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Robert Hunter Oct 2015
Fluffy *****
No stress, no care
Cutie-patootie
Koala Bear
Marsupial justice
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
Walking and saying
Things our wellbeing
The soul needing love possessions
Have absolutely no meaning

Playing and praying
Overstaying and Under-paying
Rising sun and Symphonic searching

" Is this the way it is?" Tis the season

But the tightness no business like
searching business
  She is combined and mixed like a song
fully lined both with keynotes somehow
we declined
The feeling that you cannot breathe
or  trust both of us
 we can  bearly **** it all in
My music playing just click my belt buckle
Will start to begin

The soul is not a crime or just a rhyme
I barely cannot breathe
I am in a chuckle, you see his
smile raising up his dimple

Ms. Thumbelina cobblestone
narrow-minded street your
in the tightrope symphonic beat

But its dark outside your ringlets
Waved him on got excitedly mesmerized
His Goblet of wine she curls up in
his body heat brilliantly dazzled
The sky to your dreams he is
reaching your
soft side skin
whats actually within
our souls

So  hooked into your ride not to slide
better grades and goals
The awesomeness symphonic hatter
Victorian divineness
Her paper cut out hearts as real
as they come
The Eastside Symphonic tip of his
Heavenly Bliss private Quarters
What becomes of the broken hearted
Heads or dimes not landing on her stone
Floor heart
The Duke of all trades of the hat he's smart

Cool running ******
Addictions to the mind so fanatic
What a good soul sometimes
He overexaggerates about
love and fate darkness drives him demonic
What are you kidding me
She doesn't rest her heart on his
soul for the burning desires of food
for thought
She keeps piling his poems like any sport
He's her everything she learns to be taught

Searching lips pricing
Red bloodshot eyes of crying onions
She is so fierce controlling
Musically like a Tiger roaring
He is like a design of graphics tattoo
The earring piecing the sweetest taboo

More soul searching
She's the snake purse
to his snake eyes fancy,
he took a ride
Upper-false teeth
The upper west side
have some prideThe dark side
became her thing
The wildflower not to stand to
bloom and bang like her band

Westside sounds came deep
his pride and joy like a parade
and wickedly dark his charade

It was  sneaking up on her backside
And the other side was just hiding
and smiling
She definitely saw the light lamp post how
the smells came stronger the darkness of desire
she was famished not to have vanished

Feeling like a *** roast love continued
She had a gift for her lover, not the
toast who would brag to boost
Two ****** British what
divine glasses at a cost
The symphonic soul
captured them like the
Dark-Knight of words
Symphonic sounds came
hearing names
soulful hummingbirds buzz-net

And there weren't any more
words there was silence
Eating shepherds pie table was set

Taking over another soul that's a lie
just like magic searching for a love
so long ago became tragic
You need more perseverance
Her true love gave her
an incredible sixth sense
of deliverance
The top seat at the concert
classical wicked taste of music
candescent erotically sonic

She had this certain quality
He was a symphonic love bounty
Her lips moved so fitting fantastically
The flower shops caught her eye
She couldn't sense what was real or a lie
The fast pace of the people all worked up.
What a soulful smell music sounds
she faintly known

To her ear wanted to hear only him shown

Besides the faintly illuminated
shapes evergreens were
heartily trimmed
She stood out bright as the ground
She was turning gray losing reality
not to be found or heard
So soulful her lips speak
she was walking with her head up
in the air fancy dancey
How those men could speak.
You could smell all the ethnic
flavors of foods
She felt the search for something
of a Saint, she was trying to
hard to be good
What a Haydn, his wife
was the mad hair driving

Miss Daisy soul of hers crazy curled
inside her book
She's the lady-like curler
How he played through her hair
Hunchback of Notre Dame who was to blame?
How his eyes wondered playing
and observing
But she was holding his stare

like a womanizer and his eyes flew
what a haunting moon
But Samatha the harp shady tree
He said, my fair lady,
He's stringing something together

What! creepypasta but sometimes her powers were weak
The symphonic love potent every other week

Some Gothic man symphonic music started
Playing Rossini Opera he could stand on his head.
She was pinned to his eyes
Pinterest such interest
she was all bloomed like a fly

