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"chats" poems
The Victoria plum-tree that we planted this year Is now full of blossom that looks lovely from here The creamy white flowers and the brightest green leaves Makes beautiful colour as Springtime relieves. The garden of Winter, this year so wet Does blossom herald a ‘best Summer yet.’ It’s quite true of course that village life so snug Can have a tendency to make one feel smug But for years our’s has struggled, it now has no shops And a pub that’s near closure though it still sells the ‘hops.’ We don’t take it lightly the community here For we know we could lose it which would cost us all dear. It’s not really the money though the costs would be great But there’d be no Village Hall and no Summer Fete No chats with our friends over stiles by the field Nor any more eggs from the local chicks yield. We don’t take it lightly the community here And we will fight to keep it which will cost us all dear. ©JRW2014
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Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
A VILLAGE
Sitting in Circular Quay in a bistro on a warm winters day dreaming while watching the tourists and ships sail by. As I eat oysters and drink the day in with my wine, past memories wash over me. Morning teas, chats, and paper bark trees, hikes through the bush and walks along the beach. Watching dolphins play at dawn and fishing the waters on New South Wales shores. The Harbor Bridge alight with Bicentennial Fireworks; a surreal beginning to this adventure. Wringing every drop from days spent, finding a new world with each step. Discovering myself through the wisdom and eyes of you, maturing, becoming my own. Like family, you’ve been both mentor and friend, carrying me through fire and back. My life was undone as I first saw your shore. Feeling my heart would break with our first goodbyes, unknowing that an permanent bond had been forged. Tracing back over the years since we met, I’ve been given more than my share. Making me ponder how I have been blessed, to count you as a true friend.
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Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
SITTING IN CIRCULAR QUAY
I miss our chats, the endless days It felt like time stopped still; Our hands together, lying down Electric pulsing thrill Eating ice-cream, stolen moments And laughing all the while; Feeling happy, loved, contented That perfect beaming smile I miss our silly time together Being someone new; Learning and discovering All the while with you Throwing paint and stealing kisses Crackling touch, like sparks; Trembling lips and shaking knees The beating of my heart
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May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 10:05 AM UTC
Remembering you
A brush of lips, a trace of fingers against warm flesh, The warmth of your eyes The simplest of seduction. A heated sigh against a cheek of another, the whisper of 'I love you' and I'm yours The simplest seductions. A simple embrace and the strength of our ever long chats The sight of your smile sends a heart racing The simplest of seduction. The feel of your lips upon the flesh, a quick hug to show that you care. The simplest of seduction, and forever I'm yours.
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Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 9:47 PM UTC
The simplest of seduction
Parents sent me to see a therapist. Therapist said you can speak freely and tell me all. Therapist won my confidence so I opened up and told all. Felt great having someone to share all and felt cared for. Mind felt good and school rumors about me meant less. Parents had a money fight and therapist quit seeing me. Asked therapist to keep seeing me therapist said no. Show me the money and I keep seeing you as a patient. Hurt returned and felt like could talk to no one again. Therapists are like prostitutes you pay to get a part of your body serviced. I never will be married in real life. I will settle for a net ceremony on gaiaonline with a guy I met. He can't wait to hit it in virtual reality. Got no real life experience in *** but learning to sext. Getting better at it and practicing for my online wedding night. I'm 18, I hate my parents and their ****** up lives. Mom got home at noon from her overnight date with one of her men. Men like my mom because she opens her legs for all men she meets on the net. Dad likes his ****** he chats with on Facebook. Think he cheating on his evil ***** who got with him for his money. Dad likes them young like me and she wont be young forever. She will be like my lonely mom ******** men she meets off personals. Real life marriage is not in my plan. Settling for an net marriage with a guy I met off personals. Am I going to be like my mom?
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Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
Therapists are like prostitutes
I was waiting for him on the escalator on one side of the road  My Heart pumped at the highest rate when all at once realized abode. Saw him looking generously dashing riding a scooter He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and his hair were messy but modish. And here I was standing in my usual tank top and jeans, hair tied in a messy ponytail just then He saw me, waved And parked his vehicle near my usual bus stop I walked to his way with my bag full of books. We sat on the bench and started random talks about everything except what we thought about.   He then started using his phone and I was beginning to feel ignored. He on a spur of moment stopped and stared me and mentioned about our chats and phone calls "How it started" "How it became more Frank and comfortable" "How good friends we became online but never met in real life" strange isn't it? Then I told him I have to leave and the 'awkward silent moment' and he finally spoke "yeah" We shook our hand and he refused to let me go So I smiled and left his hand and eye contact and stood in the row The bus started moving and I saw him standing there only, shrugging his shoulder and leaving that place. That was my first and last with him or anyone!!
