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Poetic T Oct 2014
And so they played they were
Innocent,
But the words in wood
They spoke In black mud
"Wood was"
"Wood is"
"Wood will end"
"Wood will become"
"What had began"
Fear runs fast in young eyes,
As to a father they did run
"Calm down little ones"
And in to woods he took
An instrument of destruction,
So upon wood he did
Hack,
Carve,
Splinter
Pieces now  layed upon the ground,
A splinter did puncture
His finger that bleed upon
Black mudded ground,  
And he dug at hated mud
For words to be seen,
"A splinter"
!Will seal the fate"
"And too wood will consume"
He looked upon the words
And glancing blows,
Now all was splintered
Covered in black mud,
Days had past
Night was calling,
He awoke startled, a burning
Sensation,
Looking where the splinter
Had punctured,  his
Finger unable to move,
Then as the nights did pass
More fingers fell to the numbness
Unable to move,
He awoke
Three nights past,
His hand discoloured
And a elbow locked, so much pain
The fingers now spread out angles were
Distorted,
Altered,
Contaminated,
As the stiffness spread
Arm and hand now
locked in this figure, not natural,
His skin did wrinkle
Not a colour that Is meant to be,
He though he would breath in his last
Outside he ran,
Bare feet did sprint, then for
"No reason"
His feet did stop
Pain seared through his
Appendages
He looked down in horror
Toes rooted to the ground
He reached up
"God what have you done"
And so the skin consumed wrinkled
Like bark his skin did
Manifest
Once only wrinkled
But more like bark from a tree
Wood was destroyed,
It warned in the wood
"Disrespect nature"
"And wood you become"
There is a new tree in the garden
The Mother looks upon this new
Leaved tree
"It looks like your dads face"
"Only just"
The child says,
There father was never seen
But he had paid the heavy price
For the words foretold,  
That wood will consume,
Sap leaks from the tree
Slowly it fell for many months to come
Always seeing but unable to move,
His family sheltered under the tree in
Summers,
Winter,
Rain,
They always kept dry
Under the tree,
And every so often,
A branch would move, to brush up
To be close to his *family.
True love is a bonfire
wood plus fire makes smoke
Wood is the physical
Fire is the mental
Smoke is the spiritual
You cannot have smoke
before the wood and fire
And when wood or fire
become exhausted
the smoke drifts away
Thanks to rain
Poetic T Sep 2014
They said the wolf
Beware
But in truth it was not he
All should fear
Misunderstood
Stigmatised
Tainted
His name was mud
Listen,
Observe,
Eavesdrop,
On the words that growl forth,
Three,
Little,
Pigs,
They seemed so succulent,
"Wait rephrase that"
Those bacon bandits,
"Wait misunderstood definition"
Those  pink porkers
A triangle of terror they were
To me,
A birthday wish for their mother you see,
Fur, but fur isn't cheap
So a thought??
)POPPED(
In to there salty minds
A wolf could make not
One
Not
Two
But one for each.
"Are you still listening"
They planned, snorted
Laughed with glee, my end planned
By all three it seems
The first
Flame was his weapon
Straw
Tightly bound
Ablaze in my face
A circle
Straw,
Match
Fire
I had no escape it would seem,
But as I was pushing behind
A trap cleverly conceived
But I was not defenceless,
I
Huffed
&
Puffed,
And with an exhale,
The flame
Did extinguish
Was blown out,
Embers lit up the sky,
As a pig now in my sights
"Gulp"
"GUlp"
"GULP
And smile upon my face
As I huffed and puffed
Inhaled
All that surrounded,
Inhaled,
Exhaled,
Everything out
Piggy was now floating in air
"One final inhale"
And piggy was hanging by his pinkies
Inside of  my wolfs mouth
"This little piggy was  naughty"
"This little piggy used his  mouth"
"One final piggy down the  hatch,"
I licked my lips and that was that.
I walked along now knowing their plan
And by a whisker
It just missed
Matrix style dodges
Ensued
Wooden spears
Shrieked past,
Out of the corner of my eye
"I saw him"
"A glint in his eye"
As Ten wooden spears
Launched,
Flight,
Shards,
Of stick rained down
"Was this my end"
?
?
I
Huffed
&
Puffed,
And these sticks paper cut
My nose then
In to the wind they flew
Have you heard a piggy
Squeal,
Scream,
Oink
All in one exhale its not pretty
As spears one and another
Encircled my porky Friend
His pink now white with fear encircled
"No way out"
"Pinkie"
He smiled I inhaled
And once again a piggy held on
To my snout
Eyes watering I  said
"This little piggy was  naughty"
"This little piggy used his  mouth"
"One final piggy down the  hatch,"
I licked my lips and that was that.
"I hope your listening"
I growled
It was him or me I would be
Fur upon a back
So used my senses
Sight,
Hearing,
Snout,
But he was no where to be found,
I looked for this bad bacon
High
&
low
So I went home to ponder
"Was it over"
I sat in my chair,
Then a brick through my
Window did appear
Come out and play
I scratched my head??
"Why not just knock the door"
As I went out side
A castle of brick and stone
At the bottom of my garden
"Impressive I say"
"Did I just say that out loud"
You may have eaten
One pig,
Two pig,
But you'll not get the desert,
I
Huffed
&
Puffed,
And down the phone I shouted
To the council of the land,
"Permits"
"Height"
"Private land"
And with that the castle came down
There is more than one way
To get a piggy off my land
As they left, the piggy snuck off too,
"Where are you going piggy"
"Unfinished business me and you"
It was them they made
Me do it,
Then a growl came forth
And two voices spoke
One little piggy
"It was his plan from the start"
Then a second piggy spoke out
"He set you up, as well as us"
The piggy startled
Voices echoed out
"Really"
I spoke
Yes my plan he snorted then laughed
"What you going to do"
I
Huffed
&
Puffed,
And blew my wind out
Have you ever seen a
Piglet role down a hill
The noise was like
Oink
OUCH
Oink
OUCH
And with that  I
Inhaled,
And the bruised and battered piggy held
On to my whiskers
Eyes watering,
Nose dripping out,
"This little piggy was  naughty"
"This little piggy used his  mouth"
"One final piggy down the  hatch,"
I licked my lips and that was that
"I hope your still listening"
My belly rumbled
It was what I had eaten
Not agreeing with me
I went to the
Jailhouse
Slammer
Lockup
For this is where
They were regurgitated,
And Spat out, these
Three
Little
Pigs
Would be doing
Twenty five
To
Life,
In a prison of jackals
These little pigs are going to have
A hard time sweating salt,
Fear in there eyes instead of mine,
"Are you Listening"
What you thought I'd eaten them??
I'm a vegetarian for goodness sake
I licked my lips but *
bacon does taste nice...
Marissa Kohlman Sep 2014
Fed up with the ways of men,
I decided to create my own,
And he would be perfect.