By witches, flower came he passed her and he knew exactly who she was as is but wait not his?
The pleading the beg humbug far from her tunes of the ladybug

Razzamatazz all body of Jazz jitterbug
He winked she-devil
summoned him on
What a binding spell
She wiped the sweat off her face
She was beautiful with pale
porcelain skin
So alluring walking
with her parasol
This is my darkness of a read I hope you enjoy flowers even if they perk you up if they are the darkness stay alive to bloom there will always be a flower like you
Love
watch sunsets
have snowball fights
sleep in
be unproductive
curl up with tea and a good book
***** ***,
make love
savor a good meal
goof off
be kind
shuffle your feet in the leaves
to hell with diets
dance in the rain
howl at the moon
be grateful
pinch your partners ***
Life is short, kiss slowly
flirt
love your love handles
be compassionate
play with children
comfort the elderly
nurture the sick
hug bearly
be alive
mk Nov 2015
she sat on the beige satin couch
looking down at her feet
which were designed with intricate patterns made of mehndi
her nails painted a light pink
a color much like the subtle blush on her cheeks
she was fair, but not pale,
she had a shine to her, a glow
her face was hidden for the most
with a white lace dupatta
like the midnight moon hidden behind translucent clouds
most of her hair was tucked neatly away
except the loose strand which rested on her forehead
a curl, the color of sweetened caramel
soft, delicate; and ever so sweet
she brushed it back with her small hands
but it bounced right back, falling on her face
she looked up, slightly titling her head towards the light
the way sunlight hit her eyes made you want to never look away
oh, her eyes
lined with kajal, they stood out
the kind of eyes you could find yourself getting lost in
hazel and green- with specks of yellow and blue
there was a universe within those eyes
like the rainforest after a summer sprinkle
lush, pure, mesmerizing
but they were quickly hidden once more
as she delicately pulled the dupatta closer to her face
and smoothed down the crease in her silk kameez
her movements were entrancing
you could not look away
the more you looked, the more you craved to catch one more glance
gentle, soft, kind
never in a rush
you couldn't help but imagine what it felt like to feel her touch
the only words we heard her speak
was right when the sun began to set
and the orange-red rays reflected in the pearls around her neck, the only jewelry she wore, yet enough to adorn her
her puckered mouth opened softly
and she was bearly audible as she spoke
her voice like honey: sweet & melodious
if she never stopped speaking, you'd never stop listening
she spoke with a tender sort of confidence & surety
*"qabool hai, qabool hai, qabool hai"
nikkah is the official marriage ceremony for muslims. here's what i've always imagined a bride in an eastern nikkah to seem like. the whole image is rather enchanting, i must say.
-
mehndi: henna
dupatta: shawl often worn by women in the east
kajal: kohl
kameez: shirt
qabool hai: i do
Jackeline Chacon Aug 2015
So this the story of
My childhood lane
I remember it clear
Nothing but pain

" You're so fat"
I was always told
I was living misery
Just nine years old

I starved myself
I got underweight
Got used to it all
For I never ate

Everyone noticed
Thought I was fine
I was really sick
And bearly nine

No one ever helped
No one ever knew
All the starvation
And lies I could do

They all assumed
I was naturally thin
Little did they know
What I have been

Continuously ill
To this very day
I can't recover
I'm not okay
grumpy thumb May 2019
The restful breath of her slumber
bearly fluttering
above a whisper
accompanying the elevation and swoop
of her serene body
in steady rhythmical harmony
is something
I just had to write about
Lowkie Nov 2020
-
She said she had a lot of baggage
Running from things she's been avoiding
Since a young age
I told her we were in the same boat
I'm also trying to stay afloat
-
Few days later I was her favourite
Late night calls and early texts
Those park dates were best
Surrounded by a crowd but it feel like
It was just the two of us
We would bearly notice the rest
-
I said with you I don't feel alone
And that my feelings for came like a cyclone
Maybe I came in too strong
But I felt weak after she said
I feel like that too
But we should keep it in the friendzone
-
Lowkie ®
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,   

Nostrils whine in the fall.   
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.   
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2013
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2014
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2013
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Veronica Jul 2016
It hurts me to know that you dont desire me anymore
That you do anything to dodge my love
Like when i hug you and you roll your eyes
Or when i ask for a kiss, you bearly even put your lips against mine

