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thelemonpolice Jul 2018
What a pretty holiday
I wish that I had gone
But did you know that all they did
was post it on their phones?

What amazing friends they have
I wish that I had more
but actually these people have just met
and are a bore

What a funny club night
I feel left out again
Well maybe its another way
to drown out all the pain

What a lovely boyfriend
He bought her lovely gifts
but do you know that hes repaying
her for all his sins?

Pretty pretty wedding pictures
for everyone to see
did you know he sometimes
"accidentally" makes her bleed

happy shopping family
filling up a cart
did you know the parents
can't grow love in their hearts?

Happy, smiling faces
I wonder what they've seen
and why they have to force a smile
on pictures on this screen

Lovely posing woman
why do you hold your breath?
How many pictures did it take
to make you look your best?

Is it worth it? Is it needed?
to get approval from your 'friends'?
Are we worthy? Are we needed?
does it matter end?
Wow thank you so much for all the attention of this poem. It really means a lot. If you liked this, check out my YouTube channel too https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pjcwyTocBqI ❤️
MeanAileen Mar 2017
I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that's getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I'm no sucker.
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold.
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don't care.
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled.
I am spontaneous and I am a bore,
forever forgiving, I still keep score.
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise.
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of glass, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind.
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused.
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
a habitual liar just keepin' it real.
I am witty and weird and mean-
I am what I am.......100 Aileen.
A lil bit about who I am...
Inside out May 2014
Nosey people annoy me
Pompous people bore me,
Pretentious people irritate me
Whilst drunk people irrigate me.
Opinionated people grate me,
Cheating people forsake me.
Sly people irk me
Lazy people shirk me.
Judgemental people cast me,
Bigoted people blast me.
Most people avoid me!
We all judge each other
Kat Aug 2018
What if there's a door that's always sitting there.
The surface is bare.
And it carries a mysterious air.
No matter what people do to the door that just sits there.
The next morning the door is always repaired.

Something so curious like the door.
Everyone finds it a bore.
After all it's just a boring old door.
After seeing the damage disappear you would think people would write lore.
But the door isn't interesting, the door is a bore.

The door's been places.
The door has guarded libraries full of bookcases.
The door has seen everything from schools to fireplaces.

Whenever the place, the door has been goes away,
the door is always there insistent to stay.
But eventually the door gets found and gets transported away.

The door doesn't change.
The door is always a door but no one thinks it's strange.
But the door moves from place to place.
No one knows where or which door frame the door will choose as a base.
I showed my English teacher and he liked it
With Swollen Tears did my Countrymen commit
In week's Soliloquy request for Aid
And Soul's own Moments whose Sympathy permit
Whilst Sheltered Families pray for more space
Pledge, dear Lord! And Citisens of the World
My People's Wounds soaked in Unwanted Rain
At least in Voice and Gift-Wishes unfold
Would indeed suffice to soften their Pain
Look, Union Jack! The Scenes of Caskets float,
Plastered houses a-washed with nails and wood
Then came the Bayanis, in rubbers and boats
Bore frozen Victims to their Neighbourhood.
It's a Sad Film for anyone to see
Please offer Burnt Roses; Make them Happy.
Mother, the Word timeless Hymnals devote
Bore her Best Ribbon in Prayer and Gift
With the Earth her Nature's Theatre denote
Four Years Beyond; She would make her own Lift
I speak of the Fruit all may come to Love,
Branched with Four Maidens and a Knight do Sponsor
And the King, whose Black Gold sprouts well-above,
Branded Pride onto her; And gave her Honour
Well that their Woolen Rope I can't compete
Plus the Ring advised by the Prince of the North
Still, a Grounded Vow I plan to complete
For an Aunt called TRUST; And all that she's Worth.
Grateful much, M'am, for your Good Decision
Despite me Un-Known; The Owl you Rendition.
#kassidycook1
ryn Oct 2014

will
you take
me into your
space...•cradle
me upon       the
sultry limbs      of
your        nebulous
grace•the expansive
arms of the universe,
where            peaceful
slumber awaits•your
poetry    laden comets,
bore      abundant love,
all towed     in freights•
gingerly drinking in the depth
of your face•seemingly blindfolded,
i'll tread each dark  crater•my head in
a swirl        of your  majestic         trace•
where        I would stumble         upon
V              a love ever so...             V
/     |    |   || \
(                              )
(   INTERSTELLAR   )
(                                    )
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.
ryn Apr 2015
It's beginning...
As my day matured into the tangerine sun.
Familiar feelings effortlessly conjured as the same old tales were spun.

