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atlas voyager Oct 2018
monochrome boy keeps a little stash of blue in his eyes. well, at least most of the time. i told him once that there was a sweet, warm sort of sadness about him, and amongst his greyscale i saw an unfamiliar glimpse of the most becoming wildflower yellow.
he's lovely
Ben Jones Dec 2016
Billy loved his parsnip
He'd tend it day and night
To keep it safe from prying eyes
He stashed it out of sight
But one eventful morning
He awoke to such alarm
His parsnip had gone from puny
To the size of a baby's arm

Such growth was nigh unheard of
In a vegetable or fruit
So he bore it proud before him
Grasped expertly by the root
When he showed his doting mother
She was mightily impressed
So screamed a lot then swooned a bit
While clutching at her chest

The people at the bus stop
Shared his mother's admiration
But advised him that his tuber
Needed urgent relocation
So he took it in a taxi
Wrapped up in folded gauze
To the Guinness book of records
And he pushed apart the doors

His parsnip held protruding
With a confident advance
Like a knight atop his charger
With a huge organic lance
But security had seen him
They quickly knocked him flat
A policeman saw his parsnip
And he hid it with his hat

Billy served his sentence
For unsavory displaying
He changed his name to Danny
There's no record where he's staying
The moral of this sorry tale
Is far too dull to write
So learn your ****** vegetables
And know their names on sight

**
One day I will depart the train at a station without a name,
Pull emergency cord and take the plunge thru parted doors.
I'll pack no suitcase or bindle, in my head young, free and single,
I will be a living swindle - wherefore art prat poet of before?
New job doing something I've shown no interest in before,
Change my name to 'Neville Moore'.

I'll do a Reginald Perrin, leave red herring threads at Sherring-
ham, then dice-rolled palookaville of new self I shall explore.
When Palookas call me Neville, they won't see this wasted rebel,
But numpty Neville, on the level, who misplaced his wasted days of yore.
Amnesiac clerk stoical over mist-shrouded days of yore.
Only knew my name was Neville Moore.

Neville will moonlight at night-school, pick up a trade that's practical,
In minimalist digs post-dossing on unforeseen saviour's floor.
Time's sandstorm obscures lyrics, John Doe-penned hieroglyphics
- lost soul Lysander's from Norwich. His mind shut like a shoved closed drawer
To Poesy's Pandora's box of ******* in indigo iron drawer
In Norwich. No bones to Neville Moore.

Neville will be a straight arrow, nice chap whose mind is narrow,
Tepid tryer temping at call-centre, lockjaw forevermore.
The blandest of mystery men, what was Neville's name again?
Man with no memories blends in; my dead ringer, stunky, strong-jawed.
Eye-witness testimony of 36 years will gladly be abjured
- done myself good deed poll: Neville Moore.

I'll  abscond so left Lysander might be eternal loose end, the
Inner poltergeist confined to an indigo iron drawer.
Tomorrow I'll do a John Stonehouse bog-snorkelling, a grandiose
loser who fled being infamous in his own dinnerhour, a bore
Unto myself.  I'll abandon ship,  then life will be less of a bore,
Being much more boring Neville Moore.

And I'll meet a girl called Sybil, Palookashire an idyll,
Where a man with no past can just wash up upon the shore.
For if child is father of the man, Neville'll be an upbeat orphan!
Labels torn off the clothes from Oxfam what Memory's Outlaw wore,
Newfoundhometownbound Mister X such clueless clothes wore,
Clean the pockets of Neville Moore.

Sybil won't be the type to probe, at night she'll pop her Zopiclone,
Cuddle up to normal Neville, earnest the embrace of average amour.
We will rent a little bedsit and expend a lotta effort
To make our place seem white-picket-fenced, tho'  we resided on 3rd floor.
Down updrafts of Fate, untempted to faceplant from the 3rd floor
Is plain ol' sane ol' Neville Moore. 

No temptation, but something racing, the unexplained midnight pacing,
And murmurs in Nev's sleep there's reams in an indigo iron drawer.
But in daylight we'll have daughter, from nowhere the name 'Cobania'
(Nev wouldn't dig Nirvana, fin de siecle scream's aural chore,
nihilistening not for Neville in zen of playful household chores).
Shrug-a-lugs of numb Neville Moore.