I hate this and it hurts me inside
You think i dont notice this because i try to act like nothing is going on
But i do, i could feel that cold kiss you give me
Not meaning nothing at all
It feels like a peer pressure empty kiss upon mine
When i hug you and i ask you to hug me back
I know that hug is force and i feel emptiness all around
Where did all this feelings you had towards me go?
Where did all the love you had for me go to?
I sometimes think either you got tired of me
Or maybe you got a side chick
I try my best to bring our back love
But sometimes i think why am i the only one?
Love only grows between two not one
All i ask is if you dont want me
To please let me know
Joyce Feb 2016
We collide in this
world we're living.
Time stops as we see each other.
Everything moves in slow motion.
Your eyes hide an emotion.
My heart overflows.
My brains lose all signals.
My hands are trembling.
My heartbeat is racing.
My voice is shaky.
Knees are feeling weak.
I can bearly speak.
This is what you
do to me.
It should be illegal.
How you take control
over all my senses.
The passion I feel within.
Your are my majestic wings.
I will never forget.
My beautiful sin.
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2012
Grizzled-brown sound of tuba walking,
            In the way of circles you wobble step, inverse,
                        As does a broken waltz, bearly graceful.

You sniff your way a crush alpine meadows
            And making sense for you are lowly berries,
                        Rude as any intruder might be in the foothills

Of the Gods.  'More wine for the great Polyphemus,'
            Say the drunk brambles, brighty doomed sailors
                        All a wash by behemothing jaws which hang

Them over.  Yet Ursa, if in minor you must play
            By the cosmos' stilted view, great major, it is they
                        Who glare more distant, as if you really cared.
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2012
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,   

Nostrils whine in the fall.   
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.   
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Robert Guerrero Oct 2013
I walked ten thousand miles
In the many years
I've joined hands with my insanity
Walked hand in hand
Like shadows and feet
Grasping a new perspective on the instance
That reality is just a fictional world
We lose ourselves in
Where is the real you?
Is that truly you in the mirror
Or the reflection of the world
Taken it's tole on your weary bones
Fragile shapes bearly holding a grin
I've walked so many beaten paths
Beaten so many paths
Bean beaten by paths
Yet still find myself walking
Down the only path
Covered by thorns and barbed wire
One way in no way out
It's the path we all walk unknowingly
The path of our own troublesome sanity
Ashley Feb 2017
She kept herself tucked away and far away from life.
She knew life was far from good but still she tried to stay awake.
Screaming, they were screaming loud and clear " stupid little girl no one cares!"
No one knew what went on in her head.
No one knew why she felt this way.
All they saw was her eyes losing its life and her voice losing its cheer.
They took it all away.
They took her privacy away
And he took her mind away.
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2012
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Death-throws Mar 2015
some people think about their poetry
I know many do,
to make sure the  the 3rd and 4th rhyme
to make sure all there lines sing in time
But I have no time for that
Im thousands of years old but bearly 17
so ill blurt
and ill slur
and ill cringe
and ill howl
and ill snip
and ill snap
and splurt
and curse,

I'll walk my fingers to the key board and take of their leashes,
let them run wild in the dog park of my sanity
my ramblings,
they don't need any s
                                      t
                       ­              r
                                   u
                                  c
                           ­          t
                                       u
                                          r
                   ­                          e, nor do my sentences need to make sense
why would I conform To YOUR insanity
when I have my own band brewing like a bathtub bomb
Nothing I say needs to work as hard as my hands do
nothing I need to do should feel as heavy as the souls i carry in my
broken-strapped-bad-backed-back-pack
my alliteration literally doesn't need to alliterate its meaning
and I'm so Tired of Ideas being steam pressed into my head by the maid
that runs this mad house
you'll need to use your hands to eat this poem , I've turned the cutlery
into toy soldiers and their currently occupied in overseas service
so dig into my mind
ill open the front door for you just please remember before you
scoop out my brain
w
  a
   s
    h

       y
         o
           u
             r

                 h
                   a
                     n
                       d
                           s
    
*LG
DIG IN
alisi olelagi Apr 2015
You know what?
I love you.
I was just stupid and scared.  
I didn't want my heart to be shattered.
I didn't want to feel the pain.
I should have listened when you said you were mine.

