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"carousing" poems
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep In a similar way as his father of one And actually, also my father did too Of those bitter, big cancer scourges Which always come in unexpected In this short enough life, a bit early I've known him ever since first, when We were knee high to Dad's shotgun Throughout our small neighborhood We would all roam to see and look For ***** toads and such other fun Without any known end in our sights We often, came all together, at once In his parent's, little Clovis back yard In the under ground, in our deep dug Wild little clubhouse of our new pride Approved by our jealous Dad's stare Made all by ourselves, with great care Eight by eight, with three feet of deep Shagged carpet floors, walls around And places to hide stuff with those **** magazines we wished to remain Unseen by our parents, although they Surely lived through similar wild times Black lights , fluorescent mod posters Fans to cool, while there in the deep Kept the place comfy, from several Hot summers in New Mexico's heat Staying nights over, in conspiracy we Came colluding, while hoping no fame This place was our place, of known Refuge from all of the big crazy, with Frightening world still yet to come Giving us our youngest freedoms And also so much being in trouble As kinda neighborhood hoodlums Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower One of us in care would climb With binoculars to see the dark night With our pair of walkie talkies held Warn the others, carousing around Of any plight, in appearing headlights Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith My other brother by another,  Buddy Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris One other member, as second cousin Who actually, was my very first kiss When it was hard to aim, lips to miss All bound as one, by made up signs And part of something called PSO Which, if you don't know well, what it Truly means, then you were definitely Not a part of the so very high bliss Which we suffered through so often Kevan's true nature is clearly proven Finally, most completely, at his end In the nature of his wonderful loving All his family, who also so loved him And all those other parties to trouble Who also so loved, really all of him ©  2017 Jim Davis
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May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
The Clubhouse
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep In a similar way as his father of one And actually, also my father did too Of those bitter, big cancer scourges Which always come in unexpected In this short enough life, a bit early I've known him ever since first, when We were knee high to Dad's shotgun Throughout our small neighborhood We would all roam to see and look For ***** toads and such other fun Without any known end in our sights We often, came all together, at once In his parent's, little Clovis back yard In the under ground, in our deep dug Wild little clubhouse of our new pride Approved by our jealous Dad's stare Made all by ourselves, with great care Eight by eight, with three feet of deep Shagged carpet floors, walls around And places to hide stuff with those **** magazines we wished to remain Unseen by our parents, although they Surely lived through similar wild times Black lights , fluorescent mod posters Fans to cool, while there in the deep Kept the place comfy, from several Hot summers in New Mexico's heat Staying nights over, in conspiracy we Came colluding, while hoping no fame This place was our place, of known Refuge from all of the big crazy, with Frightening world still yet to come Giving us our youngest freedoms And also so much being in trouble As kinda neighborhood hoodlums Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower One of us in care would climb With binoculars to see the dark night With our pair of walkie talkies held Warn the others, carousing around Of any plight, in appearing headlights Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith My other brother by another,  Buddy Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris One other member, as second cousin Who actually, was my very first kiss When it was hard to aim, lips to miss All bound as one, by made up signs And part of something called PSO Which, if you don't know well, what it Truly means, then you were definitely Not a part of the so very high bliss Which we suffered through so often Kevan's true nature is clearly proven Finally, most completely, at his end In the nature of his wonderful loving All his family, who also so loved him And all those other parties to trouble Who also so loved, really all of him ©  2017 Jim Davis
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61
. I keep an imp:    It dangles limp, And sleeps away its time,    Only arousing    To go out carousing, Painting the town with slime. O.O
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Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
Slimer
Innocent Hyacinth tinted with mint Tingèd grey hinged on stem singed With chestnut leaves flowing, to me a fair hint Of off-centred carousing, black eyes perusing Wares of all sorts and stocks of all shares The leading on of a pleasure most gracefully enthusing Drops dews of all shades, of selfsame structure And we full of rowdy Sedition; But Wait! Recognition. In my hopes and tired efforts, a puncture. Music blaring loud, aftertaste of rejection And full on full strand of all smoke addled people Oh! How great Quasimodo I fell off my steeple In the midst of the crowd, full dejection.
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Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
X. "Innocent hyacinth tinted with mint"
Many thousand glittering motes Crowd forward greedily together In trembling circles. Extravagantly carousing away For a whole hour rapidly vanishing, They rave, delirious, a shrill whir, Shivering with joy against death. While kingdoms, sunk into ruin, Whose thrones, heavy with gold, instantly scattered Into night and legend, without leaving a trace, Have never known so fierce a dancing.
