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Rich Hues Feb 1
As romantic as the candlelight in a Paris bistro
   Before it is snuffed out like Marat,
   In a red sheet of claret.
    
   With the closing door,
   Moules scattered across the floor,
   I am reminded that I should tell her I love her more,

   By the waiter.
  
    Remembering why I hate the French,
    I clench
    But sooner
    Rather than later
    He brings me a schooner,
    Of the green stuff and then...
    A pad of paper and a pen.

    I cannot walk home but am driven,
    Where, unlike him, I'm not forgiven.
MJL Mar 22
The fresh smell of cordial
The centerpiece of pleasant
The fabric of universally tepid beginnings
Radiating ions
Magnetically separated orbits passing
Vanilla hopes for common ground
The sun is good, most of the time
The rain is bad, most of the time
What’s your answer
The sun is good
Yes
We are one
Atoms unite
Bonding.
Mary Velarde Mar 26
You.
You were easily the light
of my life.
I didnt have walls.
I only had doors flung open;
a warm invite.
A better part of my life
tucked neatly at the back of my mind
where it had grown
a garden of potentialities
and hope
and thoughts like
maybe this time we'll do it right.
Every passing catastrophe
has taught me that the eye of the storm
is where the calmest region of the weather is;
not the opposite.
It goes to say that just because
we're caught in the middle of a calamity
doesnt mean it's always a heartbreak
from here on out.

I admit that your absence almost always
feels synonymous to my bed
stretching out to the side.
It always feels too huge,
empty,
lonely.
I admit that I have not met anyone who loved
black coffee so much more than you did.
And I loved you,
perhaps so much more than you did.
I'm still learning to accept that.
Funny,
how unconditional love comes with
an abundance in conditions.
But they say
you cant really love too much
you can only love the wrong person.

You were an interlude
to the series of my raging calamity.
You were the eye of the storm,
the calm,
the petrichor after a long period of drought.
Registered in my fondest memories.
A parched corsage in a memory box
that shouldve stayed under my bed.
Shouldnt have belonged elsewhere.
Shouldnt have belonged now.
But that's okay.
I'd argue that the imperfect line
where I trace down your spine
is where the earth grows soft.
The soil,
damped,
the last time I've ever looked into your eyes;
the last time I will ever look into your eyes.
Reeled out the last remaining molecule
of my peace
and gave it to you when you lost yours.
Loneliness isnt
the absence of peace,
I have realized.
Loneliness is just love with nowhere to go.
Like yellow cars on a bus lane.
Etched out of place
but only because the signs
are obscure and hazy;
a product of naivete,
a voluntary free fall.

You will perpetually only be
my great perhaps.
And that's okay.
I've learned to forgive myself
for refusing to believe that
in the past.
Lady Ravenhill Nov 2016
He happily tells you
His wonderful news,
With excited smiles,
But none of it involving you.

You tell him
You’re so happy to hear...
But your little smile
Only holds back tears.

Everything you ever wanted
Lives within his eyes
But all he wanted now lives in her,
Which makes you die inside.

You're trying just to smile big
With cordial congratulations  
Because he must never know
Your pathetic lamentations.

The sorrow that will, forever,
Be splitting you in two
That he will never, ever,
Look for happiness in you.
@LadyofRavenhill 11/8/16
Revised 2/7/17
ryn Oct 2014
Found myself at a dental clinic...
He was the best there was.
Unorthodox and eccentric,
But to the specialised craft, he was boss.

Ran through the bits and bobs
Like any normally would.
The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays.
Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood.

Strange was what happened next...
Specialist and I then stood facing each other.
He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage.
Held them there over a few breaths before it was over.

Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man.
Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature.
Talks of politics and odd human behaviours...
What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter.

I then realised that along with his decorated credentials,
Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant.
Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide,
But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant.

Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness!
I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought.
I wanted him to just stop talking!
I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!"

He was stunned momentarily...
I suppose he hadn't seen that coming.
Then his features softened to a blank
I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring.

With an exasperated sigh of resignation,
He uttered his next words swollen with regret
"There's no need...for you only have four years left."
It dawned upon me that my timer has been set.

*And then I woke up...
Had this dream several nights ago. I believe that in a lifetime, we'd probably get at least three dreams that would be etched in our minds forever. So far I've had two... The other is in my earlier writes.
See "Mysterious".
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/831521/mysterious/
Matt Shaw May 2017
My creature tears up suburban nightscape on a bike
Activate: punk rock soundtrack
Do you have the headphones equipped?