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Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
First date -ON BUS STOP
Now there were two of them Separated between thousands of read texts and timely chats touched by sound but not skin   Awake in the others sleeping Sleeping in the others awake   Restless as they wait Restless as they wait
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Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
A Friendship
Sitting round the barbecue there's Paddy, Jeff and me Mary is on Paddy's right as happy as can be Kath is sitting next to Jon while Chrissy chats with Fay Paddy passes round the brew on an orange, plastic tray Someone grabs a guitar and begins a happy song No one knows the melody but still we sing along Over comes old Lucifer his hooves are keeping time Three hot dogs on his pitch fork (and one of them is mine) "I hate to break this up" he says "the boss is on his way And if we don't pass muster then there will be Hell to pay So put away that beer my friends and hide that barbecue Now everyone look miserable and maybe we'll get through". A golden light came shining in as Jesus crossed the room Paddy swung a pick ax and I swept with a broom And Lucifer he cursed at us and cracked an evil whip And then a half gone Fosters went and fell from Paddy's hip. You could have heard a pin drop as that bottle hit the floor Lucifer just shook his head he knew what was in store But Jesus Christ he grabbed that brew and gave a wicked smile "For an ice cold pint of Fosters I would walk a country mile" So the joint again was rockin’ And Jesus lead the way He said “if it were up to me I think that I would stay” Then he downed another bottle And he said ‘oh by the way, My dad would not be cool with this so hold your tongues, ok?" We never let the secret slip and all is right and well And if you’d like to join us at this barbecue in Hell Then we have a simple rule you see, that everyone abides You can come and go eternally but religion stays outside.
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Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 2:56 AM UTC
The Barbecue
Sitting round the barbecue there's Paddy, Jeff and me Mary is on Paddy's right as happy as can be Kath is sitting next to Jon while Chrissy chats with Fay Paddy passes round the brew on an orange, plastic tray Someone grabs a guitar and begins a happy song No one knows the melody but still we sing along Over comes old Lucifer his hooves are keeping time Three hot dogs on his pitch fork (and one of them is mine) "I hate to break this up" he says "the boss is on his way And if we don't pass muster then there will be Hell to pay So put away that beer my friends and hide that barbecue Now everyone look miserable and maybe we'll get through". A golden light came shining in as Jesus crossed the room Paddy swung a pick ax and I swept with a broom And Lucifer he cursed at us and cracked an evil whip And then a half gone Fosters went and fell from Paddy's hip. You could have heard a pin drop as that bottle hit the floor Lucifer just shook his head he knew what was in store But Jesus Christ he grabbed that brew and gave a wicked smile "For an ice cold pint of Fosters I would walk a country mile" So the joint again was rockin’ And Jesus lead the way He said “if it were up to me I think that I would stay” Then he downed another bottle And he said ‘oh by the way, My dad would not be cool with this so hold your tongues, ok?" We never let the secret slip and all is right and well And if you’d like to join us at this barbecue in Hell Then we have a simple rule you see, that everyone abides You can come and go eternally but religion stays outside.
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56
I miss you more than ever. Your chords on Saturday afternoons, your hugs on Sunday morning, your smiles on Monday chats, your kisses on Thursday nights.
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Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
Thursday
In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm A dish falls, shatters A shriek tears the relative silence Pale pink blood blossoms in the water While rich red blood wells up in the hand Tears falling like a blinding waterfall Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain Blood and pain and tears fill the mind A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red Panting sobs and hyperventilation Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed, Previously lacerated toes Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist Focus on nothing, only the hand The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times A nurse asks if I smoke or drink A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering The corruption of the modern generations, Such that I am asked these questions Any friend of mine would quickly tell that No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are? Then I am whisked from the x-ray room Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut That I need stitches The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied A doctor probes the wound for shards Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine Both renew the flow Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze, And a roll of medical tape Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance First time the splint and stitches are gone, Doctor number two declares my hand usable First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless
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Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
hand laceration
In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm A dish falls, shatters A shriek tears the relative silence Pale pink blood blossoms in the water While rich red blood wells up in the hand Tears falling like a blinding waterfall Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain Blood and pain and tears fill the mind A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red Panting sobs and hyperventilation Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed, Previously lacerated toes Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist Focus on nothing, only the hand The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times A nurse asks if I smoke or drink A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering The corruption of the modern generations, Such that I am asked these questions Any friend of mine would quickly tell that No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are? Then I am whisked from the x-ray room Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut That I need stitches The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied A doctor probes the wound for shards Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine Both renew the flow Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze, And a roll of medical tape Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance First time the splint and stitches are gone, Doctor number two declares my hand usable First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless
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JAY nothin yep what crack dogpoop lol bananas Hitchcock what da **** like mayo? got beef? Hussein Mad Libs Donkey Asian Jesus Brown Rice Cross-Country Mexicans Asian Eminem Royce Da 5'9 Skype
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May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
First phrase of recent Skype chats
You’re being replaced with other attention now. I’m finally talking with other women. I realize now that you were a huge section of my time at one point. That’s what made us a couple. It’s when I left the country and our talking faded into small chats And then arguments, stress, conflict. I’m jaded by our divorce. It makes me have little hope of another marriage. It even makes me not want to spend time on trying to make another one. But I might only be kidding Since I’m really just waiting for my new friend to message me back. New relationships have so little webbing it’s hard to tell if they exist.