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3.3k
A Swarm Of Gnats
I found quiet reflection in the city tonight, quieter than any dirt road we have back home. Bus brakes squealed over bar patrons carousing. Life in a snapshot vacuum, solitude in the sound. I found myself on a stone wall tonight, I could see through the years to the end. Footsteps w/ghosts mingled w/ those present. Life in self-discovery, comfort in realization.
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Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
Saturday's Walkabout
My mother washed potatoes one by one while my father went carousing with his favorite gun; I dragged sticks through dusty gravel while I watched it all unravel, wondering what to make of such an ugly thing as love.
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May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
I know better now.
i now,whose the ****** lily,this confrontation is such a bore.. there is no wine as sweet as thirst ( to paraphrase edna st.vincent millay) little mr. thought for the day- a potato is a potato.. ii well that was lunch inspiration is rather dry to some petulant spring such is day three of the fiesta.. iii but here anyway.. iv i would rather dig my own grave with a numbered spoon then go to a bbq.. v sooner play the blues than go on a cruise vi better loose both knees then visit disney.. vii lily leave me stop this carousing the love tree has become winter then our spring lost and gone when blossom hung sweet and glittering in the free summer found us in sundry doldrums pitched again to the  roots of done.. autumn now the golden days lay like a stone where we sought ourselves anew.. toward the equinox of our o and to no where particular but love  and now we me yo..
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Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
now,whose
in the rictus of an amethyst eve lays the indomitable promise of cotton festering under salient groves of hot fingers licking the ridge of supple ******* in profusion dapple crescent lips and sickle rivers running heavy drunk limbic tickling breathes. so wet. the damp ember carousing. in fragrant discord. all sensual clamor violently. in verily know my limbs and every atom of my dew for i shall sprawl upon your effigy the clusters of my heart
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Aug 14, 2010
Aug 14, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
y
carousing with breeze, scent  of jasmine was my gift; made me airborne quick!
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Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
A love affair with gentle breeze
The carousing carnival can never sleep It bares and bewilders in the brain Sunrise and sunset, season of sorcery, Hell or heaven, havoc never happens. The carousing Carnival cages ponderers Under Ornate oaks too old Dressing, dancing, dwelling in Graceland Hula Hoops hover on hips Fire fetched by fingers flared. Lookers: love and lose the lot. The crafty carnival's cunning tricks Never need a nest to rest.
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Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 1:08 AM UTC
Meeting of the Minds IV [(Second time for me :)]
Hanging in a leaden sky Gulls, in tight formation, fly. Heavy snow's cascading flare Sodium sharpness filling air. Heaving waves carousing fen Ocean's scent, aloft.. .and then The skiff with oarsman pulling tight Materializing from the night Braving, now, a heavy sea Puffing pipe, irreverently. Oblivious of mounting gale Abandons oar to set a sail Skimming sharp to gravel beach Shrugs aside hazards reach. Wading into pounding foam Smiling thought of *** at home. [email protected]
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Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 11:13 PM UTC
Irreverently, He Puffs his Curved old Pipe.
I dreamt  I went to heaven; (Or someplace, perhaps not there) , It surely was surreal. I was somewhere in this vision, For I certainly wasn't here. In revelry I searched the crowd, Saw countless faces shining. Booth and Chapman smiled sublimely; Oswald and Ruby discussed their crimes; And Adolph and Idi were enjoying time.. Charlie and Earl began singing, And Brutus danced out with  his brothers. And the legions were carousing, I wept while browsing, I didn't see her here. Did I take the wrong path, As  dreamers often do; And miss the gates of Paradise, To go to Hell for you. In the centre of this commotion, Judas called me over With his martyr's  smile. We joined with the others, (Ones he knows as brothers) , And lead me to the One I sought. I'm in heaven when I'm with her. I  roused myself, Shook hard and long. All the teachings we ingrained On bent knees with hands inclined, In prayer and subtle song, Truly wronged us all along. In death, I know, we leave behind Our Hell-on-earth, and find, Everlasting Peace-of-Mind. .
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Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 7:22 AM UTC
Where the Hell Am I?
There in the trenches I've seen headless henchmen Bending spoons For hapless children Cremated too soon Demons croon They zip They zag As the lower class picks their scabs The gift of gab Sent towards rips from packs The rush alone could make one gag! Have you been there? Would you go back? There in the trenches I've met widows and wives Carousing with voyeurs Polishing pikes Their best years behind Spent on pyrite- Euphoric alibis Which eviscerate bright eyes Will the Church draw nigh Or watch the stranded die? Into the trenches Few do proudly go Ash pollutes the snow Falling like pyrex smoke You might choke When violence hits your nose Deathblows Thrown by the dead broke Cross your eyes And clog your throat Check your pulse As an ambulance clears the roads Would you leave ivory thrones To reach a people with no hope? There in the trenches Christ spent His time Teaching the poor Healing the blind Who are we to stand aghast? Shrugging our shoulders Fine wine in antique glass? When revival comes Will it move your feet With Gospel passion Down the cracking streets? Could you spare a dime To prepare a meal For a drooping reed With snakebitten heals? There in the trenches Good News must flow Will you remain aloof Or be the one to boldly go?