He lost his driver's license
******* idiot
It's still fun though,

I have every intention of Infecting this area
You'll receive a cordial invitation from my lips
I'm imbued with the coming sensation
I just want the soundwaves to hit my stomach
I just want to cast my colors out into the world
And here they go one by one

It's gonna ring from ear to ear
What binds me to the sacred land,
Hallelujah!
Blessed the cordial chains brought upon me,
The burden of one, to hand over such dignity,
Hallelujah!
Blessed those who look down in such amiableness,
Oh please! Hand me the certificate of my soul, as if it was never mine.
Hallelujah!
Brianna Bushee May 2018
Look now
you've made
my words pointed.

I wanted to be cordial.
I wanted to be polite.
But not now.
Not ever.
Not after this tonight.

There are words that I could say
I could speak them all outloud
No one would look at us the same.
They'd linger there forever
never would they fade.

I accept too much of what
I know is not my blame.
Make excuses for your behavior,
feed in to all you games.

There was a codependence
This I do not refute.
But it doesn't make up for
every irreparable dispute.
I've finally tired of all your
abhorrent attributes.


Love Always,
Brianna.
I think about you when I see a barefoot rider.
Or hear Fields of Barley or Is this Love.
Lime cordial doesn't taste the same.
And an egg is just an egg now.
Crying Little Birdy, dappled light and swaying curtains
Or alto voices that are lower than mine but just as bright.

I think about you when I use a dishwasher stick
That has the scourer with the detergent in it.
When I sit over the crack in a couch.
When it rains and it's cold.
When I have cold feet.
When I slip into cool sheets.

I think about you when Father Ted is on.
Imagine you in Paul Kelly songs.
When I smell cut wood, sanded back.
Or salt air.
Or see grey hair and weathered loved houses.
Or women in vests with lilac blouses.

I think about you in the water,
When I'm in the shower, or at the beach.
When it rains and when I drink.
In the blue and green and sometimes silver.
Or when I'm smothered in an unrequited love
That isn't yours.
Andy Oct 30
If there are wonders of worlds unknown it wouldn’t be found in this missive. All ingenuity and innovation of tenders and obscure precarious peasants in town are forgotten. A tailor-made war machine ingenious to no purpose, but disassembling of pragmatic purpose driven people by torts in similitude to lay-flat bacon with no flavor. Style was not the first itinerary as well, as reason and intellection more likely found slung out a window in the dark grey burdensome MOCO morning clouds to dry than the vestige of its unrecognizable token. At the day of the making of the great ingenious monstrosity of marvel the crown and the crowd were all in awe, awhile the people gathered in the halls giving pittance and lamenting what they saw. They were counted with their many items that they made not similar to the machine that they stood in obeisance for.

  October 28th broke darkness to a drab MOCO morning as brilliant light gives way to long pale grey cloudy skies of foreboding obstruction. What has come to pass fills the streets with unfriendly noises. Obnoxious street sounds of trucks and rude commuters in the morning melting *** of the county seat steered a drab venture for the driven. For some, the events of the day couldn’t come too soon. A sober male erected himself in an uncomfortable bed, eyes raptured into a day fore lorn by prophets of paisley drapes and trinkets once despised. Little left to vacillate upon he strikes his life for the fare he will need for the day without a meal and those owed are far greater than he can afford to pay. He deserves far worse. He makes his early drink in one thousand ways and questions the preliminaries that compulsory routine has degraded to utilitarianism as he is burdened by health of the sort the homeless are afflicted.

    Sitting undisturbed, busy rifling through an ordinance of papers, the judge peered out over his bench checking occasionally to appear meticulous and still aware of off-guard court officers and clerks. It’s a wonder how influential the long satin Khaki painted walls aligned with disheveled faces of the father’s of the 9th District were in forming his disposition. It might not be obvious by the look of his sparse schlocky beard or furry eyebrows but, his portrait was as predestined as the grain on the gurney he rode in on. A paladin in white, a fury fine form, ready to leave his post modern imprint in-line with the greats. This wasn’t what he loved to do; this was what he was born for.