Some came in hues of marmalade
Traces of citrus that left in haste.
Initial sweetness on the palate that would fade
Only making way for a bitter aftertaste.

A few were wrapped in tints of ******.
A jolt-like sensation that spoke...
Intense and unmistakable in nature.
Like glowing embers engulfed in latent flames and smoke.

Several bore the colours and scent of marigold
Boasting of orange petals whimsically waving to the clouds...
Whispering hints of rumours from days of old,
Days of when mine was the only silent face in a boisterous crowd.

The ones forged in bronze were few and hardly said.
Like the only compelling excerpt embedded within infinite chapters.
Hidden words in plain sight strung together boldly in
red.
Rubies cast carelessly in the swiftest of rivers...

It is beginning...**
The end of today as the sun grew redder...
I'd bide the sands of time as it slips away into forever...
Begging you, Sterling Mentor of the Card
Patient and Calm are your Methods in-check
May I take this Learner to Living afar
Bespoke my Efforts and Services are met
For if I noticed this Lack-of-Command
Married to sane Verbs I try to absorb
Even out of Bounty; Trust be at Hand
To remember such Stubbled Skills I bore
This is an Artist-on-High. That which speaks
With Curried Words much tempting to forget
At expense of Duty is no longer meek
And my Salt's Wager now easy to forget.
Bear me Calm. I can adopt to re-learn
The Blue Eagle's shriek which can eat the Worm.
luna Nov 2018
i think about my time
walking around a vast expanse of nothing
it will be endless.

my body will go to the land.
land i damaged
hurt and killed
with my every waking breath

the land will take my body
unwilling yet grateful
and as i rot
the land will look at my

rotting liver
broken heart
black tar in my lungs
unbroken, unchanging, unmoved
destroyed

and sigh as she goes on with her day.

subconsciously happy that another
killing machine
is of her planet.

you know sometimes i think of mother earth as one of those grandparents
you know the whole "get off my lawn"
cliché
except the teenagers don't leave

the hormonal beasts rip off her lawn to expose
her jewels of life
marvels of wonder
and then what do they do

they take it.

so when mother earth sees another mortal soul
who's every waking breath
hurt and killed,
un broken un changing un moved

she sighs and goes on with her day.
Rox Oct 2018
Diacridic
He lays
While the leaves sit underneath
the brilliance of sincerities tree,

and thinking to you
were all the things done by.

As it were
Discriptless
Pages left turned and inkless
What's left behind inside
the minds of an intertwining summer
a conclusion predesignated.

I saw to you,
just as I waved hello to goodnight’s moon.
As they touched along the surfaces
fleeting into the skin
A welcomed wound.

And didn’t you know,
That the pictures I stole
Of every point of you
Were etching onto sheets of heaven
into the reflections of the mirrors
that sit before your bedside.

While it rests
with mixed spirits,
the roses that I bore

Passing through glowing bodies
are the images you started to dream with me
while the silences burrow

A judgement left only partially bridged.
Melded with the manifestation of adoptions quest

And as the calls ring in secluce,
I still feel that this alley is ghostless
Lest this vase breathe the life
of unwilted flowers

where the flip sides meet
on the evenings tides
joined by charmed indifferences

in company with the character
of an old flame,
only tangible with
lights which lay ahead.

medleyed in to what's to be.

Thank you.
I would be Concerned when you clicked your face,
Dotted with Spots hungry Mosquitoes bore
But why must you advertise such sad grace,
Your Promising Suave many Girls adore?
I told you to care for yourself once again
And preserve your Form from such Allergy
Lucky they found it Cute, and cried out: "Ben!
Come play with us. We won't find it Funny."
Don't Worry. They're Serious. Try to Believe
How your Charm treats you Special as you are
Look! Your Windows open. Ready to Give
That One Direction to your Guiding Star.
And this from him: Your Dad's Loving Light shine
Becomes the Best of YOU; His Heart in thine.
#benjdaley
Carina Oct 2016
Standing on a secluded cliff,
Turning my eyes to the sea.
I try to net with the smallest sniff
What freedom and oblivion may be.