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May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
There in the trenches
Secretly sprinkle my dust over Newt Gingrich's high fiber breakfast cereal . Or placed in the air plenum of a ritzy hotel whereby the elite should get a minuscule whiff of hardscrabble living , thrown on the interstate so as not to feel out of place , run over repeatedly by people  that were forever needy ..By all means please pour me liberally over the Baked Alaska at any tax payer funded high price , 'hob knobbing' government extravaganza ! Usher my remains across a green farm pond  to be eaten by catfish and passed to the bottom , carousing with the snails and the worms forever seeking cover . Perfectly content , hiding in the mud hoping not to be discovered ..
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Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
My Ashes
I thought the carbon monoxide detector was malfunctioning, her pulsed chirps pierce so sharp unlike any stray songs of carousing cat Supposedly, she brings good luck like rain on your wedding day A dreambot cricket more machine in sound than any slumbering Kafka insect bed bug mate I've every slept with She wakes me in nightly false alarms but when her short life is done maybe I'll miss nocturnal jolts like I miss cold misty rain
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Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
Another Cricket
Howling Gale of Winter moment Blossom pink from cherry tree, Driving snow which blankets all Hot Summer sunset glows for me. Parched and hassled hens in shadow Scratch the sand to find the cool, Starkly solid ice in blueness White and freezing skating pool. Green and turquoise in the sunlight Brilliant hills of verdant shawl, Autumn tones cascade in colour Silently the dry leaves fall. Surging surf parades the beaches Roiling up the shelly sands, Lightning strike on green pine reaches Baking sunshine warms and tans. Windswept on the dry Sahara Silently the tree ferns drip, Alpine streamlets splash in torrent Hot and parched dry grasses flick. Honeyed scent in orange blossom Fills the morning air with bees, Pollen on the air carousing Noses twitch and often sneeze. Globally the seasons vary Hemispheres of colour thrown, Glorious in shade and texture Flavoured by aroma’s own. All enticing motes of pleasure Each engaging jolts of joy, Layerings of seasonal treasure Mother earth’s artistic ploy. Marshalg @theCoalface Victoria Park Tunnel 13 April 2010
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Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
Season by Season
Life ***** then you die; we all know, right? Back in the day, that's what I’d tell myself, Before a night of drinking and carousing. Yup, women carouse just like men, Only they're better at it, less obvious, In their pursuit of understanding and/or love. Back then, Something gnawed inside of me, Told me to **** it up, get real for once, Find yourself, within yourself, what the heck? Ever watch a spider weave lace on a drainpipe, And wonder why a daddy long legs knows, Better than you do, what this life is all about? And the humdrum becomes you and you it. Tells you what you need but will never have, Something missing, like smarts, or grace or wisdom. Until your fragile faith awaits your next footfall, On a worn-out rope bridge nearly rotted through, Sending you straight into the arms of God. And God mutters, it takes what it takes.
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Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
Nothing But Fear Itself
Oak Tree, she loves Thunderstorm: His booming voice ignites desire- When he lightens the sky and pours down drink This ancient mother dances like fire Her bows she waves in gladness, Her core shivers at his touch, His winds and torrents she counts caresses While flowers tremble: his love too much. Moon winks through the tempest's mantle, Spying curious revels in the wood, She tucks herself back behind his shroud Leaving the dancers to their own good.                                                  *But carousing be it raucous raging as the sea,                                                     Or gentle as the morning bells' lilting chimes                                                                           All must eventually cease to be* Proud Sun calls out at dawn To the wood on the edge of the glade. At his voice Thunderstorm recoils Sun's rays pierce with blazing blade. Sun holds no reveler's understanding. Perceiving Storm the usurper here, He shines with mightiest will to drive Away the love of sweet Oak Tree. Sun turns back to comfort her, gleaming But her arms show their age in his beams while flowers rejoice at the dawning Of him, the object of their dreams. Now a sweet wind comes blowing rustling the hair of Oak Tree's leaves, sends tears showering: dew of last night's dance. Oh to be a rainstorm! Oak Tree breathes. The Sun is dazzled by the drops Who never stood before his face. Amidst her tears, the Oak Tree laughs At this morning's strangest grace.