I took a chunk of wood and began to carve,
My knife coaxing each perfect body part into existence:
Dark eyes
Full lips
Broad shoulders
Long legs
Strong hands
And a perfect...well...you know.

Then I carved the magic word into his chest
And he became flesh.

He did everything a woman wanted:
He listened well
Never talked back
Never got mad
Made love on command
And said those words we all crave
"I love you"

All with eyes as empty as bottomless pits.
Poem 2 in my "7 Poems in 7 Days" self-challenge.  Bonus challenge:  All titles must be school subjects.  Feel free to join me!
Jeremyeckl Aug 2014
Well, not we
But you alone delayed
Those blurry red lines
That poured from
An officers light.

He pulled you from the grave
In the way
You pulled those stones
From the ground,
Pillbugs and all,
To call them boys
And count their fingertips.

Each had ten
While you had twelve
After the crash.
The car wrapped around the sharpest
Pole you could reach
(The car wrapped around,
Twisted like a cobra,
With poisonous barbs ready at will)
and spit you out towards the top.

You slowly slid down
Peg by peg, full with splinters,
Then the officer came
And let down his hair
To weave into yours.

After we went camping
The forest swallowed you whole
And the belly of the world
Was swollen with guilt.

After we went exploring
You swallowed your tongue
And your belly was swollen
With rage and your
******* with milk and metal.

It was the wild
(About which you had forgotten)
Which drove you to madness
And
It was the madness
That drove you to
Crash the car
Once before

And though I hope otherwise
We fear it will drive you
To crash again.

Well, not we
But I still fear for you.
No one cared until I started holding a pencil
until I started writing
let's call them poems

Did writing make people actually care about me?
Or did it just make them curious enough to ask about me?

Do they like my writing?
Or do they like how I can describe things in ways they can't?

Has this pencil brought me closer to people?
Has it made them finally see me?

Questions start to occur
every time I hold this pencil of mine

questions question question
so many questions
and not enough answers

If you ask me to speak my feelings
I will not be able to utter a word
I will not be able to form a comprehensive sentence
However
Give me a pencil
and I will express... gladly
Whether through writing or drawing

I suppose I owe a lot to my pencil
You might see it as a wood that leaves mark on papers
but to me
It's a whole world,
a world that I'm eager to explore

Thank you pencil
Thank you for being there for me
when my tongue isn't
Thank you for speaking up for me
Thank you for being my voice
I am new at this, new to writing but I love it! I love the feeling it gives me. Hopefully I can become a good writer some day. These are my beginnings so bear with me y'all :)
Kayla Bellinger Aug 2014
We are the wood
And we stand as one
While outside, the world unfolds

Mother Earth is ever-shifting
Her children have grown feet
And we look on
As they warily step closer

Hush, children
Quiet now
Man treads between our trunks

Wide-eyed, he stares
Up through our branches
Shafts of daylight glow
Through dappled shadows

From the springs
He takes water
In a silver chalice
Of shining light

But he changes
When night falls
And the howling
Chills him to the bone

He has magicks
And strikes the stones together

A quick spark
And a flame

Furious winds beat
At the strange scarlet water
That climbs higher
Charring our skin

We stand helpless
Sweating sap
As the frantic, blistering heat
Bears down upon us
Tearing us away

And when the rains come
The blaze gives in
And dies away
Leaving nothing but ashes

But Man left his magicks

We are the whispering wood
Standing solemn and silent
Watching
As a single sprout
Peeks through the soil
Maggie Emmett Jul 2014
(inspired by Robert Pinsky)
              
 Morning sun on his face
steady motor murmur
vibrating the hose

Bluebells clamber
over the hill’s top -
nothing to remember

only the same engine noise
that keeps making the same sounds
under his head poised

and pulsing the same beat
no-one to say his name,
no need, no-one to praise him

only the engine’s voice - over
and over, running under him.

© M.L.Emmett
My brother killed himself on 26th April 2007 in a Bluebell Wood.
He died of Carbon Monoxide poisoning
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