Neville wouldn't get promotion, Neville doesn't have much gumption.
Frankenstein's **** domesticus by design, Nev's a swollen snore.
Lice would have mocked, 'Call this living?' Lice is dead, would always give in
To windmills' wheeling withering, watched like a raven, set no store
In what life we have worth living, which is what life life has in store
For unquestioning Neville Moore. 

Neville, don't be snarling slave to snafus by another self made,
Be complete now the only piece is the missing piece of the jigsaw.
Radio receives no 'roger', they won't see Cobania as a toddler,
But for famalam, there's succour: lines left in indigo iron drawer.
For Lice did leave literally living will in indigo iron drawer:
Poem entitled Neville Moore.

Nev and Sybil will have ups and downs, in facades cracks gouge frowns;
Castaway's fury in his eyes curdles Florida coleslaw.
I don't need Sybil's mithering, I mean 'Nev' dint, thinking about writing
- did we do Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining', too nuts too soon in Neville Moore?
Polter-Lice rattling in indigo iron liar's den re Neville Moore's 
Writer's shock swan-song for Neville Moore.

And sweet phantom Cobania, I hope she ends up saner
than her Canoe Man old man, sent reeling by subconscious southpaw
Of split personality punch-ups,  one-man-band fight clubs,
punchdrunk on bad self burps, tho' he burped Cobania with awe.
Pneumatically patting doting dad, errant soon so overawed
By humdrum Heaven, Neville Moore's.

Witness protection program to hide me from self-hate's hitman,
But Miltonic Satan's heart held Hell, for killer within is law
Unto himself. Thus phoenix photo album of my alter ego
To ***-end before Year Zero was burnt down, act of soul at war.
Greener grass scorched earth, everyman Eden sacked by selves at war,
Lysander negging out Neville Moore.

His ship's sailed ment'lly down the toilet - can't see the dream, it's ultraviolet!
Sybil wagging her finger with ****** of a fishwives' wappenshaw.
Cobania's cantankerous tween, Nev hears fin de siecle scream
- call the toilet 'Kurt', it's flushing the dream! Behold:  tombstone beneath 
                                                        ­    a sycamore,
Man from nowhere nowhere now beneath suicide's sycamore.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Beneath me to quote Ocean Colour Scene, beneath sycamore willow-leaned,
But day I caught train derailed: no malaise of glory, Anon no more.
Cobania in black with ***** highlights will grieve Daddy on the quiet;
Sybil indignant that the senseless,  existential eyesore
Option all her lost-and-found, found-and-lost, haunted hubbie saw.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Nev won't see Cobania grow up: she doesn't exist - s' good job!   
Yet I'll miss driving lessons and wedding, even if shaggy dog's dewclaw
Scratched itself out, vestigial scythe: Neville was never alive.
But this 2.4, 2.0 narrative smelted indigo iron drawer.
Cenotaph recast as mask, new visage's vista dark as in a drawer
Now quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

After Poe's misnomer, well, misnumbered: one short, 17 stanzas  
Ironically encode birthday of old dud cub who overroars
Last-ditch striped leopard, tame un-me. Lord Lucan, he WAS lucky
-  there's freedom in fake ID! But Neville grew sick, sick of me no more
Now as one two selves expire, same sigh of relief 'low sallow sycamore:
Thank **** Lice is nevermore.
My birthday is 17/05.
mira Apr 2018
here lies, too, his lover still
doting from the daffodils
shrieking, hot and virile; shrill
caressing flesh she's soon to ****

so goes, whence?, the evening train
as she, longing to love again
lust as deep as sugarcane
howl at me between the rain

enter, now, the corpse of faun
carved from wet, unsightly lawn
lithe and nubile as a swan
murky eyes look further on

at last, rise from the netherworld
'round her fearsome finger curled
soul diffused and newly pearl
kissing the form you call a girl
i never ever write rhyming poems ever but...i guess this one is sorta sweet
Ojaswee Das Feb 18
How beautiful did it all feel like
When you fabricated your doting self

Each time I gently pushed all my hair, behind my ears,
only to confront the zephyr from your rose like lips,
I failed to espy the thorns it bore.

Each time I’d smile to a crisp lie
Overlooking the fact that you had done it again,
You’d always do it “one more time”
And I’d always unsee the paradigm.

