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CK Baker Jul 2017
hickory nuts
and wind trees
are keeping
at the old buckle bay
light house corners and
shaker church craft
slip anchor on the southern tip

secret legions
and phenolic board
tuck in at gout dock
bands and nations
and miracle speak
fill in the center hall

sand hooks
and water domes
cover wharf road
***** bay toppers
and seven horse chugs
scatter the swollen upper deck

packards and pushers
and rusty back rails
skirt the night
lanterns and sterns
and navy gulls
steady on task

sand cakes
and drift wood
held tight on
the mystery tour
yellow tails
and tide pools
flat line
at royal reach

paddles
and cables
find ripples way
smugglers and smitties
take cover
from a
northern gale

down on
pocket shoal
there’s a graceful hue
~ they’re serving up
belons and xan…
it's time to get in
for a fill
sunshinecoast porpoisebay sechelt
Purcy Flaherty Oct 2018
We embarked upon a titanic voyage to a new world.
It’s said that behind every great man there's a great woman; But a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
7 bells rang late that night as our ship stuck fast between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Fingers tapping code, as land lubbers rowed hard pulling for freedom, Sailors quickly battened down the hatches and stowed away the Riff-raff, for they knew fine words would butter no parsnips.
Some fiddlers on the deck played “Nearer My God to Thee", As the bubbles rose from beneath the sea, come buckle down boys or the devils to pay, come hell or high water he’ll have his pay.
Row drifters we're leaving this place, two whales, a sea of souls, a man in the water with a monkey on his back, a sailor with a whistle, a cat on a fiddle, ten decks snaped, scores more baptised, abandoned.
Hundreds shreaked or prayed as La dolce vita slowly ebbed away, then mercilessly the cacophony of sounds descended; ever silent, as fifteen hundred souls become neither fish nor flesh, rotting from the head down.
Bless those souls lost at sea!
CK Baker May 2017
the rat ******* has been re-purposed
(conscripted in a somewhat fodder task)
brandishing irons
and quarter lines
coiled and unwavering
insidious and cunning
pent up and fired
in  his dripping shoes
and peel back skin

wheel bug and hookworm
are stolid in his wake
(all bursting grossly at the buckle)
the heel on task;
slithering and rogue
merciless and coy
resolute and contemptuous
with his cotton mat
and quick ready quill

pungi and clapper
raise the clever snake
(croker sacks and wicker backs
dot the gasoline rainbow)
carnival barkers and kraken
(lewd in the distance)
taunting and vile
with their red beakers
and deep purple hearts

cicada and louse
high on alert
(ready to wreak havoc in the hog wallows)
the perverse cornered rat
snapping and soiled
foaming and inflamed
lurking and primed
inside his carefully crafted plan

easels and cover alls
suit this jackal well
(keefer’s little helper or so they'd say)
pickers running rough shod
all stirring up the stench
***** and conkeys
poised
and ready
to lime this cornered slug
v V v Aug 2014
These are the days
when my heart can’t speak
and my days pass by in a fog.

At night I look to the sky for her flame
and she shows me, up through the pines,
she’s the burning harvest moon tonight.

Do you see how she shines like the sun?
She shines in the night just for me.
              
She leads me to the edge and
whispers like a lover in the dark,
she wants me to burn just for her.

My harvest moon she seems so close
I reach up to touch her but she’s
too far away,  she’s so far away but

Oh, how she burns so bright!

          Naivety’s gotten the better of me
          she’s not the burner she’s the “burnee”

          and if we met we’d burn white hot
          we’d melt like a ******* supernova

          but then we’d die

          My beautiful white harvest moon
          and I, we know what to do to get by

          We know what needs to be done

          Shall we close the buckle in the door?

          Shall we swallow the white gold and pearls?

          No, not likely, instead
          run to her at midnight
          in the bright white light,
          climb upon the rail between
          ocher beams on Golden Gate
          and look up.

          She seems so close.
          Look up!
          I reach for her slowly
          Look up!
          I reach for her softly
          Look up!

          slowly

          softly

          I step to the edge and fly home.
patty m Jul 2015
Old house on the hill
fallen to ruin I can hear my mother's voice
above the flutter of wings.  
There she is rising from the grave,
half moons caked with dirt,
every finger wearing a ring.
I do not see her lips move
as she goes limp until the present rolls backward.

I become lost in endless blackness swirling  
in cold that slithers under my skin,
and then her bladder lets go
and I become the placenta
trolling for her full-blown kiss,
her mega-watt smile,
while longing for the comfort of
of her arms warm like the safety of her womb.

Suddenly I'm alone, fog wrapped in
empty space
until the train rattles past startling pigeons into flight.

The train's chilling whistle
hangs eerily in the wind as the cars go
clacking and rumbling down the track;

This is a song I've known since childhood,
along with the pounding cold surf
and the noise from the penny arcade.

The carney yells, "Step right up,
buckle yourself into this nightmare ride."  
I enter a car and soon it vanishes taking me with it.
Is it the alchemy of my soul
that leads me through their spiritual unrest?

