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CK Baker Feb 2017
There were dividing lines
between springfield
and mariners gate
soft, subtle lines
that spoke of origin
and code
and biting union

it was all
the reason
for being;
alive and living
dead or dying
deep in a pack
of pint size resistors
hell bent on the
marsh crow
and cannabis tower
jumping the rush
with *** shots
and anchors
and tribunals

camouflage creepers
and transient floaters
marked rebellion at the gates
(skullduggery and taunt
high on their favor list)
jack straws and flat paddles
for the evening charade
beakers and flailing hands
from the foot washing baptist
(the pleasant street conservatives with their
own something to say…“there’s gonna be hell to pay!”)

there's a
lingering effect
to this sentiment
(evident in the pump house stride)
the river winds
blow gently
into the night
as the huddling packers
and **** backs
chase the evening hours

it’s a bitter sweet
end of an era;
those traction bars
hood scoops
and nickel bags
will always
be the rage
CK Baker Mar 2017
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green

field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs

creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent  
through a failed ground rock)

brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
crack their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail

12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)

lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land

Do not guide
I need not to be tied
Just show me the sunlight
I will take my flight
Not so creepy, just a creeper
Not a dodder, just a seeker
With you i grow
Just a vine
With you, I entwine
Till the end.....


A thought provoked by a creeper....
Of which I promised this Forthcoming Gift
That Low-Resolved Program you often play
Mine of Sum's Direct robbed my Basics shift
Could make my Allowance afford one day
Till then, master those Memes and Squarish Crew
And ask your Score teemed to accumulate
I know you can do it, Technocrat Blue
And rake those Creepers down confusticate
Or shall I, along the mean, Journal's Writ
Ask for more Hints over Direction rough
You, Controlling-E, fly Normal's out-of-it
Conclude my Patience to nearly enough.
I'll trust the Swede with his Awards advance
Then I'll Trust you; With those Talents enhance.
Valsa George May 2016
Like a toddler taking maiden steps
The narrow stream moves through the woods
Tripping and falling over pebbles and boulders
Chiming its silver anklets

Forcing itself in irrepressible flow
It thrusts and shoves its way down
Through thickets and a line of ferns
And the tangle of creepers and thorny brambles

Drowning the whisper of bamboo leaves
Its sweet murmur falls in my ears
As an eternal living melody
The cosmic song heard over eons

As the water sluices down the rocks
It becomes a frothing braided torrent
Producing a harsh grating roar
Like the crescendo of a tribal symphony

There it forms into a small pool
With its waves gently rippling
Where birds merrily come to take a dip
And sunning their feathers, fly back refreshed

Sometimes travelling unseen
It suddenly emerges into the open
Cutting its way through cracks and fissures
Never willing to surrender before hurdles

With a bearing immaculate in grace
It sends out waves of pure delight
What joy it is to watch the dilly dally
Of this sedate pilgrim moving to its destination
There's this bell that rings redbrick on days I stay in.
This bell that rings sings to me as a clubfooted horse.
Brassbeating hooves are as a chest at nightfall: Russian dolls are as real
as people: Everything is all alike as the "and"
and "and" that Bishop feared. There
is nothing in us from catching fishes then returning their swim. There
is nothing in us from drinking from seawater, from moth-tear, from
the moonlight that creepers in there when your mouth
     figures itself
as bell or foot: I should wake up. I should wake.  
I should, I should.
Westmorly Court. Church nearby. Wigglesworth Hall. Church nearby.

Also, regarding Bishop: 'A Cold Spring', 'The Fish', 'Insomnia', The Man-Moth', 'The Bight', 'Over 2000 Illustrations and a Complete Concordance'.
Molten web
of keys
& brass tumble
to the ear;
there's cane
sugar burning,
a thick crest
of moon, the
breast of night,
& the piano
is a violent
love, a brace
of stone.

The second
movement
arrives like
a galleon
with sails
of cries
& whispers.
The world
lilts. A scent
of lilacs
in the
hand. The
minor key
move is
devastating.
"I saw the
figure 5
in gold"

Then,
the dusky
iron of the
anvil births
sparks.
Wistful
lace of
yesterday
falters
in the air.
Trumpet
creepers
climb the
black trellis
of evening.
A closing
throb that
speaks:
It was
worth it.
Jennifer K Jun 7
He sits in the dark with his eyes seal,
A complete stillness engulfs his figure
Yet he shivers in the fear of death

Under the light he may not reveal;
He must pretend his courage and say no beast
He must be the keeper of the fire
He must hold the conch and cry the demand
To remain as the leader amongst the lost boys

Creepers surround and tighten his breath of spiel
The neat hair and sleek body had long been gone,
No longer he is the fair boy of British

He wanders within the endless darkness of misdeal
Where nothing is heard but a sound of his frightened heart
But once more he hopes for the light
And falls into the darkness of the night.
Poem about Ralph, a protagonist in the book Lord of the Flies by William Golding.
It's sweat season.
The thick-air season,
the "I can't breathe" one.