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May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Time and attention
Making the night lethargy by our sensualness.
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Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 5:17 PM UTC
Chats
Some get that way by playing it safe, memorizing mantras, righteously abiding by rules, some get there by cutting seams, lost in purposelessness, partaking of ether, marijuana, alcohol, or anything that's buzzy enough, some find their sweepstakes in curls, in fantasies, on the internet, or in the aftermath, some claim the spoils, some gracefully accept determination, some divorce their wives, some happily raise their pulse to the heavy metals, some review albums and cut down the ******** some write love stories for our grandmas, our moms, our ex-girlfriends, some find it in politics, right winging, left winging, chicken winging, some in bomb threats, some find it in supremacy, others in melting pots, some cheer up over breakroom chitty-chats, some in **** *** some in sympathizing with pedophiles trapped in iron lungs, some when they have hit the bottom rung, some by rationalizing, boosting themselves above half-wrongs, to coast on the half-rights, some by breaking up, some by declaring war, only to get discouraged, yet proud of the scars, some kids dance to experimental music, some write blogs about capitalism, some find it kicking it with bitter vegans, others while murdering their parents, but everyone is a winner, everyone is right, everyone has earned the paycheck, the vacation, the **** wife, and the key to eternal life.
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Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 8:03 AM UTC
Everyone is a Winner (hoo-rah-ray)
My heart still feels the same for you my eyes still cries for you my thoughts still linger around you my lips still speaks about you with every passing day my heart brings me utter dismay all I wanna do is endlessly talk to you it all started since the day you smiled to me in irresistible way though this I always knew that I'll never deserve you But I just can't stop dreaming you I just can't stop thinking about you all I wanna do; is to be with you coz I just wanna worship you you said you don't wanna be with me but I never did forced thee I just wanted to befriend you so that we can keep talking as we do my heart is still burning for you my eyes are still wetting for you I don't know if you ever care to; look into my eyes and read my feelings for you you're no more here with me but our chats and your memory they just keep haunting me one day I wish I'll be free but today I've to live with your thoughts and grief let me drown in your thoughts so deep that this insane heart cries to sleep I wish you could lend me your shoulder I wish I could have got a bit bolder to share what I feels for you one day with a smile all this I'll surely do but today let me enjoy this pain I know its weird and insane I wanna cry out loud but my ego will never allow with your memories and thought everyday I fought I may never forget you that's simply I'm incapable to
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Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
You're still the one...
So your motorbike gets you from A to B With no hiccups or fuckups or stops in between, No ponderous walking just to **** time Or impromptu chats with a friendly old guy, An excuse just ramble and gather your thoughts Explore a some places or visit old haunts If you find something new in an old part of town, You find that there's worse things than sometimes breakingdown. I admit it's frustrating to get to work late, Or have your dinner plans foiled whilst out on a date. But When friends say "just get a bike that works' I reply "one that doesn't sometimes has its perks."
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Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 4:33 AM UTC
On Owning an Unreliable Motorcycle
We're all mad here the day you accept the bier the moment you accept the fear you understand, we're all mad here We're all sad here all is sorrow, a single tear there is no tomorrow, no home pier you understand, we're all sad here We're all angry here all is lost cause, so strange, so queer all is far, yet so near you understand, we're all angry here As a white rabbit dashes by As a time flashes by Late, late, late for nothing and everything, too late
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Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 6:42 AM UTC
Chats with a Cheshire Cat
Another day passed, As I gaze at that door. Staring at the pictures of us. I wished those video chats, Never ended for us. As we talked for hours, Comparing our hearts. As I gaze at that door, I wait for a signal. A knock, a voice. Telling me your home.
