Brody 3d
I walk into the gas station,
                             a hood covering my head,
                              I brandish my weapon.

                                     Time slows.
            
                       Sweat dripping down the cashier's neck,
                        tears and snot stream down his face,
                        the smell of urine fills the room.

                                   My finger slips.

                                        BANG!

          ­                              He drops,
                          Blood, bits of brain, and skull,
                         splattered on assorted cigarettes.

                          The air tastes like copper,
                           sirens scream in the distance,
               red and blue lights dance in the summer night.
Braxan Aug 2017
Flat Tire.
Phone Died,
Stormy Night.
Everything but the right shoe tied caught in the chains that hold our potentials back.
Pouring bits of hail down into a funnel into my minds wine glass, I observed that most people don’t see life without the phones light thought don’t get me wrong, it’s even difficult to be able to translate onto a marvelous canvas or chisele by a pick and hammer to sculpt these imperfections the exact and precise way mother nature intended for each and every single one of us to be though proving you otherwise is futile and with a lovely attempt in creating the universe, Judgement used one stroke and broke the mold in expectations of Perfection.
In the back of my mind.
s Oct 2017
I think it's been four hundred days
since that innocuous defining phase,
But that's if we were keeping count,
and if numbers meant a thing at all.

For isn't time just ornamental,
perhaps even incidental,
when the commodity is sentimental,
or like love, a hypothetical
fundamental ?

Same page?, I ask,
tying to gauge flipping thoughts;
As if I knew where
my book was marked.
But pages, I can dog-ear,
to hold onto a moment
that would otherwise disappear;

An excerpt that I can savour
many moons later,
when love turns to favour
and leaves
a bittersweet flavour.

It's today
I'm looking for,
among shuffling tenses
but the focal lenses
are blurring
And my words
are slurring
for I'm too close
to your near perfect nose,
to find a reason
for why we chose
this.

I'm afraid this poem has turned
into a rhythm & blue,
or maybe it's an untimely cue
to write that song about you and me -
One that's been due
for a month or three.

A nonsense rune
with an infectious tune;
in the four chord beat,
where the lyrics
unfailingly repeat.

A rhythmic monotony
of a romantic comedy -
a stanza about you,
and a chorus about me -
a few things kept true,
and some made up for story.

Something about
wine pink shirts
and warm maroon shawls,
with just a few words
about unsaved phone calls.
A yellow lamp here,
an airport kiss there.
a night spent in fear,
of doubting you'll be there.
A white wall washed
in cinematic glory;
Two kittens tossed in
to make trouble & pee.
And then a pre chorus
about card tricks and foreplay
and the time in the bus,
we talked about a good day.
A few bits borrowed
from the last rhyme I wrote
and that could be followed
by one even before;
For what could I say
that I haven't already proclaimed
in ten odd poems,
gushing with love, unashamed
The sudden rumbling startles me out of sleep
I open my eyes
All eight of them and scan my web
Mmmmm..three juicy bits all for me
They arent quite dead yet so i think i will wait for a while on them
Im not really hungry yet but i am curious
Curious as to what makes this rumbling sound happen
Maybe i will gather some ambition and investigate that shaft up in the corner of my new home
The one that warm breeze comes from everytime i get startled out of my slumber by the loud roar of this loud engine
Roxconscious Jun 14
So,
What exactly do you mean by clarity?
Is it a regression to depict its discretion of an incension
that seperates my charity, my humanity?
OR,
an Incension of my ascension that is a lesson
to pick at 'regression' to turn it, forward
prose justified in its sword to conform no order
to demand peace, in
slander no order slander no order slander no order
so we bring it, forward
in our discordance personified
an ocean of reserves but 'try this first' yet they don't,
realise
the subservient, midlife, christ-curse
they are under
its not what was requested
usurped whilst they rested, as they accepted the best bits and digested tea biscuits
but forgot to trust, lost belief in earth's crust,
having no knowledge left to transfer through to us
Yet forgiven in their flanks to try and to trust
as they bring out the keep calm carry on tshirts
that the Queen logo insists, really is humanity
and does exist, within this duality!
turning forward to what really is:
The universe......
I trust it surges within
without a doubt the earth's alive and it gives, so profiting from verse is now my perspective
Written 2016 by Roisin aka Roxie Rowland
G 22h
Grey lead bullets and pure white snow,
One side a swan on the other a crow,
They say one is evil the other is not,
But when committing a sin they both shall rot.