The uncut clovers,
can you bring yourself to mow them over?
Can you watch Virginia Creepers creep
and hold your mother while she weeps
and save that mouse while your cat sleeps
in the sun so deep
into the air,
it feels as if
it's almost there
to touch,
to burn your small hand on?

Bacon grease and black cement
burn your bare feet,
the gravel digs into your knees
and Finally, some summer breeze.
Finally, thick-air relief.
real childhood nostalgia hours
JN Cole Jul 2018
I.
We sing we sing
We sing Save the Queen!
Cobain never wrote about you
How'd a newspaper boy
bring you to the creeps of stereos?
Castle Rock is your new
Meat Puppets song!
How we sing!
Sike!
If only you'd ever live that long
For your tiny hands
left your rulers in school

II.
Blow the conch, now
my sweet fair-haired darling
Is a beautiful boy the face of democracy?
If so, Liberty must come down
Her concrete crown must tumble down
So shall her scepter and *****
Give it to the boy who stands on his head
"No grown-ups!"
Like 'em alien
and devastatingly deviating!
At the reversed fat boy: sneer.
"***** to your ***-MAR!"
"***** to your auntie!"
***** to your specs that once kept us alive!
On the contrary he shan't practice
activism
Democracy is just a boy, after all
Who once fed ponies with sugar
over the garden wall
Who once watched snowflakes die
in their crystalline glory
Whose daddy is in the navy

III.
Tell them, sweet darling
who the Beast really is
No one can ever be quite like
The Lamb on His Throne of Gold
And His Cross of Healing
But what did you do to the lamb on his throne of beach creepers
When you poked him dead with your wooden sticks
When you gave him to the Beast of the Sea in all its obtuseness and mystery

IV.
Never say "never"!
Where has Pan gone wrong
Neverland really is never again
Raising misfits and raving moonies
and lunatics
Running up and down and in circles 'round the scar
George was right when he said
the cops will never find 'em
Neverland!
Into the lagoon, c'mon now
Don' be afraid of them shadows
dancin 'cross the blue
Don' be afraid of the reef

V.
Where have you gone wrong?
Maybe it is the death of reason and sanity
A boulder to his head
and stuff came out
Reason and Sanity fell flat against a square red rock
And the gentle surf washes over and takes them away

VI.
Who runs the black circus?
The choir boy does!
Can he play his harp?
No, but he sure as heck can sing C#!
Oh, s'that so?
And he sings:
"***** to your fire!
***** to your flame!
***** to your ardor for salvation!"
He came to steal
He came to ****
Run to the hills, littluns!
Can he not play his harp then?
Shan't he not?
F'course not!
He is friends with the ****** Beast!
The beast as flies on the Sow's violet lips
He cannot put Goliath to sleep

VII.
What was the hunt for?
Oh, you sure know how to get yourself some mice!
Master of Deception and Lies that you are!
What was the hunt for?
Thrilling ain' it?
Justify your thrill!
Come on children and follow the
Pied Piper
down to his Lake
down to the path with
shadows and tall trees
(but it seems like paradise!)
down to his Lake
with gnashing of teeth
No lake you say?
There is!
It's the one underneath the scar!
Deeper than the ocean beyond the reef

VIII.
Oh, officer!
Take a seat! Don't be shy!
Don't be reserved for there're plenty!
I'd buy you a snack!
Wait, let the choir boys do it for you!
In your plush velvet chair
recline,
come on
you deserve a ******
jolly good show
In this theatre
mechanical rounds of applause
hardwired machinery of dictation
Dictated sanity
Go tell your baboons
"Jolly Good Show!"
An' feed your green eyes
Godawan Jul 7
Rain arouses my
all inner and outer senses
Electric sparks in sky
as if a love gesture
rain without sweetheart  is a teaser.

Sound of falling drops
Like love music unsurpassed
Creepers wrapped in trees
Looks as if soul mating soul
This takes away pleasure
  rain without sweetheart is a teaser.

Dark clouds deepen and
Make the day as the night
Heart beats are now rushing fast
I wonder how will the night last
The whole atmosphere is an Ignitor
rain without sweetheart is a teaser

Beautiful peacock and peahen
started renewing their love again
Been sweetheart there
I would have placed my own sign
And had been your chaser
rain without sweetheart is a teaser.

— The End —