    The tight soldier-course front-line of blue and teal is disrupted by our pocky pitched Siren dousing more among the brown of cross wood than the grain that red oak can display. Cordial banter in the echoes of the hall were far off despite the close good mornings and whimsical felicitations exchanged wittily without regard to fairness. Framed words are hard to come by in the sentence seat of the unjust. The fake philanthropic mating calls our Siren sounds before the wind are so grotesque in full sight they are only left for a sailors burial song or dirges in the dark by wearisome travelers and laborers neglecting the fear of their next day as they did the day before. Singing is a requirement in the back minds of the proud. of the proud.
With the sun
The fire spirits
Bring amber hues
Golden and applied
To a weathered canvas
In the deep blue water
Floating in pools
Of violet and marine
Evermore fulfilling
Evaporating then only
Descending into the
Emerald green
And soft grass
Holding flowers
Giving them
A cordial of life
With her laughter
Echoing afar.
kirk Newman Jan 25
As the opportunities arise, I grow impatient
Wanting greatness ever so quick
Anxiety sets in
Living in a cycle wondering is this it
I see fear as failing every area regularly
I wasn't born to be regular
I know I'm great but am I prepared for the next step
Am I truly ready
I believe I am
I used to have faith
I used to have hope
Then one day I realized why should I hope for things that I know
If I know it's going to get done
Why stress it
Why not sit back and appreciate the blessings
You know, slow down and smell the roses
Seems like I blinked and 5 years went by
How did I end up here
No
How did I start up here
Am I great
Or am I just like everybody else
Not knowing what's next or what's left
When partners fade away and your journey becomes singular
I think I'm just as scared as everybody else
The unknown can make you that way
Lingering wonders of daily ideas
Game plans of my immediate future
I remember the dark days so vividly
Not feeling like this was real
Like everything was make believe
Do I really understand the powers I have
Am I underestimating myself
Me
The cordial pep talker
The one who shines light into everyone else's day
Am I really doubting what I can do
What's wrong with me
No
What's right with me
Does it matter if I'm wrong or right
Is that type of caring a sign of life
Why do I want to be great so bad
What does that gain for me
Will I use my powers for selfishness or for promotion of others
Alot of these answers I KNOW
But why is it so hard to act on these answers
Will I continue to cause inexcusable damage
Will I continue to cross the Atlantic for bridge burners
Why haven't I settled down
Are my standards too high
When my opportunities continue to arise will I take them in stride
Where's my pride
I know what I am
I'm great
I'm chosen
I'm ready
Greatness awaits me
JP Goss Sep 2018
Do you feel how the air moves
Autumn, my love?
I have a secret to confess
Autumn, my love.
I have been blue like the summer sky
Among the cordial zephyrs
Those crowds and their pleasantries
Alight everywhere
As the trees in plumage
Concealing so much as they reveal everything,
Autumn, my love.
It has been a feverous summer,
Mad Augustine march of the southern breeze
Into the remote Tuscarora contemplation
Of lascivious concealing,
Autumn, my love.
You chilled my hands, leading me up
The logging path,
Ignored my glance and kept pulling
My insecurities up to the surface
The grief and lethargy I feel
Stomping through the moving pictures
Of the concealed revealing
Soon the sky will be very clear
And your darkness passes across your face
Much sooner now,
Autumn, my love.
Why did you bring me here, to the edge?
You pause and wait for the sky the perfect
Blend of grey and decay.
You speak and the leaves fall around me
And I feel myself melting into your *****
Covered by your many hands
Curving around my body, enveloping,
With your gravity putting me on my back
And carve my every sacred cerebra
With the twists and moistness, the cool
Air scent of the sleeping earth
Of your belly
Autumn, my love,
I wish to have you always,
Autumn, my love.
Your cracked embrace swims down the ravine
Seeming to wave goodbye.
It’s in time likes these,  
Autumn, my love,
I cannot bear the thought of an equinox of passion,
Where the golden sun is soon on its way to setting
Autumn, my love.
You look out, where the sun will rise,
Your footsteps gliding over the edge
Where I cannot chase you out
The valley of your body and you giggle at the fact,
Autumn, my love.
A single leaf falls from your hand,
I wish to have you always, too
But this joy can only perch on the precipice
Of despair
Each day must flee quicker and quicker
You tell me, you’ll love me more when I am gone,
Autumn, my love.
Not about a woman, either.
Austin Sep 1
Our eyes meet in a flurry of emotion
They intermingle in the space between
And run fierce like a current in the ocean
The inauguration cordial and clean

Speckled, amber cheeks and bashful smile
Your happiness radiates through me
To reassure me this warmth is worthwhile
To let our hearts be weightless and free

Our intentions coalesce without a word
Despite our silence, everything was heard
Postal Leo Feb 20
I
was
CALLED
a ******.

How nice of you.

Clearly your a cordial personality.

— The End —