The carney plays a priestly role,
on the other side of the closed curtain,
as I am ****** into this nightly re-enactment
with those loved ones who have now passed through
the dismal stretch into the dark divide.
Baylee Kaye Dec 2018
his eyes
they’re calling me
lost in a grey-blue sea
pray they tell no lies

i fall
before him on my knees
begging pretty please
answer my call

loving you
every single day
when you throw your belt away
is all I do

the sound
of the buckle on the floor
makes me wish for more
of this love so profound

I know
you’ll waste no time
in this paradigm
to set our tempo
d.c.
eleanor prince Aug 2018
windmills turn
slicing days
as prescribed

moving water
as they do
set troughs

can't complain
there is no point
cycles set in place

grids buckle
like we're
trapped

live chequered lives
without ourselves
on deck

though paths
with every step
trod blind

at close of day
did we not take
that road

for steering wheel
this hand
grabbed

let's harness Self
remove the screen
and see

in this precinct
or yonder place
we've opted for

we took a route
with outcome
flawed
so often it seems easier to remain the victim - we aren't really seeing we are ultimately responsible for what we think and do
I like the way
Gravity falls on you
Sway away pull me in
The way your atoms hold
My knees buckle and fold
Your laugh’s frequency in tune
Brings my heart to bloom
The brightness of your smile
Shadows my doom
Stop and stare for a while
I’ll be empty of gloom

-JCM-
I start feeling cold and hurting
oh how is this possible
how can one human make me feel this way
my heart does burn, but my mind is cold

I don't want to be touched by no one
my own will stop any indecent proposals
shield by the light of my sweet gods
I will not buckle and stay steadfast  

Miss me when I am gone
for it will not be too long
so whilst I still dwell in this mire
know for perfection I aspire

No man or woman will stop me
for my God is Poetry
you try to and know fury
as this angel has no mercy

Heading to winters realms
clutching on to my love
Poetry poetry poetry
I love thee to my death


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Mary McCray Apr 14
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 14, 2019)

To lead is to be light and fluid
like a pied piper.

But often they are like lead,
silver and immovable.

They sanction in times of mercy
like when your parakeet died
and you’re late to work.

They don’t remediate with punishments
of docked pay for your inability
to get over it.

They buckle it together:
strategic plan and daily ops,
team to team to team.

They never buckle under
like King Lear
or a bad knee.

The overlook the floor.
They know everyone by name.

They never overlook a widget,
flaw or warning signal.

They are stakeholders.
They hold a stake.

They are never proxies,
holding stakes for other leaders.

The are transparent, obvious.
Never out of sight.

They weather the downturn, withstand the force.
They do not corrode.

The seed. They put down seeds.
They do not rob the fruit.
Prompt: “incorporates homophones, homographs, or homonyms.”
ManxPoetryGuy Nov 2018
My knees buckle under the pressure of imaginary weight.

An un-fathomable burden conjured by my mind.

Who knew nothing could weigh so much?
My very first hello was intentional, focused
You say i never gave you a chance, i just overwhelmed and took over
I was intoxicated, i still am
I saw the fortress around you but i refused to acknowledge, I'm relentless like that
Came into your shell and took over
Got into your sheets and dreamed well
I looked straight into your eyes and you held my gaze, baby I'M HERE TO STAY SO FALL ASLEEP
I watched your chest heave and your eyes lift
You say i drove you crazy but you were the engine
It's all very new so i act like a learner in the drivers seat, buckle up baby.
Butterflies rip apart my stomach
Euphoria took over my soul, you make me smile
I took a hit of you and now I'm high on life
You asked me what i want
We are still young for you to handle what i want but one day soon, when your mind nests in my heart and our eyes lingo suffice
For now I'll settle
peyt Oct 2018
my heart is wheeping
because i dont ever want to see you
for fear that i might fall for you
your gentle words and gentle soul
are making my heart torn between you and him
i dont want to leave him
but seeing your face makes my heart fall into my stomach
and my knees buckle in longingness
i need him
i want you
i dont want to choose between the two
but i will never shake my loyalty
and i will never be labeled as a traitor
my heart is tired of this
Michael Jul 5
if I am myself am I the silk dress
or the blue water of the eye
trickling down a moon of skin
this sunset color lingers
chapped
puckered microscopically
eyelashes catch each bead of light
diffused glow
even distant hills flicker
undulating multiverse
translucent overlap
giants fading in and out
what’s the difference between mist
and a slow exhale on a winter morning
the belt buckle drops to the floor
and I shiver
it drops against the spine
and I curl against you
my palms are the diameter of your stomach
I can’t pull anything in except your shadow
and you remain
warm and lonely
We can heal.
Dawnstar Dec 2017
I see apes walking on ice,
I see snakes slithering on snow,
lively eyes indulge my dream,
and it haunts me.

worry, worry, worry.
marked drips on a stained walkway
catch my stare so often
I forgot I was looking

by two levels, I drop.
the ground awaits me.
today, I am sure-footed;
I will not buckle.

an enigma passes:
I wrest free my heart,
but too late!
all that is left...
a cold afternoon,
a quiet memory,
a regretful encounter.

and countless others
who, in unfortunate confidence
might turn away in disdain...
they won't know a flower's scent.

if I were one of them,
I would stand up and say,
"Advance, Collingchance!
Attach your legions to mine,
and together we will conquer!"
or I would approach you like a highwayman
and make demands of you....

but since I am not,
my only demand
is that you accept me
for what I am.
Updated 2/2//2018.
Deb Jones Jul 12
In the Spring time I take some chalks, charcoal and go to a particular park
One day I heard peals of laughter and turned to see that

A young  boy swinging so high that the chains buckle a little at the height of the arc.  

I am sure he feels that he is ruler of all he  sees.
His toes touching the sky

He seems to float for a beat, and then there’s a stiff **** as he falls
back under the influence of the rusted metal links, back into the steady tempo of forward and back.

I watch him as he chooses  to fly high again, gaining momentum with his legs
I would like to tell him not to go so high  

But I remember when I was young that I would swing until I caught the snap of the swing chains

I remember what a powerful feeling it is. I remember that feeling oh, so well

Instead I quickly drew him on the swing.

Him and all his glory reflected on his face

What a wonderful spring pastime
And what a reminder of childhood
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