When you thought I wasn't serious,
we went our separate ways.
I heard you got someone new.
My heart fell, how could you move on so fast?
I could bearly think straight.
But I learnt to accept your choice of moving on.

I rid myself of you.
But you.
You crawled your gracely self back into my life and asked why I removed you.
I lied and said I pressed the button by accident.  
If only you knew that looking at you just hurts.

Days go by and I still keep track of your little stories, here and there.  
After her,
Still none new?
I like to think that you are waiting for me
but I know it isn't true.
A girl can dream right?

There will always be a place in my heart that belongs to you.
I would take you back without a moment of hesitation and treat you right cause I was fool in other people's games and demise.
To the relationship that could have been heaven but I messed up.
Erin Johnson Apr 2019
You see there is this girl
she is tall
pretty
stylish
nice
caring
talented
kind
smart
amazing
She's­ perfect,
well for me.
You see,
we bearly talk,
rarely see eachother
but i'm in love
with this girl..
This amazing girl.
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2013
Grizzled-brown sound of tuba walking,
            In the way of circles you wobble step, inverse,
                        As does a broken waltz, bearly graceful.

You sniff your way a crush alpine meadows
            And making sense for you are lowly berries,
                        Rude as any intruder might be in the foothills

Of the Gods.  'More wine for the great Polyphemus,'
            Say the drunk brambles, brighty doomed sailors
                        All a wash by behemothing jaws which hang

Them over.  Yet Ursa, if in minor you must play
            By the cosmos' stilted view, great major, it is they
                        Who glare more distant, as if you really cared.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
S Smoothie Nov 2013
my designs for you don't match your own
A telling tale of how far we've grown.

My lovely lines
all tangled and torn
yours won't bend or dip in time
too irregular for mine

Please don't design yourself around me any more
I confess; my heart lines are all messed!
I can bearly breathe I'm so tense
you don't take the care to give the freedom I do
my arches lay bare for you to go through
But You
reach right in and tie me in knots
its not the first time you forgot.

please don't draw your designs on me
they tangle me up so
don't choke me, please no,
I don't want to go.

Reaching for you has become a chore
more tangles and crossed lines than before

time to draw the line in the proverbial sand
Though you and I will still hold hands

please dont tangle me up any more
I promise not to too either I assure,

let's just draw our designs on either side
holding hands following the same line
and let the windy trails twist them up
as we leave them to mingle and twine.
I'll stay yours and you'll stay mine
and weave our way into a grand new design!
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2013
Grizzled-brown sound of tuba walking,
            In the way of circles you wobble step, inverse,
                        As does a broken waltz, bearly graceful.

You sniff your way a crush alpine meadows
            And making sense for you are lowly berries,
                        Rude as any intruder might be in the foothills

Of the Gods.  'More wine for the great Polyphemus,'
            Say the drunk brambles, brighty doomed sailors
                        All a wash by behemothing jaws which hang

Them over.  Yet Ursa, if in minor you must play
            By the cosmos' stilted view, great major, it is they
                        Who glare more distant, as if you really cared.
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
She bearly made it Through the day
Now in the car and on her way
Trying to hold back the tears till she's at home
But as she starts to drive and think the tears start to roam
Hard to drive vision blurry
Press on the gas pedal, in a hurry
She just wants to be locked into her room
She feels the end is coming soon

When he meet her he knew she was scarred and broken
But love, hope, and dreams where spoken
She started to belive again
To her it was more precious than a lottery win
They talked and Skyped
Way into every night
She started to look forward to the day
It had been years and years since she had felt that way
She wore a happy face instead of a frown
Because love had FINALLY been found

Four months latter on her way home he sent to text
She was driving she couldn't check
The third he sent said I know you seen them won't be played like that
She read that and it took her aback

Just like that he deleted her out of his life
Just like that she was in worse agony and strife
The cruelest thing he could ever do
To give love to the unloved, hope to the hopeless, dreams to the one that had given up on them, then call it through
With no rhyme or reason, no closer
One minute in heaven, then ****, it was over

