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Rich Hues Nov 2018
Cloistered within her living walls of flesh,
Soapstone skin, breath minty fresh,
Bursting ivory, towelling dressing-gown,
Laughing as she bounces up and down.
First line is stolen from 'The Flea'  by John Donne.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2018
Without a rope but
squaring the circle
the giant man gives it a try
takes a flight off to the sky
only to fall flat on the ground.

She turns around
gives the circle her pi.
He bounces back
and retakes the flight
Que Sera, Sera on the way!
Jo Barber Jun 2018
Sun bounces off leaves,
hopping from branch to branch,
reflecting across the whole world.
Flowers bloom - red, blue, and green,
sending succulent scents to you and to me.

This soft breeze
floating from the bay
blows all my troubles away.

Book in lap,
Coffee in hand,
Please understand -

if I always felt this way,
life would walk with a much sweeter sway.
Joel A Doetsch Feb 2017
It starts with a tickle to my heart
tries to gently push my lips apart

I resist, much to it's consternation,
not giving in to it's polite provocation

It bounces around in my brain, so distracting!
Ever so slowly I feel my discipline cracking

My heart starts to race, my eyes turn to steel
I must stand my ground!  I simply can't yield!

You look into my eyes
my last defense broken...
How could I ever have stopped these words being spoken?

I love you
When you say "I love you" far too much and try to hold it back from time to time
Deborahlee Jan 13
in my stairway stumble
body and step collides

the bangs and bounces
meet the rug burn slides

as inner chaos flounces
my aches scream inside

rocking in silence

...with no one to hear
twice in as many months...
the last bruises just healed.
Osiria Melody Mar 16
I. The Neighbor
Eyes, two immaculate, circular egg-whites
Donning uncanny egg yolks,
Captures a commotion like a camera from afar

II. The Parents
Indecipherable words blurred with alcohol’s embrace
Battered, ****** knuckles striking “I hate you”
against her–helpless
She strikes him back like a match set ablaze
Bird-like screeches pierce the air from the depths of his cruelty

III. The Parents’ Child
Tomato-red ball bounces like a rabbit, gliding across the grainy pavement
Young child, innocent and carefree, bolts toward the ball with thunderous feet
Suddenly, a shock of lightning, blinding like the sun,
Obscures the child's vision (a car)
Ear-splitting burst of impact interrupts the neighborhood
Time took off from the ground, sending the child forward like an airplane, limbs airborne
Not an emergency landing, but an imminent one
Her severed head rolls down the road like a bowling ball
Body splatters across the neighbor's yard, sprinkler watery guts

IV. The Father
His mash potato knuckles, battered, raises into the air as if in protest
A visage ridden with contrition, contorts
Tears stream down his face like missiles (his daughter just died)
An explosion of resentment overcomes him (shock, pure shock)

V. The Mother
She, bloodied by his knuckles
Yelps in determination (she blames her daughter’s death on him)
She slams him with all of her will, ensuring his impending death (he’s a goner for sure)

IV. The Father
Now in supine position, mutters an inaudible “sorry” to his wife with an imploring gaze, asking forgiveness
As she watches him expire, grotesquely smiles (he deserved this)

V. The Mother
Sprinting from the scene, red and blue sirens, whirl and whistle endlessly, audible torture
She loses touch with balance, falling head-first to the selfish ground, forcefully embracing her
Crown splits open like a watermelon, its juicy contents ingratiate
itself onto the neighbor's yard (the grass looks green and red like a watermelon now)

I. The Neighbor
Processing this ghastly ghastly scene, succumbs to Death’s embrace from shock

VI. The Family
A fatal and unforeseen tragedy
Broke the silence in this town of tranquility

I drew my inspiration from witnessing a happy family taking a stroll in a park.
Gutter Grimer Oct 2018
I wake up smelling of you
And it's all I can do
Not to slip inside that dream again
The one where warm honey flows
Between our lips, our hips
Pressed together in time
Justified in every motion
Sweat pools between torsos
As a glimmer bounces
Surfaces in your cold room
The moon is long gone
And we radiate as we share stares
Intense like the day that has just begun
Although my sunshine has been
Beside me all along
DuBray Oct 2017
I talk about my struggles with her Sister
While she bounces lemonade in a jug The old fashion-way
And serves me some in a champagne Glass
She hangs her clothes on department Store racks
With Picasso leaning on a wall
She doesn't have a phone
And neither does her boyfriend  
They never met on one
But she uses one to call me on a Friday Night when I'm

We drive downtown to Wazee's with Two punk rockers
They order a pitcher of beer
And tell us they'll be back in a few - A few is a long concept to them

We pay the tab
And walk up 15th street to Colfax to Grant
Where she decides to see her boyfriend
She says she'll buy a ball so we can Shoot some hoop
Jazz on Jeanie, Jazz on!
Eléa Nov 2018
pick up the papers we left on the ground
did we throw them? seems it now, gleeful in our
careless litter, pretending snow, or
much less pure, or much more bitter

any way , bend over,
tremble the colour of your spine into
the ground, wonder how the world
turned upside down

im angry for you for not coming up
with better reason than simply tearing this
clear snow white and
tidying up

good god stretch your mind
to reach each dusted corner of our speech,
of our streets, underneath
find something hidden there,

spin an ancient christmas light
from the orange beam fluorescent,
burn it among flickers of
ballroom halls
where we dance, slow,

turning locks with our heels in the stained-glass floor,
we know the codes because we stepped them bfore, in
a million lives, the music bounces from our chins to
our thighs,

and we dance with our tongue; with our fingers,
we write with each slight touch, we
find, each, hidden thing

we spring words like flowers from the
cells of our skin,

and give it a word,
that we whisper , giggling
so as to keep hidden, always
the ending
Alex Gifford Aug 16
You feel the rhythm of the music,
as it bounces through the floor.
You hear laughter and excitement,
the suspense of what's in store.

