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#11th
It's a sad old ****** Sunday When men walk in suits, With solemn faces in the cold wind Tears flow down the elderly's wrinkled faces And their hands shake Women hold the hands Of their whispering children The long droning speeches are said All is said and all is done The poppies are placed Everyone stands in silence Then walks home in whispers Paper poppies on their coats Waking through Freezing Autumn leaves We walk inside our homes We hear church bells chime Like the ones at the funerals so long ago We take off our coats Leave them around We lie in bed and sleep We get up the next day When all is said and done And life goes on Except not for the dead And not for the ones Who witnessed death
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May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
Revolution No. 11
Special Mom. I've a special mom So thoughtful So warm You wouldn't believe that she is my mom. Her Love is truly warm Loving me forever in life As we share our lives My mom is truly amazing She has taught me about life She has shown me happiness Our Love is still growing strong After all she is my mom A soft touch of warm love A special place always together Between me and my mom As I take your hand I smile towards you Always by your side In life but most of all Your my special mom And my love for you Will always forever live on.
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Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 4:34 AM UTC
Special Mom
A humble word, “Y-o-u” I forget to remember at 11th hour I remember to forget at 11th hour
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Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
11th HOUR
to avoid the pitfall of prospective homelessness which near future prospect induces existential angst i confess. Today (end of rope rhyme rote approximately deux orbitz round the sun), i wanted ta die and bid god riddance grandly going gamesomely gra grave, de deum, and cymbal crash to Bing mulct emotionally, physically and spiritually - all the grinding hardships would be gone in a flash how tempting to seek ot a solution sans hemlock or other deadly potion, whereby toothless mouth need not gnash boot simply swallow and drink from the goblet of mortal freedoms renting psych *** under with purposelessness mine hash tag, which bout with suicide while n the edge of thirteen - Anorexia nervosa defeated - then as now experience 10,000 banshee maniacs whip lash lacerating, flagellating, and repeatedly rousing thoughts shin to circle back to why death be not proud when life on par with a mash up of ennui, futile gobbledygook housing incubus analogous luft waffe bombardiers quash the joie de vivre per je ne sais quois spritely spring in step happy jollity, and levity attempt to make light of psychological me's mental illness rash whence thru the (then) lvii roam min years as chief garbage taster of trash hurled my way gnome matter the gremlins dwelt within the Wabash distance to inflict din er of dissonance targeted this mortal for'er abash as soon as he got expelled from the womb, his reddened ears did bash from sonic screaming boom causing astir the nurses into the maternity ward of me late mum sped like dash her, and fast as a comet Prancer doth emulate a con ***** dancer, cuz ova this rude half re: that came a boot from genetic chromosomal dna wash.
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Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 3:56 AM UTC
Thee grim reaper as pedagogical savior. -
to avoid the pitfall of prospective homelessness which near future prospect induces existential angst i confess. Today (end of rope rhyme rote approximately deux orbitz round the sun), i wanted ta die and bid god riddance grandly going gamesomely gra grave, de deum, and cymbal crash to Bing mulct emotionally, physically and spiritually - all the grinding hardships would be gone in a flash how tempting to seek ot a solution sans hemlock or other deadly potion, whereby toothless mouth need not gnash boot simply swallow and drink from the goblet of mortal freedoms renting psych *** under with purposelessness mine hash tag, which bout with suicide while n the edge of thirteen - Anorexia nervosa defeated - then as now experience 10,000 banshee maniacs whip lash lacerating, flagellating, and repeatedly rousing thoughts shin to circle back to why death be not proud when life on par with a mash up of ennui, futile gobbledygook housing incubus analogous luft waffe bombardiers quash the joie de vivre per je ne sais quois spritely spring in step happy jollity, and levity attempt to make light of psychological me's mental illness rash whence thru the (then) lvii roam min years as chief garbage taster of trash hurled my way gnome matter the gremlins dwelt within the Wabash distance to inflict din er of dissonance targeted this mortal for'er abash as soon as he got expelled from the womb, his reddened ears did bash from sonic screaming boom causing astir the nurses into the maternity ward of me late mum sped like dash her, and fast as a comet Prancer doth emulate a con ***** dancer, cuz ova this rude half re: that came a boot from genetic chromosomal dna wash.
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46
It has a new scale of reference vast, vicious and unforgiving death for millions will be anonymous machine gun arbitrary and indiscriminate shelled and shocked, barraged and buried no whole corpse to recognise as human no remains to mourn and grieve just rich blood and bone for Poppies growing strong in the Flanders' fields. Landscape resculpted to barest bone earth desecrated and destroyed every old tree and young bush uprooted tossed like feathers to the blackened sky debris swirling in the clouds of poison gas and the putrid stench of burning flesh in pyres that smoke and stink for days just fertile ash and dust for Poppies growing strong in the Flanders' fields. © M.L.Emmett
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Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
This Was a New War
In what at least Seemed anger the Aquarians in the basement Had been perfecting a device. For making sense to us If only briefly and on pain Of incommunication ever after. Now look who's here. Our prodigal Sunset. Just passing through from Isfahan. Filled him by the glass. Disorients [...]. James Merrill
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Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
18 West 11th Street
by Sara L Russell (For the casualties of Manchester Kennels, 12/9/14, 21:05) Old trusty Bob, sure-footed in the lead, Truffles and Sandy bringing up the rear; And all the others, with no faith or creed, Yet representing all that's loved and dear. They run along the path to Paradise To where no faithful hound need ever die; A playful eagerness lights up their eyes, As clouds and gliding seraphim go by. Garlands of stars and quasars light the way The scent of incense lifts their spirits high Nobody shouts commands to sit or stay; Freedom is calling from beyond the sky. Saint Peter tells each one "Rest easy, friend; Your earthy suffering is at an end."
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Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
Home At Last
We live in a world of fear A world where danger lurks too near I'll still speak on I speak to deaf ears No one listens no one hears Peace Brother No reason to fight Peace Brother A message of light Put down your weapons Let's figure this out Don't start a fight again You've no reason to shout Guns fire Explosions sound People dying look around I speak behind Telling them what to see I speak to the blind Can't tell them what to be Peace Brother No reason to fight Peace Brother A message of light Put down your weapons Let's work this out Don't start a fight again You've no reason to shout The sound of war It rings through time A sound like none before A well missed sign We need to stop The endless battle The fight for the top Like mindless cattle We try to win it We press on forward With our bad habit No one cares they just move onward They shout and yell The can't talk nice And the children can tell This habit is a vice So Peace Brother No reason to fight Peace Brother A message of light Put down your weapons Let's figure this out Don't start a fight again You've no reason to shout Peace Brother Don't fight, Don't shout Peace Brother Let's work it out Peace Peace My message of Peace
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May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
My Message