The waves crashing onto the rocky shore,
Each one inevitably fading away;
no longer being part of the bore,
but instead washing over the bay.

I wonder how it feels giving up to the stream;
My lungs filled with endless devotion.
For I realize the waves crashing to be redeemed
Don´t matter as long as they're part of the ocean.
Alyssa Underwood Mar 2016
What is this, Lord Jesus, that Thou shouldst make an end
Of all that I possess, and give Thyself to me?
So that there is nothing now to call my own
Save Thee; Thyself alone my treasure.
Taking all, Thou givest full measure of Thyself
With all things else eternal—
Things unlike the mouldly pelf by earth possessed.
But as to life and godliness, all things are mine
And in God's garments dressed I am;
With Thee, an heir to riches in the spheres divine.
Strange, I say, that suffering loss
I have so gained everything in getting
Me a friend who bore a cross.

                                         ~ Jim Elliot (1927-1956)
Listen! With this Pillow I puffed Concern
Perhaps why you chose to part your Circle
Was it for Cause? Or Bull's Influence burn
Tainted your Doors with more it could handle?
Am I part of the List? If so, Speak Out!
So my Investment I'll gladly withdraw
Stop this Drama! Or a Headache you pout
Or else this Prayer I force my Last Straw
Again and again I spoke this before
Never to Judge a Trumpet by its Sound
The Book's outdated; To your ears I bore
Then twist and pull that Stubborn Wax I found.
You know, Tanned Sir, your God gave you a Voice
Which is meant to be used; And used as your choice.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Walking down the hall without that horrid IV
No words can do justice to how I feel so free
I one so small have conquered that roaring “C”
And showed you all I can, because I never gave up on me.

Not many believed, they lose faith fast
Not even I dreamt how long I’d last
They said it had ended when the stone was cast
But I showed you all I could, because I never gave up on me.

Oh how the pain burned
Slow like seasons turned
And to give up I yearned
But I showed you strength, because I never gave up on me.

With silent tears I struggled on
My only hope she now was gone
From above her light shone
I showed her I was grateful, because I never gave up on me.

Lying in bed
Listening to sounds I dread
Screams of a child and loved ones who cry
There are too many miles to go why can’t I just die.
My skin is sore
From the needles I bore
The drugs I take
They make me ache
I’m tired of fighting let’s end this bid,
oh why can’t I just be a normal kid?
I’d show myself and I’d show you all
That I made it through with my back against the wall
Because I never gave up on me.

In size and in strength may you never judge me
I won that battle because I had faith in me
There is so much more that you can’t see
And I showed you all, because I never gave up on me.

Walking down the hall without that horrid IV
No words can do justice to how I feel so free,
I one so small have conquered that roaring “C”
And showed you all I can, because I never gave up on me.

Read more at http://www.******-in-oncology.com
And even though she died along with other people I cared about like my friend Sister Jacklyn, death never crossed my mind. After her death I still never lost hope, and I promised never to give up. And even after I relapsed and had to start all over again, I promised myself to keep on fighting until I was just like everyone else again, until I could wake up in my own bed and run free without that stupid IV. No matter how painful a struggle no matter how long, I would have fought to eternity to be healthy again.
One day I will depart the train at a station without a name,
Pull emergency cord and take the plunge thru parted doors.
I'll pack no suitcase or bindle, in my head young, free and single,
I will be a living swindle - wherefore art prat poet of before?
New job doing something I've shown no interest in before,
Change my name to 'Neville Moore'.

I'll do a Reginald Perrin, leave red herring threads at Sherring-
ham, then dice-rolled palookaville of new self I shall explore.
When Palookas call me Neville, they won't see this wasted rebel,
But numpty Neville, on the level, who misplaced his wasted days of yore.
Amnesiac clerk stoical over mist-shrouded days of yore.
Only knew my name was Neville Moore.

Neville will moonlight at night-school, pick up a trade that's practical,
In minimalist digs post-dossing on unforeseen saviour's floor.
Time's sandstorm obscures lyrics, John Doe-penned hieroglyphics
- lost soul Lysander's from Norwich. His mind shut like a shoved closed drawer
To Poesy's Pandora's box of ******* in indigo iron drawer
In Norwich. No bones to Neville Moore.

