"anonym" poems
Swallows, and it follow
Into the stream of blood
Sorrows, of tomorrow
Quenched along smoke thirst
Poisonous oily liquid, description
Stated literally
Should be avoided, medical prescription
Lingers in breath
Smoker, person's pseudonym
Enjoying for him(her)self
Smoking, process's anonym
Nicotine, isn't always a sin
|AB|
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
Til twinkle pinkie rosebuds turn shrubbery so wild
wilder than the fume upon which the moonglade
climbs gloomy tide to make welcome of the night
until the little birds sing your name
then times be as happy as flame
One goldfinch and 3 white pigeons
a colourful macaw parrot and falconet
or the black crowncrane of large pinions
soul's fleeting harbinger of the lorikeet
type, as i await the little birds sing
The whole of my being approves
by the star shining in northerly clime
as in clinging on tight to a feeling so true
of grim death in moment so prime
until the birds vocalize your name
only then shall I not feel the disdain
Patience robs the clamouring chest
heels are still weary and cold in rest
and soon little birds send me tweets
by the dawn chorus of early birds' beats
shall one become happy and gay
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
The most gorgeous girl in the world,
I remember Pragya by her anonym,
Now all I have are her memories,
Yes they are sweet and delicious.
Real life angel she was my friend,
Each day in her company was good,
Memories of us smiling together,
Early riser she so inspired me,
Maybe she does not have time,
Busy she is too much for memories,
Regal used to be her elegant smiles,
Again I hope that I come across her,
No one is immortal but memories are,
Centuries ago maybe I had known her,
Every memory I can recollect sharply.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 1:37 AM UTC
I am at double Four-double Four
Thirty-Fourth Street,
I could use a lift of sorts.
I would like to remain nameless,
my condition certainly is not.
My being seems out of place;
I have tried to keep focused.
The last group of days
have blurred together;
meaning lessens by define.
A bent key, I hold in my hand,
the remnant of a jagged world
unfulfilled by expectation;
of which I no longer fit.
Learned techniques fail me.
I was given this number,
by a caring friend;
said it would lead me
to truthful people.
Deemed credible I choose.
How I have hope, which is never lost!
Without reluctance I continue -
to the recommended anonym auditor;
tranquility listens further
to me
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC