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marcos Jan 2017
I fell for the way the smoke uncurls. The way it unravels and dances in a montage of swirls. I fell for the way the smoke danced off your lips. And the way there was so much more to you than the movement of your hips. I fell for the lipstick you always wore. And the smile I could hear in your voice when I said I was at the store.

And I saw the way a garden bloomed in you. The way the buds showed all the colors from pink to blue. And I remember looking at you and feeling yellow. And I remember the way my legs all of a sudden felt like jell-o, simply at the sound of your "hello".

And it was you, you were the light that shined so bright. The only detail I care to remember about that night. You were the only shining star in the sky. And I remember thinking, I wouldn't mind being by your side. The girl of my dreams. Had me realizing life wasn't really as it seems. You see, that night I realized just so how hard a person can fall. They say the taller they are, the harder they fall, and I've never been so okay with standing tall.

I never was great at talking about the way I feel. Truth be told, there's just too many scars that time is taking too long to heal. I've been searching for the words to say in books and songs I've never heard about. Trying to keep my heart from bursting out. Of my chest yknow?

The rose that bloomed every time you smiled. The tulips that flourished every time you laughed. The thorns that pricked my fingers every time you cried.

You were a garden that only time could water. The LSD that dropped on the blotters. You were the Lucy that had me feeling wavy. Had me feeling like life was amazing. And thank god for her. Because now I don't feel pain as much as I've been hurt.

But I saw a flower bloom. And I think that the love I felt was true.
For and about someone who means a lot to me.
David Bojay Oct 2014
Wassup
Fluid moving
The dope game on hold nor I'm doing
School got me drooling
Took a break from lucy, wasn't funny like Louis
That focus got me back to grippin' the pencil
Working my mental
Normally numbers don't mean much to me unless the faces are green like what a vegan be eatin'
Lint rolling these ******* off my "Off The Wall"
Not looking unless she drops the weight off my jaw
No time for mascara
Clean faces my preference
Attraction an eye glance
No sentence
Branded linens is just an extra
Time worthy if she with it without Vera
No need for attention from others so why bother venting to ears that don't listen and dismiss it, like talking to air and waiting for comfort
Faced imaginary bullies in a duly, was never a runner
Fell out in the Summer due to the blotters
Moving away from irrelevants, cause time don't rewind so deleting some lines like massaging my vibe
Allergic to being second
Mindless moves
Intentions of a legend? Not really, I'm not J Lennon
Slowing things down without THC
The use is useless to me
Moon walking around triple D
Confusion leading to solutions of gun shot melodies
Is that the answer caused by envying the enemy?
I've made peace to a disease that didn't even exist
William A Poppen Jul 2019
So often he attempts
to change words
he has said.
Words that he says later
do not mean
what they convey

There will never be
enough blotters, or erasers
or black markers to cover all
that he would amend
or alter if possible

A secret disclosed
once redacted
becomes evidence
that he desires his words  
to remain unconfirmed

A secret is a secret
only if concealed,
totally hidden
and never unearthed

Redaction is an action
to revoke or nullify
words and actions that
may or may not be undoable
Another word of the day poem.
Terry O'Leary Jul 2021
The wrapes of Grath adorn the path that slammer klingks had tread
when turning spades in everglades to flosticate the dead.
Along the way the snorbels bay at freebled sprutelned
that boogeymen had once again uphove above the shed.

The buildings tall that housed the krawl are pictured carved in stone
and all that’s left is now bereft of wrapes that might atone
for scabs that feed our wrinkled breed, distraught and lying prone.
Yes, flonk replaces merpeled traces deep inside, alone.

There’s no retreat from incomplete, so durbies never dared,
but streaped instead beneath their bed with franjent fangs unbeared;
they knew the past could never last although the trumpets blared,
for doogies, stripped, were ill equipped, no longer bald or haired.

Like cavaliers with gougejent spears, well triggered for a tiff,
slank vankulures with silver spurs embussed for grimp and griff
(no question why, for “we can’t die”, the oft regleated riff);
with little fuss the blunder bus krunged glimpfly off the cliff
and fetid breet of grim defeat gave Grath its final whiff;
the catapult had one result, all life lay lazelled stiff.

The plastic waves that washed the graves, now homeland for the rutch,
though faring worse when quenching thirst with warples in the hutch
were nonetheless, as frunks confess, so pleasant to the touch
exturbing sinks that watered wynx and onetime life as such.

Like burning blotters slurping waters, skindles sipped their fill
from koozing cracks between the tracks inhumed beneath the hill,
then spawned the spores of Grathic wars that profit from the ****;
their victory tales, like crimson crails, reside in dung and dill.

Those scrilly clouds that cowed the crowds neath radiation snapes
left little less than watercress beneath their coffin’s drapes;
yes, those unborn cannot adorn the pallor of the prapes
so scrundlemun tinge bibberun, we ones who reap the wrapes.

Yes, now-abandoned hetzelspan were once in time embroiled
with merikained that firps extained until the weather roiled.
What more, perchance, can happenstance inflict upon the koiled
when pendlesnips are in eclipse and wrapes of Grath are soiled?
This [will be/has been] written in the future (3121 CE) by our evolutionary progeny (in the ruins left, after our apocalyptic demise) and [has been/will be] sent back to us as a warning, through a warped space-time wormhole.

But yeah, we won’t pay heed…

Note that ‘language’ [is/will be] different then… so it might sometimes be a little hard to understand...

(too much koolaid???)
brandon nagley May 2015
Bungalow bunkie,
Doth thou awaken or sleep to thy dust you accumulate?

Captious are one's these slothful ciggarrete nights!!!

Electrolight,
Come near that I may feel warmth,
As a child in early birth I seek forane high class milk,
Footlights on stilts do the the actors take high position!!
Not seeking the inefficient,
But the tower of Babel gone lost!!!!

Injurious kirtles are kinless,
Thy best friend is now friend less,
Due to thine own kindness!!!!

Lamb-kin darling,
Canst thou lance these burns to cuts?
For what's missing in the soot?
Lamenting chalice...

A king and a queens palace I'll die to live in,
For a smile and a grin cannot be weighed!!!

Hay/fever will take the fidelity of what's polite!!!

Damoclean of wintergreen,
Do you flatter by ones self?
Or doth thou Get help from dandering blotters!!!!

Intimate plotters of murderer's and lost hopes fun!!!
Chatoyant skin doeth I wish to feel once,
Where thy stage is real_,
No stunts!!!!!

Just reality of cavern lathered seducing!!!!

— The End —