Neville will be a straight arrow, nice chap whose mind is narrow,
Tepid tryer temping at call-centre, lockjaw forevermore.
The blandest of mystery men, what was Neville's name again?
Man with no memories blends in; my dead ringer, stunky, strong-jawed.
Eye-witness testimony of 36 years will gladly be abjured
- done myself good deed poll: Neville Moore.

I'll  abscond so left Lysander might be eternal loose end, the
Inner poltergeist confined to an indigo iron drawer.
Tomorrow I'll do a John Stonehouse bog-snorkelling, a grandiose
loser who fled being infamous in his own dinnerhour, a bore
Unto myself.  I'll abandon ship,  then life will be less of a bore,
Being much more boring Neville Moore.

And I'll meet a girl called Sybil, Palookashire an idyll,
Where a man with no past can just wash up upon the shore.
For if child is father of the man, Neville'll be an upbeat orphan!
Labels torn off the clothes from Oxfam what Memory's Outlaw wore,
Newfoundhometownbound Mister X such clueless clothes wore,
Clean the pockets of Neville Moore.

Sybil won't be the type to probe, at night she'll pop her Zopiclone,
Cuddle up to normal Neville, earnest the embrace of average amour.
We will rent a little bedsit and expend a lotta effort
To make our place seem white-picket-fenced, tho'  we resided on 3rd floor.
Down updrafts of Fate, untempted to faceplant from the 3rd floor
Is plain ol' sane ol' Neville Moore. 

No temptation, but something racing, the unexplained midnight pacing,
And murmurs in Nev's sleep there's reams in an indigo iron drawer.
But in daylight we'll have daughter, from nowhere the name 'Cobania'
(Nev wouldn't dig Nirvana, fin de siecle scream's aural chore,
nihilistening not for Neville in zen of playful household chores).
Shrug-a-lugs of numb Neville Moore.

Neville wouldn't get promotion, Neville doesn't have much gumption.
Frankenstein's **** domesticus by design, Nev's a swollen snore.
Lice would have mocked, 'Call this living?' Lice is dead, would always give in
To windmills' wheeling withering, watched like a raven, set no store
In what life we have worth living, which is what life life has in store
For unquestioning Neville Moore. 

Neville, don't be snarling slave to snafus by another self made,
Be complete now the only piece is the missing piece of the jigsaw.
Radio receives no 'roger', they won't see Cobania as a toddler,
But for famalam, there's succour: lines left in indigo iron drawer.
For Lice did leave literally living will in indigo iron drawer:
Poem entitled Neville Moore.

Nev and Sybil will have ups and downs, in facades cracks gouge frowns;
Castaway's fury in his eyes curdles Florida coleslaw.
I don't need Sybil's mithering, I mean 'Nev' dint, thinking about writing
- did we do Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining', too nuts too soon in Neville Moore?
Polter-Lice rattling in indigo iron liar's den re Neville Moore's 
Writer's shock swan-song for Neville Moore.

And sweet phantom Cobania, I hope she ends up saner
than her Canoe Man old man, sent reeling by subconscious southpaw
Of split personality punch-ups,  one-man-band fight clubs,
punchdrunk on bad self burps, tho' he burped Cobania with awe.
Pneumatically patting doting dad, errant soon so overawed
By humdrum Heaven, Neville Moore's.

Witness protection program to hide me from self-hate's hitman,
But Miltonic Satan's heart held Hell, for killer within is law
Unto himself. Thus phoenix photo album of my alter ego
To ***-end before Year Zero was burnt down, act of soul at war.
Greener grass scorched earth, everyman Eden sacked by selves at war,
Lysander negging out Neville Moore.

His ship's sailed ment'lly down the toilet - can't see the dream, it's ultraviolet!
Sybil wagging her finger with ****** of a fishwives' wappenshaw.
Cobania's cantankerous tween, Nev hears fin de siecle scream
- call the toilet 'Kurt', it's flushing the dream! Behold:  tombstone beneath 
                                                        ­    a sycamore,
Man from nowhere nowhere now beneath suicide's sycamore.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Beneath me to quote Ocean Colour Scene, beneath sycamore willow-leaned,
But day I caught train derailed: no malaise of glory, Anon no more.
Cobania in black with ***** highlights will grieve Daddy on the quiet;
Sybil indignant that the senseless,  existential eyesore
Option all her lost-and-found, found-and-lost, haunted hubbie saw.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Nev won't see Cobania grow up: she doesn't exist - s' good job!   
Yet I'll miss driving lessons and wedding, even if shaggy dog's dewclaw
Scratched itself out, vestigial scythe: Neville was never alive.
But this 2.4, 2.0 narrative smelted indigo iron drawer.
Cenotaph recast as mask, new visage's vista dark as in a drawer
Now quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