Now she roboticly gets through the day
So she can go home and lock herself away
In her room she hugs her pillow, and drenches it in tears
She cries into it so no one hears
Just how her heart has been crushed to dust
For she had given him more than just trust
She had laid herself bear to him, had even dared to dream of a happy future
But now her arms and legs need sutures

Because she tried to let the pain out
It didn't work not even when she tried to shout
For she had seen the light
It had been so bright
It had felt so right
Now the darkness is darker than ever
They will never be togeather
The deepest agony is she don't know why
For years you will only see her cry
Locked in her room, away from it all
Only the razor to her now calls
edwill makamu Apr 2016
After all the effort I kept
I tried so hard to let her know,
let her understand how I feel
And she was kind, yet showing interest
She made me fall deep, deeper, deep, deeper

When all she really wanted is friendship
Yet she kept it a secret
I'm sure she was unaware this could hurt me in future
Not until when I left her with no choice but to utter something

If I knew I wouldn't have pushed,  
but I was convinced we are walking the very same paths
Surely her answer caused me nothing but trauma

And I realised she can't even consider my feelings
How can I stand beside her?
Will I ever hug friendly greetings?
will I ever shake hands without intending to kiss goodbye?
This gonna be hard to just ignore and adapt to friendship

How can I be friends with a girl I bearly love?
Love sometimes is so stupid and selfish
How can it be such a lier?
Sometimes I wish love can just be saying I love you,  
but it is more than that.

The moment I set my eyes on her and she stare back
The first time we conversed
I was so convinced she's in love too
I was convinced the only thing left is nothing but consensus

But then it turned out with disapointment
"I'm not ready for love friendship of course is great to meditate" (she said)
Just for console, when I realise I'm stuck in these feelings
I pitched, you can take all the time you need to be true with yourself,
simply like I'm fine by it when I really am touched.
Being in love with someone who who don't feel the same, when they look at you, they see you as a friend.
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2015
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Seán Mac Falls May 2017
.
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Seán Mac Falls May 2015
Grizzled-brown sound of tuba walking,
            In the way of circles you wobble step, inverse,
                        As does a broken waltz, bearly graceful.

You sniff your way a crush alpine meadows
            And making sense for you are lowly berries,
                        Rude as any intruder might be in the foothills

Of the Gods.  'More wine for the great Polyphemus,'
            Say the drunk brambles, brighty doomed sailors
                        All a wash by behemothing jaws which hang

Them over.  Yet Ursa, if in minor you must play
            By the cosmos' stilted view, great major, it is they
                        Who glare more distant, as if you really cared.
Star Gazer Feb 2016
If you were to ask me if I was really happy?
I would ask you, do bears **** in the woods?
I'd bear out my soul,
Tell you I'm feeling whole,
But one word will say it all,
****.

Now I smile a lot but it's a different smile,
Not a facade, a smile I haven't had in a while,
But they bearly notice,
It's all been so grisly,
But I will now bear out my soul,
And tell you that I am feeling whole.

Do bears **** in the woods?
GRAWWWW! Thats a bear noise,
Thank you for bearing with me,
But we bearly know each other,
So I just have to ask you one more question,
Do bears eat bearries?
Haha
Star Gazer Jul 2016
It had watched
her grow in a way
that a horticulturist
watched its own
creation sprout
and blossomed.
She had grown
like a rose; filled
with her own
thorns upon herself
that only came
to hurt others that
got too close but
in her own way,
beautiful.

Before every sunrise
It had opened its eyes
with a clank, like a coin
rattling inside a coin-
filled purse.
It was there to provide
the ambience of peak-
hour traffic; "Get off the
******* road you
******* lunatic. Where'd
you learn to ******* drive?"
would be the sound
that she woke up to every
morning. She has had
guests comment on its
vulgarity; but she defended
that it soothed her every
morning, and though
it was a recording
projected from speakers;
guests and visitors,
would denounce 'it'
as well as refute their
acceptance of 'it'.
She would gently tell it;
you're the best alarm,
and if she did not get up;
it would pull on her arm,
so she was always
moving in accordance to
her schedule.

