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Salt-wept and tide-lost,
foam-laced marionette drowns
once, the sea held hands.

"A yummy granola of uneven stanzas, metaphors and similes, meditations, and confessions."

<>

this is I’m told
the how of how
I script,
I like granola though not
necessarily my premieur choix,
unless I’m breakfast buffet’ing
in Switzerland

and the all white mountains urge me
to climb aboard

I do not quatrain or cinqtrain,
my plan of attack is
****** and parry, defeat the
white enemy of empty,
with love my soul delivers
that which is rapidly transiting,
decomposing in my lobes,
awaiting perhaps reassembly and
reanimating in a new combination

employ the employees of writing
with liberty for all and
allegiance to none,
and the wild child within calls the shot
and asks only one question:
what do I deserve,
more importantly,
what do I know and owe you?
"Madam, would you kindly remove
this arrow from my heart?"

"No, I think I'll wait until infection
sets in."

"How cruel you are."
a never ending rhythm
we're a matching tempo
following the flow

Setting the strings
Held so tight
strung just right

you're the melody
in my beating heart
Hate is what drives us,
to spite and despise.
But the love of God
is what changes our hearts.
John 3:16
E - Everyone
T - That
H - Has
E - Eggs
R - Really
E - Expended
A - A
L - Lot
.
.
A song for this:
bad idea! by girl in red [E]
Mrs.Timetable challenge

I think this is an acrostic firefly poem.
I wasn’t sure EGGzactly what to write, my mind seemed soft scrambled.
I was hoping to poach an idea, but it turned out the yoke was on me.
1am
It’s one in the morning.
I zoomed into Lisa’s room
and threw myself on the bed where she lay reading
in a near virtuoso, Fosbury flop.
She bounced, jostled by my mechanical bed wave.
“I hate goodbyes,” I said, indignantly.
“You’re not strong on hellos” she said, not looking up.
“They’re so bone-marrow deep,” I went on, “they steal hope away.”
“Did that sound pretentious?” I asked her silence, a minute later, somewhat self-consciously.
Lisa took the yellow, #2-pencil out of her mouth—just long enough to answer.
When she studies, she chews on them, seemingly eating them like french fries.
“Yeah,” she says, “but I get cha.”
“I know,” I said, smiling at the ceiling, because in a rooted and real way, she always has.
I’d be a different person if we’d never met.
I feel very grateful for that.
“Your boy’s flown?” She asked, using her pencil to hold her page and finally looking up.
It was an ironic, near-rhetorical question, she knows he’s gone and she knows I know she knows he’s gone.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
.
.
Songs for this:
4am by girl in red
Don't Stop The Music by Rihanna
blushing! by BETWEEN FRIENDS
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 01/19/25:
Virtuoso = someone who can perform very skillfully
Fear not to embrace
all these losses,
the disconnection is but an illusion.
Love is the Highway we travel,
we all move on in the end.
Love is eternal my friends!!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
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