After Poe's misnomer, well, misnumbered: one short, 17 stanzas  
Ironically encode birthday of old dud cub who overroars
Last-ditch striped leopard, tame un-me. Lord Lucan, he WAS lucky
-  there's freedom in fake ID! But Neville grew sick, sick of me no more
Now as one two selves expire, same sigh of relief 'low sallow sycamore:
Thank **** Lice is nevermore.
My birthday is 17/05.
Alyssa Underwood Aug 2017
“Come now, and let us reason together,”
Says the LORD,
“Though your sins are as scarlet,
They will be as white as snow;
Though they are red like crimson,
They will be like wool.
If you consent and obey,
You will eat the best of the land;
But if you refuse and rebel,
You will be devoured by the sword.”
Truly, the mouth of the LORD has spoken...
Come, house of Jacob, and let us walk in the light of the LORD.
~ Isaiah 1:18-20 & 2:5


Surely our griefs He Himself bore,
And our sorrows He carried;
Yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken,
Smitten of God, and afflicted.
But He was pierced through for our transgressions,
He was crushed for our iniquities;
The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him,
And by His scourging we are healed.
All of us like sheep have gone astray,
Each of us has turned to his own way;
But the Lord has caused the iniquity of us all
To fall on Him.
~ Isaiah 53:4-6


“**! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters;
And you who have no money come, buy and eat.
Come, buy wine and milk
Without money and without cost.
Why do you spend money for what is not bread,
And your wages for what does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good,
And delight yourself in abundance.
Incline your ear and come to Me.
Listen, that you may live;
And I will make an everlasting covenant with you,
According to the faithful mercies shown to David...“
Seek the LORD while He may be found;
Call upon Him while He is near.
Let the wicked forsake his way
And the unrighteous man his thoughts;
And let him return to the LORD,
And He will have compassion on him,
And to our God,
For He will abundantly pardon.
“For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
Nor are your ways My ways,” declares the LORD.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways
And My thoughts than your thoughts.“
~ Isaiah 55:1-3,6-9


The Spirit of the LORD God is upon me,
Because the LORD has anointed me
To bring good news to the afflicted;
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to captives
And freedom to prisoners;
To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
To grant those who mourn in Zion,
Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified...
I will rejoice greatly in the LORD,
My soul will exult in my God;
For He has clothed me with garments of salvation,
He has wrapped me with a robe of righteousness,
As a bridegroom decks himself with a garland,
And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,
And as a garden causes the things sown in it to spring up,
So the LORD God will cause righteousness and praise
To spring up before all the nations.
~ Isaiah 61:1-3,10-11
Lazhar Bouazzi Mar 2017
A rugged sidewalk cried hard by the way-side;
Its fissures could not hold their tears anymore.
A puny man pushed a red cart in the tide
Down a darkling, narrow street in Salammbô.*
He mumbled to the waves on his way to the market
As he gasped behind his laden chariot.

His merkabah bore many a lost things
Which he had found buried in the quicksand.
Among them a fountain pen and a helmet,
A pair of eyeglasses, and a trumpet.
I wondered, gazing at the old man’s washed face:
"Will this worn-out scene ever reach the marketplace?"
© LazharBouazzi
*Salammbô is a neighborhood in Carthage, TUN.
Father. Mine and Yours. Both Oil Lamps at zest
Managed to hone our Characters throughout
Mine the Prime Wisdom; Yours his Water's Best
Both total Great Hearts we can't live without
So why do we Fight? If Reason betrays
And later picks our Spoils scattered by War
And who gets Hurt? Those caught between the Leys
Where supposed Joy must settle by far
Yes I am aware you find it Funny
To exploit your Gift and choose to Ignore
Is that your Model? Where your Harmony
Took some Chopsticks and plucked out those who bore.
Remember him again. And read his Lines
On Words which matter; And Self you define.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
I am
the child of countless
genocides
of lands suppressed, who can’t
see the brighter
side