She had been an orphan;
She still exists and lives,
as an orphan with her
orphan blood running
through her bloodstream;
and those who never
could understand what
it was like to be an orphan
would mutter "so you don't-
have a mum or dad, so what
it's not a big ******* deal;
it ain't like you're going to
be successful even if you did".
So came every night, though
the moon glowed upon her
pretty little face, she had
tears stream down her cheeks
that would reflect the moon's
gentle glow against her.
In a hollow home, nay!
In a hollow house, she
felt as though her sanity
was only stored by the whirring,
the buzzing, the sound that
mimicked a refrigerator from a
time before refrigerators were
considered 'in need of perfecting'.
On every night, it would read to her,
'as a mommy and daddy would'; she'd
use to say. Though it never had
an exciting tone and only ever
spoke in a monotonous way, she said
it had the mechanisms of being
the perfect parent a parent should
pursue to be.
It would read, every night 'Goldilocks
and the three bears' and though she had
grown up and grown old, it would
continue to read the same book and edition
as she had wanted. To her, listening to a
story was less to do with the story but
more to do with the comfort and reminder
that there is normalcy in her life that
mimics those of the child she had envied
at school. It would always after the
monotonous reading of 'Goldilocks
and the three bears', would include
a joke; "Do you wonder why the bears
had beds? I bet they bearly slept on them",
and though the joke was told a couple
thousand times, she had always giggled
at it's little joke. In the night, It would
close it's eyes, clank.

On one evening, she had invited a
male friend over for the night, it
would stand steadily still, inoperable
until commanded by her. It never
understood her connection to the
male friend, but it wasn't built to
understand. It watched as her mouth
connected to the male friend, it was
built with a action deciphering sequence,
so it determined that she was giving
him Cardiopulmonary resuscitation in a
standing position due to her lack of training.
It continued to let off its whirring sound,
an ordinary day ambient to her ears, but not
so much for her male friend. Her male friend,
in a quick procession of pushing her lips away to
saying "YOU'RE A FREAK. why do you have a
killing machine in your house?" He stormed out
before she even had a chance to explain its role
in her life.

In a stern and loud voice she screamed
'I want you to die!' and it responded in a gentle
voice, "what colour did you want to dye it?",
"******* and die!" she shouted with a flaring red face.
It did what it always does, responded to every command;
"There is no king here. That is an impossible request. Do
you have any other queries?" it had said in the most gentle
and softest voice that seemed almost like a whisper had it
not been monotonous. She shouted once again,
"DIE!" and as routine, it responded "A die is a cube
fitted with numbers to arrange a probability situation.
The sample space of a die is one to six".

She, tired of hearing it, muttered the words that
her late billionaire parents and maids regarded
as taboo; "PERMANENT TERMINATION!
EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY! I don't need you,
I have a cell phone, it does all that you do."

'My job is done'
Said the android
As it closed its eyes
One final time.
**Clank
Zay Bliss Apr 2014
There will always be that one moment in life when ask yourwelf those fateful questions, "What is my Purpose, how can I find it"?

Ramanticism reached beyond beyond,
Darkening and lightening the world,
But it wasn't a purpose that i had written down it was my feelings that i had referled.
Just my emotions Drawing in others and making a subsequential bond.
It was either happy or sad i had blindly written down,
But it was not a purpose, for this I longed.
So I was nothing but determined to search for mine,  I was lost in a realm of blank,
For a purpose deep down I needed to find.
Endless nothingness, as if alone at last, to find my purpose before my time come to pass.
So lost, and still wanderingg, even from the highest reaches, There was no purpose in sight,
I even went deep down inside myself and challenged my nightmares to a fight.
Still lost if not even deeper in the darkness of the pit,  soon approaching destination point and my burdens making me deadly sick, I will not dig my grave, and I cannot need help, it is me who must rescue myself, find my purpose and then be saved,
Not taken by any other or anyone else, if so, failed accomplishements, I will be internally graved.
  Ive fallin, to deep, to dreary, to steep, nearly succumbed to defeat.
When all seemed gone and I was forever lost, it approached me and seemed fragile, bearly to be ceased, almost nothing was there to permit. When I was lost in a search, it was there, fading and just wanting to live.
I realized it isnt me who needed to find my purpose.
It was my purpose who needed to find me to exist.