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Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Quercus and Cumulonimbus
Oak Tree, she loves Thunderstorm: His booming voice ignites desire- When he lightens the sky and pours down drink This ancient mother dances like fire Her bows she waves in gladness, Her core shivers at his touch, His winds and torrents she counts caresses While flowers tremble: his love too much. Moon winks through the tempest's mantle, Spying curious revels in the wood, She tucks herself back behind his shroud Leaving the dancers to their own good.                                                  *But carousing be it raucous raging as the sea,                                                     Or gentle as the morning bells' lilting chimes                                                                           All must eventually cease to be* Proud Sun calls out at dawn To the wood on the edge of the glade. At his voice Thunderstorm recoils Sun's rays pierce with blazing blade. Sun holds no reveler's understanding. Perceiving Storm the usurper here, He shines with mightiest will to drive Away the love of sweet Oak Tree. Sun turns back to comfort her, gleaming But her arms show their age in his beams while flowers rejoice at the dawning Of him, the object of their dreams. Now a sweet wind comes blowing rustling the hair of Oak Tree's leaves, sends tears showering: dew of last night's dance. Oh to be a rainstorm! Oak Tree breathes. The Sun is dazzled by the drops Who never stood before his face. Amidst her tears, the Oak Tree laughs At this morning's strangest grace.
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35
Unshaven, old, and nearly spent, He slouched in his kitchen chair, Lungs rattling each wheezing breath, Radiation doing little then, To control the mass within, or To prevent the Mass he knew Would soon begin. Hard to believe a man So tough as Rubin always was Sat stubble-faced and wan In that early morning sun. Two years ago, At 65, He and his son Put a ****** on, Fought a cop, Nearly won, Stayed a week in jail, Paid a $7000.00 fine, Then bragged it all Was worth the time And memories. I saw him jump, At 66, From a moving van, Six feet up Like a younger man, Hell bent to take his fill, Shovel hard, cursing still, Cigarette hanging loose Even with a rattling cough (He shrugged it off), And stop. Always 67, His last remains crave no nicotine, No ***** wayward fights, No carousing old man libertine Out with his son at night, And we who watched Old Rubin's days, Paid our respects and went our ways.
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Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
Stubble
What is this? What arrogance to be dissatisfied with bliss What am I? That I find myself like a Danish price contemplating molecular physics If there could be but one thing through which I could reach from the tips of my toes to the ends of my ariels let it speak to me now or remain forever ephemeral Tempt me not with silence nor sentient reflection let me sit idle while a host of doubts with carousing inflections rend peace from the oath used to praise your perfection the redoubt of certainty a false satisfaction but I will seek it no less, lest my own moral code on the floor lie here prone Be still Who are you to challenge me? My own self? HA! You are nothing less than a vaporous belch, repudiation of the shelf from which this retched book of life was wrenched No the end for you can come not too soon unless it be for that which you are A cankerous man ***** feeding on the life that was not given but taken from others AND from yourself I know not you Unless I do Unless I do For all that was, is and was, was mirage Smoke to the mirrors, dust in the sunshine caught by the exhaled breath of nothingness Cancer in the heart or lung make no difference to the boatman BEGONE Waste not my time with salutations nor grave maunderings on that which could have been nor with pleasantries and optimism I have no use for these baubles of ego BEGONE I SAID What would you be without meat to shrine that temple of mind? A magician? A sorcerer? Some glorified seamstress of witty offal set to ram fill mouths of the bantering rabble NO! I shall not cowtow to the nicetities of your excess, nor of mine Our colours are grey NOT black and white we shall drown beneath stone until resurrection day and even then we shall rot in our graves for there IS NO GOAD not to man, beast or rock NO GOAD that science shall not uncover, no lack that in wondrous doubt we shall **** to deny the self-evident fact that we are nothing and everything combined in one shell decomposing rapidly, a death knell for the self is the salutary cry for the immobile stone laid on my brow for the rustling tree for the wild fox and the mutated accessories to our loneliness they shall be freed and they shall feast upon our corpses and not a day too soon and not a day too soon so sayeth the bard from his everlasting gloom.