When bullets fall to the ground
Snow’s smattered with blood
Infecting,
Dissecting,
The small bits of good,
Throwing away the morality then
You pack up,
You go back,
And start war again
The Amazing Grace
Face
Place
Glance-dance

"Her Pleasure" Eiffel Kiss France
The lost place trance-spell-
You should see the look
on your face
*        *        
It wasn't her wishful thinking
Bringing her deep love the wishing well
  fuller up guilt tells the trips
Feeling lost but it turns Global
somehow it follows rose stem rural
Hard pillow but painful
The glow her words felt like a burn
His wicked candlelight so stern
smile concert rearranged

Too many heavy metals
Iron Clad Civil war deeply hanged
Something changed all deranged

Change of weather
England his hands are happy
needing more water to sprinkle
The happiest  time in London
Pub cheerful Lad star twinkle

I saw her standing there

Her friend was reminiscing
but lost some memories
Until an image appeared of him
she found herself

Pleasurable oneself she was
Wondering feeling the thunder
now as two cockpit rambler
Being lost on the shabby
chic shelf
The Greyhound those
Siberian Huskies with her
plaid hankies

The race is on those bookies
Growing and howling I was lost in his
Skydiving but I didn't see him
going down bits and pieces
The picture shows what a blow
falling for Autumny leaves
High price got low
Lost his smile that was my pleasure
Reaching
Stretching
The praying Mantis Rosary

How do I resume soup consume
Sipping his alphabet words
Always lost it said
Innocuous
Delicious Dove flight
Details of the lover wings
then there split in two lost
Like an experiment pleasurable host
They are strangers in the night-star
Or the economy of life went too far
Like the mosaic artsy wife

Being loved its drawn to you
The intense side
Sunnyside he's up erotic
The contrast comes closer
To their bodies hot
streaming intensity
Eyes lost with fragility
Lost in each other what hotties
Procreation

Lifted to the heights seduction
The lost pleasures images rounded
On the edge of
Ecstacy she is lost
but he was found
The mighty cool way of thinking in her
pleasurable fun wedges less
said without a sound
Not about apples and oranges
Sweeter and hotter but her lips got dryer
The lost painter the splash on her cheeks
Her sheer face lost inside the curtain
Her wetness arise on her lips
What high waves she had and
he the showstopper

Pleasurable but hot wilderness
her wildflower caves happy camper
So demure with an allure
The lost pleasure when you find
it the whipped cream she became the
Debutante what Suzette
Meeting her it was her pleasure
The hard teeth bite that bloody apple
crushed  it came
rolling down
the hill
She caught his jelly roll
His little bite burst her dream soul
Moving on with pain
how can we
meet our pleasure

Whats lost can be found freely
The taste is always there
The pleasure we try different
methods not always nutritious

Someone lost inside her delicious
Like the lost lobotomy

Of the Rite
This wasn't sex education of the
Deans list pleasurable digest
How it leaps up every year
Leap Year, not the frog to kiss
Finding love constitution
Follow me we are on our
next mission *
my pleasure what
are you waiting for?
Being lost in someone's love can be difficult  somehow it gets
harder to find our way every day  but the pleasure word is like a God and the pain word makes it painfully sad being lost is not something to take lightly add some fun the whip-cream and get to her pleasure of her cherries there are so many love theories
Braxan Jul 5
I am often not, losing from learning since when days play over I’ll be able to avoid patterns of blunders fit to a custom like an assortment of flannels worn like a tee
and if not, my balance these things; like the globe I’ve come to comprehend wouldn’t be so much of that which holds my spine up in place, when in due pace every single movement is monumental in retrospect of living in an anthill society. It isn’t much of a despair though merely as if my desires closed to a displaced or near fractured trust system yet, I’m digging each day for my ears to hear the work, sense the functions of my bones keep like a structure steadily firm, refusal to give up; like that of a beating heart with a rythm late off into the midnight morning,
with these ‘feels’ of this focused payoff.
When I’d wander,
If not for my mind; the importance of treasuring every chip and bits of the sort blend similarly when my hand gets stuck inbetween the seams of the transparent cookie jar.
If not for my brain I wouldn't seem to be able to persevere though the fatigue that is a burning side of wielding a double edged mentality such to captivate a perfected poem..
If not for the things that I have said, maybe then a few things wouldn’t be so the same. If not, my..
Oh my, if not for drowning and the need to breath I’d swim to Netherlands to thank you Struve for saving me that Chicago day. Fore what doesn’t kill you certainally makes you stronger.. I belief you believe as well.
Caro 4d
I can still feel the pavement beating my feet,
Little bits of earth and water and worms between my toes.
I can feel the warm summer rain on my upper lip,
I can feel my hands splashing in the creek with this little man to be beside me.
I can feel wet hair on my forehead.
I can feel how tall those trees were above us.
Us.
How fucking lovely.
To go through childhood with a partner.
Someone to follow and imitate.
It’s that warm summer rain, our motivated, pounding feet, the slosh of mud and water, the scratch of twigs and sticks, clothes soaked and smiling.
Brotherhood.
Though I am your sister. I like to think that in those times, I was your brother too.
Maybe I showed you a sliver of what it is to have you.
Never in a million years would I give up the sweet sensation of these memories.
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