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KitaRaizal May 2014
Quiet little place we be
Stoners
Druggies
Child Abusers
Alcoholics
And all

Quiet little place we be
12 miles away from
The main land
12 miles away from
Anything real

Quiet little place we be
Fun packed
With drug busts
Wild people
Banging around

Quiet little place we be
They call us the
Ghetto
Of
Limestone
I believe.

Quiet little place we be
Surrounded by
Idiots
Forest not
So dense

Quiet little place we be
where rent is
750 a month
I mean
Whos got time
For that

Quiet little place we be
To me
Drug central
Alcoholic assholes
Nosey people
Stuck up
Women
Why
Yes
I
Believe So.

~
Summer-Skye
English Teacher Had Us Do
A Poem About
The Place We Live In
So This Is It
And It To Have
Apostrophe In It
If You Understand That
CK Baker Jan 2017
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chip wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on the iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored shag
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped on gully goat
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
CK Baker Mar 2017
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green

field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and coon
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs

creepers fill
the red stone walls
coy wolf high
with a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent  
through a failed ground rock)

brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
crack their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail

12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawk floats
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
the colander row)

lavender roots fill
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is open, and wide
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
CK Baker Mar 2017
its amazing what we’re capable of
when pressed;
lunar launches
and shaman healing
hail marys
and fortunes of gold
heavy hauls
and broken borders
war, compassion
and treaties of peace

all those wild and lofty regressions from the mean;
soul re-settings
(from deadly deeds)
scores and scriptures
liberty and peace
walls, asylums
(in the jaws of defeat)
channeled spirits
of warmth
and love
and persuasion

and sometimes, it’s just a little fodder;
pyramids and viaducts
aqua-lines and chunnels
spider climbs
and deep dives
base jumps near the high wire
gardens and divine art
and even water boards
(for beauty is in the eye of the beholder!)
have a look around
and let gratitude be your guide
In the New Forest my Base had discovered
The Rites of Pannage those Back-Breakers do
Sows and their Cousins their Instinct recovered
Took a Year's Break from Storage and Stew
Which Proud Members chose Estovers on-edge
Then for Dessert from their Month's Turbary
A Better Concern than Motors bred at-stake,
A chance for their King to pay his Duty
So, my Conqueror, tell me that Ballad
Or must I force that Verderer to Sing
With Acorns, Truffles and all Nuts at-hand
Till he spits out the Seed which bore my Ring.
Tell you what. This Porker you just provide
I'll relish its Pudding and wear its Hide.
Tammy M Darby Jan 2016
Muffle echoing screams
Brush hot tears from heavy brown lashes
Falling from violent dreams

Kiss trembling lips lightly
When the monster comes
Till blackness permeated with pain
Flees from the rising sun

Caress oh so tenderly
The hesitant outstretched hand
Gaze upon the shattered being
The artwork of the species man


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M Darby
Tammy M Darby Dec 2013
Hell's demons are everywhere
If I could only convince you to see
Drinking gin and tonic with style
Sipping  haughtily on lemon and tea

Their evil frightening faces
Are hidden from human sight
As they pass you with indifference
Smiling
Moving left to right

However
Without warning
Growing hungry for souls
In the night
They gobble up foolish sinners they encounter
That disappear forever from sight

So the next time you go shopping
Take a second or two
Remember faces are not all they seem
A demon may be sipping a martini,
While sitting right next to you


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Johnny Noiπ Aug 29
Donald Trump never said
a single edifying thing, yet
has an avid following; wtf
are they following; nothing
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