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Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
The Bard
What is this? What arrogance to be dissatisfied with bliss What am I? That I find myself like a Danish price contemplating molecular physics If there could be but one thing through which I could reach from the tips of my toes to the ends of my ariels let it speak to me now or remain forever ephemeral Tempt me not with silence nor sentient reflection let me sit idle while a host of doubts with carousing inflections rend peace from the oath used to praise your perfection the redoubt of certainty a false satisfaction but I will seek it no less, lest my own moral code on the floor lie here prone Be still Who are you to challenge me? My own self? HA! You are nothing less than a vaporous belch, repudiation of the shelf from which this retched book of life was wrenched No the end for you can come not too soon unless it be for that which you are A cankerous man ***** feeding on the life that was not given but taken from others AND from yourself I know not you Unless I do Unless I do For all that was, is and was, was mirage Smoke to the mirrors, dust in the sunshine caught by the exhaled breath of nothingness Cancer in the heart or lung make no difference to the boatman BEGONE Waste not my time with salutations nor grave maunderings on that which could have been nor with pleasantries and optimism I have no use for these baubles of ego BEGONE I SAID What would you be without meat to shrine that temple of mind? A magician? A sorcerer? Some glorified seamstress of witty offal set to ram fill mouths of the bantering rabble NO! I shall not cowtow to the nicetities of your excess, nor of mine Our colours are grey NOT black and white we shall drown beneath stone until resurrection day and even then we shall rot in our graves for there IS NO GOAD not to man, beast or rock NO GOAD that science shall not uncover, no lack that in wondrous doubt we shall **** to deny the self-evident fact that we are nothing and everything combined in one shell decomposing rapidly, a death knell for the self is the salutary cry for the immobile stone laid on my brow for the rustling tree for the wild fox and the mutated accessories to our loneliness they shall be freed and they shall feast upon our corpses and not a day too soon and not a day too soon so sayeth the bard from his everlasting gloom.
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60
Let us go you and I into a lovely scene. And watch as we fill it up with laughter and dreams. Never again shall we, you and I alone, enter into this lie that’s told. Must we go, you ask? Yes. Ah…but wait! You must never know you’ve turned me into ash.
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Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 8:05 PM UTC
Carousing with the Charming Red Dead
The sweet never grows old Or so it has been said silently and fortold But one never knows what fortune may hold Fortune, the misguided traveler Whom, winds wildy send That,in dandy-lionic fashion is fortune's fend All the troubles of tyrants have brought to bend There you find him, dicingly deciding Riguriously rolling away, not minding This carousing of carelessness Is what bought and sold him his business And business is good The lifestyle and the luxurious lude All was pefect, even the mood But that's the aroura allure Falling into flooding failure And business is too good Lucious conditioning can have one fooled Fortune is not to be mettled with or tooled Now it is time for this traveler to be leaved All the misspoiled one needs is his soul to be retrieved Luckyliy the lucid fortune's duty has been relieved
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Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 1:55 AM UTC
The wheel
I was breaking up with you In my head - tearing my soul from yours – And I didn’t know why? You had always been amazing to me All of my life. But I felt the need To get out and be free, To live the life I thought was expected of me. At times you were crushing me, So I decided                Just Let Me Be And I drove to your house I sat on your bed. I had the nerve to wake you, 7am on a sunny day, After a long night of the fraternity - drinking and carousing with who-cares-what sorority – In order to break the news. And there you sat, First angry, then shocked, Then trembling As the words, you lacked. I was sober. You were crying. After long, At last, We had said all our words, And I stood up and went out the door. I walked around the corner and down the front steps, And that’s where my resolve collapsed. I dropped to the curb Having been stabbed in the back; Not by you, but me, As I tried to keep my supposed path, But to you, I could not turn my back. So I sat there and watched The world blur As my tears dropped to the curb, Eventually working up the nerve to give you a ring. Thank god you picked up. And I confessed to you I had no idea what I was doing, That I needed you for all the world. So you came out and met Me on that wet Curb, Picked me up and went inside. Our lives not yet to divide.
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Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 9:00 PM UTC
The Day That I Cried
Normal names ,mediocre games many awaiting the evening to be untamed Tantalized by trickery to be teased with the expectation of tasty treats Carousing kiddies can't wait to click their heels but to stay away from home Tall top hats tilted with final facials gilded ,laughing or trembling just for the sweets Dedication by many overlooking a link with religion ,cut loose with no chaperone Frightful or often funny ,individually punny ,some just trying to give others the creeps Dancing damsels are distressed, Knights to guard them while monsters just groan Freaks frolicking standing aside while the princesses make their leaps Graveside now nice for a time,freaks from the shadows both smile & moan All invited to the grand ball,party to remember for peeps & those that are tall Uncage the animals,make up for others,imaginations rule, no excuse to sit like a stone One night to recall came to play in fall,beautiful or bewildered came together to enthrall . R.C.
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Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 6:32 AM UTC
ALL HALLOWS EVENING