                            Without you there is no purpose.
Angel Escobar May 2014
Its amazing how the heart works.
Every time I see you I get butterflies.
Every time I see you its like I'm seeing you for the first time.
Every time I see you I get lost in your beautiful eyes.
Every time I kiss you I know it has a meaning.
Our love has a meaning.
You tell me how much you hate your body, but in reality I feel in love with the way you are.
I wasnt judging your appearance, I was falling in love with your personality.
My heart tells me to fight for you, care for you, and love you.
You're special.
I love telling you how much I love you and expressing to you why.
Its amazing how it feels like we're bearly going out.
Yeah we have our downs, but I don't think about what to do with my head, I think with my heart.
My heart has helped me a lot.
In the past it has been hurt but you showed me how much you care for it, how much you love it.
My heart is pumping blood through my veins just to be able to see you.
I love the way you are.
I love you, all you.
Love exist everywhere, just take a chance and look for it.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i've got white skin, and yellow teeth;
he's got black skin, and ivory white
dentures... schmile!
   man... i'm jealous,
and if i said this with enough pioneer
passion in Kentucky...
  i'd be deep-frying my own genitals
        to boot...
   but i ain't... so i'm bound to simply
smear my face with clown make-up
and have a jolly good time...
it's the right time to pretend to be scary,
people are getting too ******
with their use of language...
      better still: it's about time someone
became scary, i preferred people when they
were bearly literate... when they were
barely literate, i didn't recieve this
pulverisation of ****-by-image...
      i didn't need to see this iconoclasm
of words, there was no copyright gimmick
included...
         but i really am... jealous...
black kid with a perfect set of ivory,
  white boy and yella chew...
               i find horror every time i see
a white boy sell me a window frame and he grins
at me like some african... and i''m just waiting for
me to disappear into a dark tunnel...
with eyes closed, and mouth stitched-up and later
asked to open his eyes, and smile...
   what a freak show!
              mind you, i am a newcomer in using
this tongue... i speak what i find...
         i'm just really jealous that black boy indie
has ivory in his chew, and i have yella...
milk teeth... i'm a bit tired that i have nothing
beautiful to offer... that my milk teeth can't talk
baby talk of innocence... that my hair colour
in abhorred... apologies for the fatigue...
     at least the Holocaust happened like
a guillotine... or hanging someone... snap of the neck,
quick... this history of slavery is really boiling
over into a tedium... i don't have the stomach for it...
   at least the history of the Holocaust happened
quickly, there was no grand pyramid to construct...
and so is the history of slavery...
                          it's dragging on and on, and on...
it doesn't ever stop!
                  will i regret writing this? no, not really...
i'm already doping myself with sleeping pills,
my conscience is corrupt to say the least,
   i just one horror more profound than the other,
the unnantural look of white people smiling
their ivory chew...
i can't look at white people with perfect dentures...
  i just get the creeps, shiver like i might be
hiding the corpse of my dead mother in the attic...
i don't know, something creepy...
     and at a time when every use of
language is made political in the western world...
when we live in a time of en mass literacy
that we had to accept the game of politics without
a viable gain of the game being played...
when we are literate and are unable
to say anything about art, when art degenerates
into geometry... i'm still jealous about
the choc with his perfect ivory grin...
  and me... acne prone, anemic and with yella teeth...
at least i can say:
    befriend the language of your enemy...
      friends are covert ponces anyway,
well, the so called friends...
                          oh i feel no need to *****-prance
should a Judas come my way...
      i've got pig-skin and yellow teeth like a cannibal...
and we live in a time when choc-boy with his
pristine ivory gets celebrated... and the post-colonial
society is really so in need of the end to its narrative...
esp. when compared to the Holocaust, which
ended so quickly that it already has its memorium diem
/ memorial day...
      a story that also involes the Aztecs
and the conquistadors... and how we see
the Sioux in Dakota... choc-boy over 'ere won't stop
dunking that rubber *******!
           it really does sound so much more effective
to be coming from a culture where the Holocaust happened...
people have a chance to move on... no one