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Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
The wait, that door
i extract poetry from your facebook chats and tenderness from your skype calls this: the compromise of a romantic heart in the face of modern ephemera since i cannot scale your balcony like i memorize your wall (o sweet o lovely wall thanks courteous wall) nor can i woo you or ****** you without google as my cyrano i worry for the endurance of a love without tree-carved initials and sigh over perceived corruption caused by emoticons over emotion though i’m sure if mr wilde could text or byron could bbm they’d not forego their lovers’ notice for the sake of pure romance they’d embrace any fleeting mention with disregard for rose colored glasses not moon over the glare of history’s glance they’d kiss them with x’s and serenade them with youtube and covet any moment not spent with them on their mind so my conflict is resolved and my star-crossed thoughts soothed when they caution most ominously that anything on the internet can never truly disappear.
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Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
love in the time of modernity/ ode on a facebook wall
its been a while since i last heard from you day after day and not a single word from you you tell me not to be paranoid but how am i not suppose to think about those things when i hear nothing from you to think that you no longer want me to think that i no longer have any significance for you i miss you so much and not a word from you i get not to mention your voice your sweet, soft, beautiful voice its been weeks since my pitiful body has heard your voice i sometimes wonder if all those long chats over the months even mean anything you'd tell me you feel these things and tell you the same but how did we end up here how did i end up suffering, begging for you to say something to me anything i wish you understood how much it hurts how much you not being around makes my skin crawl and how much it makes me want to scream plead for you to say something i just miss you, thats all
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Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 10:37 AM UTC
i just miss you, thats all
I at times will wake her up reminding her of important stuff I guide her by giving her the weather report So she is appropriately dressed I correct her grammar when she chats I help her stay in touch with family and friends My list of duties appear to never end I keep track of important dates I give her the time so she is never late I do all these tasks without thanks or praise If I would just suddenly quit She would just move on to using a newer version of me because all I really am to her is just a cell phone that is what I was created to be
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Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
A perspective poem
What happened a week ago I’m still recovering Some have told me I’m in mourning when you lose something that was a part of you for so long I feel like I’ve lost a limb or a big chunk of my heart what happened a week ago friendships severed, felt like an amputation without the anesthesia sawing and gnawing whittle by whittle the pain, never less than searing what happened a week ago I feel the phantom limb I think it’s still there I go to my inbox, check the chats, click one and BOOM shouting matches and f-bombs being dropped like the a-bomb on Hiroshima my words, arrows dipped in poison I flung everything I had poured my chopped up heart onto a silver platter and let the blood drip drop for all to see what happened a week ago I said some things I shouldn’t have I let my heart speak instead of my head letting my anger and red flurries get the best of me what happened a week ago is an awful lot like what happened 11 years ago I’m six years old piecing together a puzzle of forgiveness walking back to my room after a yelling match with my sister I scribble I’m so sorry I got mad at you on the back of my homework slide it under her door and wait
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Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
1 week, 7 days, 168 hours, 10080 minutes, 604800 seconds, a lifetime ago
What am I thinking about on these hot summer days besides your cool, coy, cheerful gaze. Oh, I'm moving forward but still pondering on of your sparkle in the distant northwest horizon. I'm thinking of those twinkles in your smile that travel 1000s of fiber optic online miles. I'm saddened to read your goodbye... and see you go You, and your online profile... that is... this thoughtfulbeau. I'll miss your Hi!, Hey!, Yah!, Yeah!... and your full smile your patience for my replies... and willingness to stay online awhile. I'll miss your  attempts to banter... and our brief chats your witty answers... and allergic opinion about cats. Sigh. . . . With your goodbye and turning off the dating light I could choose to wallow in my own spite. I feel the loss but not rejected or hurt I'm filled with positive regard and a connective comfort. Such as nectar turns into honey by a bee... you sweetened my besotted feelings into endearing bounty. So it feels right knowing your heart has found its light. A local love who hears your voice respects your choice and hopefully fits like a warm glove. So keep your lights bright to keep each other warm through the cool and comforting Portland nights. Peace out... ;o)
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Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 11:42 PM UTC
Peace out . . . okcupid.
You're looking old, my friend, and if I may say, a little sad. Such is the nature of the honesty our chats have always had. And now your looking tired too, worn down, defeated. Where once I saw an extrovert, I now see a man retreated. The boy you used to be is gone, never to come back. The fresh faced look of yesterday, hides 'neath stubble, grey and black. The wrinkles now say character, where their absence once said youth, and eyes that once said innocence, now show experience and truth. That's not all, there's something else, as if a sadness shrouds your soul. hiding scars you cannot heal whilst two halves remain unwhole. But you know my friend, its up to you and the chances that you take, for our path is one we draw ourselves by the decisions that we make.
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Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 12:02 AM UTC
Old friend