Then you walk up to a lady,
and you ask her for a dance.
Don't be nervous most are friendly,
this won't be your only chance.

If you're a leader with a purpose,
and your follower has grace.
You combine into one being
with a smile for each face.

Then trust will turn to tension,
and this tension is a whip.
That cracks loud like the trumpet,
every time momentum flips.

The adrenaline of falling,
the connection of a hug.
Either focus like an artist,
or it takes you like a drug.

Every hour feels like minutes,
you forget the world outside.
There's just motion and the moment,
it's a rollercoaster ride.

When the sun goes up that morning,
and you rise up out of bed.
You keep dreaming of that freedom,
It won't get out of your head.
Try swing dancing it's a complete blast. This is what it feels like. I hope I can motivate someone to go out and give it a shot. Tell me if you do!
Infamous one Apr 6
Left Right left right
Motions on the drum pad
Each stroke and beat
The drum sticks vibrates
Bounces off the pad
Right foot first bass peddle
Keeping the beat and count going strong
Feel the sounds each
Every sound counts
Find the fill set the tempo
gus Jan 10
They walk through the shaded  tunnel,  
   with an echoing snare of studs.  
   Media sponsors adorning their shirts,    
     the ball bounces with pendulous thuds.    

    Then into the sunlight with a silent roar!    
A ticker-tape snowstorm of shame,
for the children watching, with their programs and scarf’s,
life can never be the same.

A dysfunctional society fills the stands,
and wait for the ref with a coin to spin,
doesn’t matter which end , or even which side kicks off?
There has never been a registered win.
Pointless conflict and fear
Graff1980 Oct 2018
The night sky
settles in
as I sit dreading
the deep thoughts
that lurk beneath
the memories
that are pursuing me.

Fierce figures,
hungry, starving
like some monster
making mortal men
run away screaming.

My heartbeat bounces
like a bunch of black balloons
in a barely lit ballroom.

Heavy as a hammer.
I do not stammer,
just run much faster
trying to be a better planner,
and a well mannered

I strip the flesh
from the beasts I know
trying to build
a better ego
cause I know
I am worthy,
even though
doubt still
hounds me.
i never knew your nape would be this interesting
as we are sedated by a soothing wind
your hair bounces in symphony
your shoulder droops in zenithal charm

everything about you is an epitome of bait and fascination
your back facing me makes you my silhouette
my ethereal i believe is just one arm's reach

im lost in myriad just to tell you this crazy
from the back of the moon and stars your back will always be my crave
but could you please face me now
and tell me what your heart says?
Logan Robertson Dec 2018
It's a Thursday evening
and over par for the course I'm sitting
in a sandtrap.
The lie is bad,
I'm  buried next to a watering hole
in the wall.
I can't get out.
The half truth is I'm a drunk
a sea of sorrows.
Even the dolphins, I shed no mercy.
The real truth is I'm ***
anchored to a barstool,
barnacles from the dead sea
hanging on the four legs.
If this bar stool ever came to life
the voice would bubble to the surface,
get me to dry dock.
How fortuitous the wind in my sails,
finding every sandtrap
and waving at the mothballs.
Blind to letting the barnacles take it's course.
Corrosion creeping up on me, like its
Who cares about the long lost voice
or the red ants at his picnic.
Or if Uncle lost his strokes he never had.
Did someone say shipwreck?
I order another double,
with fire in my eyes,
adding another burn to my stomach.
I look at the bartenderess
and my eyes don't lie.
She's my type.
My head tilts this way and that.
I see people starring back at me.
If only they knew how the ball bounces.

Logan Robertson

It was a Thursday night at the bar. I sat in my own little world. Laptop in front of me. Chips on the side. A poem that was begging to be written. So I began to type, fast, without any inhibition or cares. Edit-I read this poem again and again. I actually like it. I should do this more often, beer in one hand, words in the other. What a fun balance.
Rivea Feb 9
“Write about me,” you say.
My mind instantly races.
How can I possibly write about you,
When there is not a single word
That even comes close to describing
how perfect you are to me.
There are no words to describe
The feelings I get
When you are around me.
You see,
Writing usually comes easy to me.
With you by my side,
close enough our knees touch,
my brain malfunctions.
My mind is focused on anything
But words right now.
My thoughts are filled
to the brim with you.
Your smile,
Your laugh,
Your voice,
The way your eyes shimmer
When you talk about everything
you love.
The way your leg bounces
whenever you’re nervous.
That ice cold look your eyes adopt,
when your body fills with rage.
Seeing you makes my heart race,
my stomach flip,
my face heat up.
My body is not
used to feeling these.

Now tell me,
how am I supposed to
write about You?
Light bounces from
the wing mirror housing;

for a moment, a window
into the universe opens.
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