I am
the daughter of a neglected
family
who can’t look in their eyes, for they don’t care about
me

I am
the son of a town
lost in a futile
cycle
who doesn’t know how to get out, as every path
is an imploding
spiral

I am
the result of my mother
being
forced against her wishes, to think atrocity is what bore my
living

I am
the result of my father
who
sacrificed everything, just to see my life pull
through

I am
the offspring of a
colony
whose people is considered expendable, as if we aren’t all equally
holy

I am
the result of a bloodthirsty
state
who pillaged and burned
any place we saw fit as if we carried their
fate

I am
a taker of
lives
just as, I am a bearer of
life

I am
a being of hate and
apathy
as much as I am a person of
love and
serenity

I am
the sword and the shield,
the dark and the light
the scorned and the healed

This is my story
so much as it is yours

The children of humanity
You & I
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
You’ve made me believe that today I can fly, that I can touch the stars as I pass by.
You carry me past galaxies floating on clouds, wrapped in a dream and loving out loud.
The magical carpet that sweeps me away, leaves me breathless, helpless, wanting to stay
on Kryptonite, that mystic existence beyond, where time does not matter and magic abounds.

On top of a mountain on a planet beyond I cling to your safety and hold to your calm.
Can I speak of the beauty that you have shown me?  The doors you have opened, the wonders I see?  
My lips cannot form the words now in my mind, the heaven you’ve brought, the expressions now hide.
The life that I knew before this was full, yet lonely and bland, bereft of a soul.

I stood all my life alone, apart without you, now you’ve come to my rescue in your red and your blue.
I look at the others who have been there before, look back at their lives to what theirs had bore,
I smile at their journeys, as they’ll never know, for the heavens I’ve reached on my ride do not show.
The best part of the journey is yet to explore, as I take to the skies on my carpet once more.

I stand here with Superman close by my side on the mountain of Kryptonite ready to ride.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
A thud at my window!
An unseen moment was let go
For there I sat on a throne
Which bore an ephemeral glow.

(Though it soon had been heard:
Our mother's hand not in the least, is arbitrary
For she weaves such a gossamer web
That connects through all things contradictory.)

And so I rose above my windowsill
And found, a soft bird perched hither,
So close to this ragged forest
Brave—I thought—she;

She waited for an eye, so it seemed,
To meet with her's—indefinitely
Though it took an eternity for me being there,
The next gaze she stole and flew away from me.

A meaning I saw with no boundaries
For an incoherent silence was answered upon,
Like the yearning of a wave to find a shore
Only then, to retreat back to the sea.
juneau Aug 2014
Dawn is near as I make another coat
After I ripped and slashed your throat

It brings me joy, I will not lie,
to hear you whimper, scream and cry.

Shout for help, scratch and bite,
most the fun is in the fight.

Down to the basement I drag your body
making coats, my new favourite hobby.

Daily office life can be such a bore,
so I stalk the night to find a *****.

No remorse when I see your pain.
Unless I'm caught I'll **** again.

Making coats, my new favourite hobby.
After which, I eat the body.
This is a work of fiction
March 30, 2012
Seven
Ben Jones Dec 2016
Billy loved his parsnip
He'd tend it day and night
To keep it safe from prying eyes
He stashed it out of sight
But one eventful morning
He awoke to such alarm
His parsnip had gone from puny
To the size of a baby's arm

Such growth was nigh unheard of
In a vegetable or fruit
So he bore it proud before him
Grasped expertly by the root
When he showed his doting mother
She was mightily impressed
So screamed a lot then swooned a bit
While clutching at her chest

The people at the bus stop
Shared his mother's admiration
But advised him that his tuber
Needed urgent relocation
So he took it in a taxi
Wrapped up in folded gauze
To the Guinness book of records
And he pushed apart the doors

His parsnip held protruding
With a confident advance
Like a knight atop his charger
With a huge organic lance
But security had seen him
They quickly knocked him flat
A policeman saw his parsnip
And he hid it with his hat

Billy served his sentence
For unsavory displaying
He changed his name to Danny
There's no record where he's staying
The moral of this sorry tale
Is far too dull to write
So learn your ****** vegetables
And know their names on sight

**
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