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Mark Penfold Sep 2018
The Pigeon Gent,
He woos and coos around the river bent.
Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance,
With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent.
He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance.

"Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims,
A shadow looming from the skies.
With ***** and claps he glides and lands with  full surprise,
He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder".
Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes.

Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce,
The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force.
At once he knows he must respond,
And force this illbread vagabond to abscond.

At once chest puffed and muscles flexed,
With wild eyes he jabs and pecks.
To teach this ruffian respect,
So on his actions he may later reflect.
He stands his ground both large and proud,
To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds.

"You insult me sir" he shouts aloud,
To make his intentions clear for all the crowd.
For several rounds they fight and scuffle.
With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled.

Then bested suiter fairly parted,
The quarrel ends as fast as started.
The vanquished victor displays and grooms,
As peace and honour now resumes.

Soon the ripples upset the green,
An armada of ducks come on the scene.
Alerted by the heightend coos,
They race to see what act insues.

The mighty mallards, Kings of the river,
None contest their right of way.
Their ways of conduct such generous givers.
Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say.

On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been,
They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene.
There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens,
reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens.

To their mates for life and lady lovers,
The mallard gent is like no others.
Such loyalties are seldom seen,
In modern times and different dreams.
Fine and lean with striking features,
Best examples of river teachers.

But at any moment no matter how abrubt,
A river duel may easily erupt.
Battle can ensue and rage,
As both apponents approach and engage.
For they mate for life as duck and wife,
A rarity in any age or life.
EgoFeeder May 2013
These lost years of loneliness and social depravity
Have left me with nothing except this written tragedy
I sat and watched as the walls of my life crumbled away
Into this contorted sensation twisting through dismay
These ceaseless rememberance sessions screaming inside
A dead fixed stare on old friends taking cyanide

These bonds have come together in such a swift motion
And, just as fast they've came to their abrubt destruction
Dispersing any tint of mutual belonging from view
Molding a sad landscape of sighs and failing virtue
Watching as the remnants of my relationships loiter
The catacombs of these stockpiled confession letters

If only I could say anything my empathy had to tell me
My skeletal pose might have perched upright in a higher degree
And I would of have grown to a more formidable size
A clear cut aspiration that I never came to realize
Until all that I held grew too big for me to carry
and left me to stumble and sleep at the cemetary

Scratching dead love songs on century old gravestones
Where the forgotten have slept for generations alone
Hoping the crude penmanship might grace a weary heart
Or help a looming ghost feel a taste of love and depart
From the fog filled graveyard parade that it dwells
A final ringing from the synapsis of the greif bells

Sparking the ruin of a memory that doesn't seem real
A fading echo of a brotherhood I wish I could still feel
Detached from a reality that lurks in a decrepit imagery
Reshaping my empty cognition through a fake neuro surgery
I've reached the point where I have no reason to find
A replacement for all these buried pictures astray in my mind
April May 2015
My shoulders are tense
hands nervous
silence is air- constant and needed

right now
silence is smog
seizing my lungs
demanding on my eyes

my mind, frantic
tells my eyes not to surrender
amongst this deafing silence
people are all around

I must
relax and breathe
wait,
for sound is invetiable - abrubt but equilibrium
it is true- life is about
the smiles and the frowns
I'm sorry there may be some spelling errors.. I'm posting this on my phone. And i wrote it during class so idk how well it is
david badgerow Sep 2011
It ended in abrubt victory like a baby being born
But the doctors all looked sick to me, somehow this wasn't the norm

Actually I'm not in a hospital
Not witnessing the miracle of life
I just woke up
and am 48 years old with
the realization that someone's
******* my wife.

There you have it, my love
She sighs, shining white like
a dove discovered dead
On your grandmother's doorstep.
cynthia Jul 2013
Where your real friends at?
With their fuzzy perspectives
and doubts on how to live
Happily
They turn to you for guidance but in turn
Follow their own misguidance
Blindy
Criticism (self inflicted and onto others) is
only beautiful when it constructs
Dreams of life, liberty and happiness
Destruction leads to ends that are abrubt
Confusion floats in the air as does debris
from this falling tree
Or has it fallen'd?
Let the dust clear and we'll see

Open eyes
Open mind
Open heart
In pursuit of self discovery
Auras collide to construct beauty in us
Taking advantage of love was placed in us
You are welcome if your mind is free
Fullness will only constitute stress
And anxi-ety
SassyJ Jan 2017
You left me with the a bid
a bigger slice of my best
a wish me well that lingers
even longer without your love

Your unformed abrubt reasons
of tainted unsainted failed logic
a wish you well, no hesitations
on the table of untouched melodies

My walls are a brighter emerlard
with stripes of the unmissed kisses
matted with peace and liberation
of torn risks and control measures

My sad blues were washed by the rains
above the moon and over skies above
scouring, soaring, scrapping, summing
in another forever of amaizing lines
Torin May 2016
If not for my eyes
Grown accustomed to being lost in the woods
Entrenched in the subtle darkness that is always collapsing
Without color I see gray figures in the night
But I can't imagine their faces
If not for my eyes
I would have never seen you
If not for my ears
The noise of bitter cries and longing screams
The disarranged voice of love not speaking louder than the din
Without music I can still hear melodies
But the key would keep on changing
If not for my ears
You could not speak to me
If not for my nose
The stench of life and its rotting carcass
The odeous wind of putrid odor that finds me even in fields
within the stink I still smell your perfume
But the aroma is gone to soon
If not for my nose
I could not have smelt you
If not for my tongue
Often times abrubt and razor wire
The bitter flavor of the most sour and hateful food
Only wanting of sugar and honey
But going without
If not for my tongue
I go my life without your taste
If not for my skin
These hands which hold broken glass
These frayed out nerve endings too many times feeling pain
But desirious of pleasure
Carnal knowledge
And stimulation
If not for my skin
I never would have felt you
I like to think I have everything I'll ever need

— The End —