is trapped in this perpetual nostalgia...
     they really did reinvent zoology and the zoo
with the Sioux... the sacred lands...
                      the pipe-line... it really is a new kind
of zoology...  and this is the bit where i tell you:
i'm not laughing. i've got white skin and yellow teeth...
  and i'm afraid of people that have white skin
and ivory teeth...
            then again, they fear me because i invoke
the idea of cannibalism...
    but that's a o.k., i've taken the catholic communion
in church...
                     a bite there won't mean anything
if i take a less poetic bite elsewhere.
yum yum frenzy... i can't believe western society
is being cleansed to reach the pinnacle of only pronoun
association, a complete lack of noun invigoration...
     and that pronoun hook is being torn about in an ****
game of st. thomas' account of a trans-gender movement
that happened 2000 years ago...
and was buried for the equivalent amount of time
in some ****-hole in the Egyptian desert...
then there's the language of the internet...
with the champions of emoticon and acronym...
which i don't get, i see it as merely
    the inability of writing computer code translated
into pop speak...
                a case of trying to imitate
the complexity of writing code...
                            translated into something i
didn't spend much time trying to decipher...
lol... :)... etc.
                         the holocaust really is like a guillotine...
abolishing slavery and the current american
history is a bit like the execution of mary queen of scots...
it took the executioner about three takes with
axe to chop her head off...
   what do you mean where do we go from there?
i thought that was made clear, with
space travel? oh wait... maybe we ensured
science fiction really does out-pace the actual science...
call it the Zeno affair...
science-fiction being the tortoise...
  science being the Achilles.
     i am conscious of the fact that i might have
said some awful things in my delirious trance....
but excuses are the joker cards in this demise...
       the facts remain rigid...
funny how you made the same effort in reading this
as i made the same effort in writing it...
  and how there was no kamikaze bashing of the head
against the free-ride of using a machine to
encode this... and that we became mutually inclusive,
and excluded the free-rides of the likes of
a you-tube video... or should i say:
  now that i have you full attention...
i'll end the diatribe against no one except myself,
pursuing yet another waking hour to meddle with something,
akin to this: the principle of res vanus,
given that we live in a time of the cartesian inversion,
where people really have to associate themselves with
something, that they need to label themselves as so-and-so...
to call themselves feminists or atheists...
   to stress the "i am", but barely remember
that they also possess an "i think"...
               safe to say, finding god can be as hard as
finding (the) "i think" in man.
Pauline Morris Jul 2017
I'm counted among the fortunate few
That gets to see the magnificent  things I do
Extraordinary eyes that can see
The pitch black holds so much glee
Owls wings reflect the moons glow
It's sent silently to deliver wisdom to our souls
Listen closely, it's the nightingales sweet breath
She's singing loud but soft of tender love and of sweet death
I'm one of the few allowed to see
The turtles lay their eggs then return to the sea
Up on the mountains near the top
I watch the panther make it a rabbits last hop
Don't be blue, sad or cry, it's the cycle of this life
Furry cubs survive, cutting through flesh with teeth like knives
Look real close in that darkened sky
You'll bearly see the bat's fly by
I can see the wind as it blows the limbs
Every mighty trees is it's victims
I'm the shadow man, I am the One That sees
Everything in the night that plays so free
If your ever up in the late, late night
Keep your eyes open wide, of me you might catch a sight

©Pauline Russell
Anya Dec 2018
Awkward smiles
We try
Ha, ha, ha
Act like it’s all good
Touching the surface, greatly scratching, bearly a ripple
We easily avoid it, the clean, smooth, pristine surface
Skirt around disturbing it’s placed waters
Skirt around saying what really needs to be said
Instead we laugh, and smile
Weaving a masterpiece
Of our own

Some may blame this course of action but,
What if we do disturb the sleeping lion
What then
What then?
Are we afraid of
Our perfect facade
Perfect visage breaking
Shattering into millions of tiny pieces
Too small to reattach

“But if it’s broken can’t you just fix it?”
“How, Sweetie?”

“My mommy always puts a band aid on my boo boos”
“But it’s not a boo boo, it’s completely broken.”

“Then why don’t you just build it again?”
“How?”
“With legos! That way it’ll be taller and even better!”



Ha,
Ha, ha, ha, ha
Sometimes the answer is right there

— The End —