ! is a
Proof of your
Affection
Break me
With
Humourous  
Tripple cascades
Enable cool
Water to  
Vividly
Jump as
Mischievous
Children when
They dance The owls
Silent dance into the
First tinted night
A Waterfall
A tremendous
Magnetizing
Showering
Stares
Inner
Thoughts
She was a walking
Contemplation
Expecting her
Beloved to
Be there

She
Noticed
The Bycicle
Was not parked
At the bar's walls
Spirited eyes staring
At her steps and figure
He thinks he knows me
Then I am struck in awe
I know this wide fairness
Glowing across his forehead
He knows about the bluest
Seas yearning to touch the
Moon and the Stars on
Every woman he had
Loved. Passionately
Uncompromising
Determination

Speaking
Softly about his
Desire Wanting. . .
His poignant soul
Drowned in it's self
Familiar
With Self
Absorbed
Exploration
Solitude
Company. . . .
Even lovlier ***
Harmonic beats
Black trousers
*******
Black
On white
Yearnings
Loves rising
Loves
Falling
As a
Fragrant
Memory
As a Mirage
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic love
Lauren Batchelor Feb 2015
The shallow nature of your wit
Leaves me pining for more-
But woe to me!
This well is ever dry.
Sydney Ann Feb 2015
Writer's block has clogged my mental pores
Oily ignorance I cannot ignore
Technology is fogging up my mind
Leaving me no time to unwind

I looked in the mirror today
And guess what I saw

My ugly, stunted imagination's face
Full of gross digital zits
I'm really starting to miss
My former wit
I've got to get out of this keyboard-y place
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
Ach so!* thou much-praised and lauded Milwaukee,
Thou delightful Wisconsin Stadt of boundless pulchritude,
Verily hath History endowed thy blessed name
With the noisomely beery breath of immortality!

And thank the benign Almighty in highest Heav’n
That thy delectable streets and arboreal squares
Doth remain heretofore untouched by unseemly civic strife,
Despite thy renown as veritable midwife to Sewer Socialism!

Yet, tear-inducing recollections have I of this dwelling-place
And herewith followeth heart-rending remembrances
Of what transpired when I inveigled a plump young Mädchen there
For a brief sojourn of untrammelled concupiscence.

Alas, alack, after gorging her impetuous appetites
On a gargantuan repast of mitteleuropäische delicacies,
Methinks her poor heart gave up survival’s uneven battle
And, warbling a soft piffero-reminiscent sigh, she expired.

‘Twas too tragic thus to depart this happy welkin in mid-prandials,
Emitting a final flatus, sweet adieu, from her rearmost aperture,
Leaving me, her poor forlorn swain, bereft and solitary,
Faced with mine host’s request for instant monetary rendition.

From that naughty place of my bereavement fled I,
Clutching to my ***** the contents of her silken purse,
Determined to partake in untrammelled ***** licence elsewhere,
Ere the chanticleer’s dawn croak wake the inebriated citizens.
TSK Oct 2014
I laugh
Not because I'm in love
Nor because of insight
Or wit
Or humor
I laugh
And I laugh because
You think I know
What love is
Dad Poet Society Oct 2014
Leaving home is quite difficult
You're going to see
But I don't mean for you
No, this is all about me

I'm your father, your daddy
I raised you from nothing
And now somehow you think
You don't need me or something?

Who might you think that you are, young lady
To go and be "Miss Independent" already?

Leaving my protection
Thinking you know best
I guess my fatherly advice
You just couldn't need less

Well, don't think you'll get off that easy, my lady
You can run but not hide
From your daddy's words
And just maybe they'll come back to haunt you
Or at least make you smile
Especially when you realize
I was right by a mile

Not bragging, just saying
That will happen a lot
Because your daddy knows best
At least, more often than not

So when you get in a pinch
Chances are, I've covered it
And my words will come back to you
Quite clearly, I'm sure of it

But on the outside chance
There's something you lack
If some piece of advice
Happened to fall through the cracks

You'll be comforted to know
That I will stay close in touch
For your sake, of course
Because you need me so much

Don't think that you don't
O you know that it's true
You'll miss my advice
But I suppose I will, too

My advice, after all
Was just to hear myself talking
At least that's what you thought
All these years
Now stop mocking
And rolling your eyes
When I tell you sincerely
To stay out of dark allies
And carry pepper spray
Not merely to make me feel better
Because this is not about me
There's a reason I give such good advice
And for free

I confess to only the highest of motives
I love you, my daughter
So I just can't help it
To my adventurous daughter, who for some reason wants to spread her wings and fly.
Maggie Emmett Sep 2014
Idyllic love poems wander the hills
with a pining goat herd playing his pipe
and singing mournful song
echoing down the quartz sculpted gorge
beneath waterfalls
where alabaster-skinned Naiads
lithe and languorous
bathed in crystal brooks.

Romantic poems lounge on sofas breathless  
wearing corsets and crinolines
desperate
and untouched
*******
strands of hair

   John Donne’s love poems
are wet
  with wit.
brokenperfection Aug 2014
Satire,
When used in a mature manner,
Is the most absolutely delicious
Most perfect form of a quiet rebellion
That of which my every day, regular peers
Can only hope to successfully publish.
It is not to be taken for granted,
It is instead meant to be heard and admired..
And possibly even feared
For my every day, regular peers
Are victoriously standing up
With the sharpest of political tongues
And the quickest, most enlightening wit.
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