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Al Sep 19
Green fatigue smothers the mind as purple smoke drifts in the breeze.  The earth comforts with shimmering grass, but these illusions never last.

Time begins its chaotic spin.  Voices call out.  Many languages and dialects I hear.  

A dragonfly hovers, my eyes become hers.

The green fatigue fades, the smoke fragments, the voices so far below.  Slowly we rise, leaving everything behind.

Freedom on a wingtip,
together we fly.
Wade Cook Apr 30
I’m leaving pieces here and there

A strand of light, stopped

Changed in the weather

I could almost feel him wilting over on me

Leaves turning over on a sunken hot iron

A root

Hidden in the atmosphere

I cover and ****, like a child

Some kind of dandelion gravity,

Diligent and clean

Falling through the ivy tree

I watch its petals beam

Or in the valley of his arms

Where an owl knods her weary head to coo

I lean to sip the water, and drown

Quiet eyes watching down on me,

washing over me

Weary neck bent to feel, like a nest,

declined to the earth

A pale thought, a lion hiding in the den

Sullenly making his way back to me
For Daniel, forever ago
ryn Jan 2015
.
             *the *future is...a tornado of uncertain-
          ty• a swirling vortex, in its centre is
me•such power and speed, can ne-
ver see•can never foretell, it's hid-  
den debris•like clockwork, it will        
   make contact•by the second, bra-        
cing for next impact•the past is...      
  yet another•wild winds that echo      
     my mistakes as reminder•this twis-         
      ter within...tearing with no remo-    
           rse•destroying confident strong-
             holds, breaking feebly boarded
           doors•can't ease the rage...eat-
    en from the inside•won't stop
until...my beating heart had
        died•the present is...only this  
   frail little body•fighting huge 
battles that come incessantly  
  •fending off the future, con-        
    taining the past•not know-            
ing how long.......this disas-       
ter would last•but I'm still      
   here.....still holding integ-         
   rity......•still fighting this       
war waged in history's        
folly•will i be settl-
ed? will the winds
ever abate?•
will i ever
      come to    
terms...?
will i
ever
    acc-
          ept
                     fa      
                 t
               e
             ?
             •
Wade Cook Jul 22
blue
blue
blue
I am the lion hiding in his den
blue
I am wilting over on you
blue
For your lonesome, quiet eyes
Johnny Noiπ Jul 19
imagine an underground network of rapists preying
on tourist & local girls; having an agreement w/
the pimps & cops [same]; the tourist guides
leading the ladies of all types, mostly young,
****** & white - blonde is better; local girls
hitting puberty, getting dragged into the den
at twelve get a choice, if they live; the dens filled
w/ liquor & drugs; partying a little or just jumping
her, dragging her to the open floor;

she wakes up *****, thankfully not dead, her
purse nearby; she goes to meet her new Desi
bf at the bazaar where he introduces her
to his friends; that night the same thing
happens; it happens for a week then a month,
then she helps the gang get other girls into it;

it goes on all summer, & on into another summer,
the winter filled w/ hot springs & expensive dates
on the paved side of the street; Bollywood stars
in American cars paying her **** who pays her
coyote who pays the cop to get her to Europe on a
tourist visa to work an exclusive Parisian Brothel
Timothy Dec 2016
Sleep, Mary, sleep alongside our dear Lord
A holy picture for all men to see
That King of glory and incarnate Word
Now cradled infant mortal child He be;
When all at once some village shepherds keep
Watching their sheep—abundant angels sing—
Told where to find this Saviour fast asleep,
And with great haste sought Yeshua the King.
Still coming forth from distant lands, wise men,
Approaching later on—Epiphany—
Bring finest gifts into their humble den
And bow in worship, rev'rence, on their knee.
     But wise men seek our Lord within these days,
     And keep Him in their hearts, and give Him praise.
© Timothy 24 December 2016
Yeshua - Jesus.
Epiphany - the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles as represented by the Magi (Matthew 2:1–12).
#Christmas #Jesus #Yeshua
Mike Hauser Feb 2015
I've come to the conclusion
That my life's a wreak
Poetry strewn all about
My house the biggest mess

So here I am in the middle of the den
In a pile of poetry on the floor
A desperate man with phone in hand
Since I can't seem to find the door

I call up a Psychic
I call up my Shrink
I call up the local Priest
To ask them what they think

They say there is no hope for me
Through the static on the phone
Right before they all hang up
I hear...boy you're too far gone

So I grab a hold my bootstraps
Pick my own self up
Determined to have this problem licked
With prayers and major luck

Starting in on this poetic clean
One thing that I found
I wrote on just about anything
That I had laying around

There was poetry on party napkins
On Chinese take out meals
Tiny poetry on tiny matchbooks
Even on banana peals

Poetry on the chandelier
Poetry on my cat Floss
Poetry on ***** dishes
I wrote with spaghetti sauce

Poetry on the mirrors
Smiling back at me
Poetry on Seinfeld
Across my T.V. screen

Poetry on the kitchen tile
That's never seen a mop
On the doors going in and out
And places I dare not look

I started cramming it all in boxes
Lining them up and down the halls
Soon had them in every room
3 feet deep and 8 feet tall

I made 15 trips to storage
The biggest one that I could find
Feeling now it's nice and safe
All packed tight, warm and dry

When it all was over
Feeling relief from that major chore
Set down in my den, took out my pen
And started writing more...
Clara O Aug 2017
Grådigt kaster DEN sig over søvnen,
Søvnen, der agerer flugt fra dens stramme greb om vitaliteten.
DEN overskygger, overdøver, overdriver.
Underminerer den fred,
som jeg først får lov til at smage på ved daggry.
Og når DEN har konsumeret søvnen,
så plyndrer DEN videre.

DEN stjæler, suger, skræller.
Plyndrer de resterende levn af pigen,
der engang var.
*** skal leve mens *** er ung!
Men jeg lever ikke videre.
Kun i spinkle fantasier om en fremtid,
eller i de magre håb,
der er lige så tynde,
som mine håndled er blevet
eller som hofteskålene der stikker ud
og giver mig kvalme
og minder mig om det hele
eller snarere det halve.
For den har været på plyndringstogt,
og har konsumeret pigen, der engang var.
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