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Jackie Goya Mar 2014
Sitting at the beach
At night

Where the fire keeps you company
When all the sailors have gone to bed
Where the sea sings its song
And it makes you forget
About the pain and the horror
The others went through
The reason they’ve gone to bed
And now only there’s you
Staring blankly at your hourglass
Knowing life well enough to say
That it doesn’t spare any
It’s going to take you in its sway

Sitting at the beach
At night

Where the sand tickles your feet
Teasing you like an old lover
Where the wind cools you down
While the heat makes you hover
You force this happy smile at first
Because tickling should be funny
but then again there are  tears
Why did you leave me, honey
These yellow stains they went away
And so did your little freckle
But I have to stop wondering
And I really shouldn't heckle

Sitting at the beach
At night

Where the stars keep on staring
No matter where your beach might be
They don’t make you do but realise
How important are we?
My lover has gone and I will have pain
But these bright spots are infinite
And I am just this little stain
So what is there to do for me
In this endless tree of time
As this small and lonely chloroplast
I’ll keep on trying to be fine
Graff1980 Jul 2015
The eerie sunflowers bloomed black and yellow
With dark aspirations to expand their influence
Stealthily they crept across the grassy field
Coming like tiny green stemmed soldiers
No rifles in hand only chloroplast warriors
To find their fond enemy ripping them from their roots
Till the field was filled with their corpses
Scattered petals pleading for mercy that never came
Losing some loved ones to a wicked bouquet
Bequeathed to a beloved who tossed them away
Between the killing field and the black back alley way
Is where those tragic sunflowers lay in decay
Displayed in their grotesque and dying forms
Michael H May 2019
What a heavy helicopter
Such a thing is a sight
Give mankind a lift
A species to itself
This planet is a rift
Green like grass
From the mind of floating trees
Humming birds
Chloroplast
A gift to society
Kind totality will sift
The inventor's soul
Will
Give to life
28
Hanna Baleine Jul 2014
I do not remember what it’s like to eat a piece of food and not think twice about it. Can you tell me please? Take me back to when I was just born, to when bleeding hieroglyphs no longer sat on my thighs, to when my veins were already flushed of a need to ****. The lipstick on my mouth is made out of the blood I dissect from my body at night. Once I spilled a raindrop of cranberry juice onto a rosé journal and I cried. He pulled me in between houses. There he laid me down on the grass and I felt oh so very strange to be surrounded by my home, a place of love and kindness and security and welcoming food always ready on the table surrounded by smiling sisters. Yet no one came to save me that night. And so I still think about it today, long after he has moved away and I have still stayed sitting around that mendacious table of warm food I refuse to eat. My school shoes are the only shoes I own. I sleep with them on because I’m convinced that the idea of a happy young girl in long socks and short skirt and ******* that poke out just a little will enter the chloroplast of my cells and join the war against viruses that take me to that too familiar closet corner with the carpet stained with blood. Or is it cranberry juice? I cry.
Graff1980 Jun 2015
I was the flower that longed to be loved
Dried and dying quietly crying chloroplast tears
Broken stem, parted petals trembling
Against the harsh summer winds
Longing for soft soil and gentle rain
To nourish me and wash away my pain
The last lost rose in a broken garden
Still wanting what I never had
Graff1980 May 2015
The dying flower ripped
From the earth
Drips chloroplast
The living liquids
Barely last
As the fragile stem
Begin life again
Imprisoned in
A vase or dark bell jar
Left to die
A slow beautiful death
On display
Ken Pepiton Aug 2021
Were it my duty to con vince a fool  I would try
To understand my own reason before answering
Lest I be like the fool met in his folly.

Experience vicariously pre carious edge standing

I know chaos never resolves into synchronized living systems.
Never has. Never will. Still
You can think differently.

Find a way any thing can be
And being, come to,
eventually, be a part of you that works.
A chloroplast
Or some thing, mechanical, inside a cell inside of you.

Chance, bon chance, sunbeams captured in greens ground
To ruminated mush in bovine bellies find their way in
Packets of protein to

----
One of the things that loved enemies do is provoke you
To good works, to right use of the talent found
beneath the rock that crushed you
Like a bug.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
5:15 PM
METABOLIC LOVE
Behold the strength in your weakness
Which is capable of giving vigour to my membrane
Chlorophyll in chloroplast makes the green plant blossom
You make the smile on my face radiant

Come, let's mix the right nucleotide sequence of our desired RNA
And build the sequence of our desired protein
So that the expression of our gene
Will be the desire of friends and relatives

Amidst thousands, you're the only one I chose
Your hotness could denature enzymes
There exist a thousand of competitive inhibitor
But by the words of my mouth;
None would fit to my active site

I want to fly on your wings to the horizon
Regardless of the barbaric thought of men
For I know;
All unwanted functional unit of life
Will die by apoptosis.
       -'Bintan Ola
       -martinsolabintan@yahoo.com
David R Jul 2022
slowly, darkly,
creeps the creeper upward,
gently, softly,
seeking subject subvert,

squeezing, choking,
round and round it winds so,
clutching, grasping,
as in Hitchcock slide-show,

chloroplast it seeks,
in the silence it you speaks,
in dreaded game o' hide-and-seek,
deadly snare that slides and sneaks
binds together wild and weak
tames them unto mild and meek

deftly, smoothly,
pulls you up on seaboard,
unawares he smiles at you,
plants his tentacle deep in you,
plays on you as keyboard,
poisons inner mind-ward,
extradites your innocence,
chaste and untouched inner sense,
skillfully and neatly you are his.
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#extradite

Written with *The Music of the Night* [from "Phantom of the Opera"] in mind.
David R Aug 2021
janus looks not at future or past
he looks at present and is aghast
astonished he looks to right and left
shivering in fright at world bereft

where he looks he sees desolation
the human condition in shreds 'n tatters
the stink of putrid stagnation
as man has forgotten what really matters

future appears worse than the past
past is drenched in blood chloroplast
so forever he looks this 'n that way
unable to in present stay

— The End —