How beautiful did it all feel like when you perceived me as personage
Worthy of your attention
Worthy to have a claim on some 5 seconds of your life
Which you floundered to call mine otherwise

You were just busy. I dispelled my doubts
but you do love me. And its you I couldn’t do without

Each time I am pushed to pacify my kernel
I invent this story of how everything you do,

Is so that one day, you can see me
burgeon into a beautiful  flower
Never did I know you’d pick me
to impress another bossom, that very hour

Sometimes I hinted the stray in you
But, when had I ever learnt, to put enough trust into myself.
So each time you told me you wanted to stay
I’d let you. I’d let you in, and I’d tell myself, come what may
You’re the person I love, today, tomorrow and everyday

How beautiful did it all feel like
When I refuted the presence of your masquerade
When each time you’d destroy me with a different raid
and I still liked to believe you’d be there to aid

You are just busy. I dispell my doubts.
But you do love me. And its you I can’t do without.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018


The folding screen stands tall in the
Splendid Paramour's room, the glory
kissed further by the sun-dappled
tree light that spilled through her window.
A painted surface of honeyed-gold that
can only be found from a blooming sun,
with edges as purple as her lover's robes.
Or at least it was. Now all she sees is the
shade of countless wine-stains, the shades
of many flowering bruises.

One each of the panels, chrysanthemums in
bloom, ever so vibrant; pomegranate red,
mimosa gold, mint green. Her slender finger
stroked one of glacial blue, while her eyes
fell on the one of wedding white, pure and
innocent. She recalled a dream she had the
night before. She was standing in a barren
field with many holes; her obsidian hair,
long straight and loose, her lithe body in a
simple white robe.

She saw faceless figures made of silver vapour,
all speaking secrets into various holes before
they ceased into nothing. From their buried
words bloomed chrysanthemums, each singing,
each whispered, joyous thoughts to heart-
wrenching songs. Re-opening her eyes, she
walked behind her folding screen, out of gold
light, into the purple shade. On the back was
hand-painted with plum blossoms that decorated
the cloak of snow. On the floor, a simple
embroidered pillow.

Upon the simple table, her four great treasures;
an ink stick made from animal oil, printed with
orchids;
"For you are my eternal pledge of beauty," she
heard her lover coo, but she shook the thought
away. Next, a black ink stone that was carved
with a dragon and phoenix - a painful tug of her
heart; brush made of goat hairs; tip was soft and
flextile; "Paint your mind for me, my love," he
cooed again as she bit her lower lip.
And finally, small sheets of paper. "Born only
from bamboo," she muttered so bitterly.

"My sweet Meihua," she felt his palm on her
cheek. "None will replace you, my Splendid
Paramour. Ever so noble, always so virtuous."
And after the memory came the pain; her lover
was a dragon, none above him but the Gods,
but his beautiful face distorted for he had a
dragon's temper; the dripping wine-stains,
and blooming bruises.

She began to grind the ink-stick on the
ink-block, until she had a small silk-oil
point. Raising her brush, she dipped the
tip in the ink and now, she would paint
the words of her mind. In the comforts of
room, soundless, she painted her heart
that remained unhealed.

In the her lover's arms, the Dragon's
arms, she had hoped to be his Empress,
his doting phoenix, that would rise
through the skies, forever entwined in
a dance of love, soaring through nimbus
big and small. But alas, that would never
be. Not anymore...
The wine-stains, the budding bruises.
Her path strewn by fellow Consorts
long dead, with silk wrapped around
their throats, or poisons on their tables,
or even crimson flowers leaking out of
their sliced wrists.

She wrote and wrote on, blinking away
the stinging from her eyes, casting her
her dreams of being a Worthy Consort
aside, as she would with her name,
the one he granted her, 'Meihua',
the dragon's flowering plum. But if
she did, what would she be?
A girl, a ghost that bears no name.

"He saw me as virtuous," she said, "he
saw me as noble, until..." That accursed
moment, the wine-stains, the sprouting
bruises. She shivered even though her
palace was warm, but to her, it was cold.
Forever cursed to be cold.

Without the dragon's presence, she felt
so alone. No family nor friend - no soul
in sight. Naught to talk to in her blight.
For now he cursed Meihua to wither and
fade.
"My love," she whimpered. "My love,
Return. I would do anything for you to
return."

Once she painted out her heart on the
bamboo page, she pulled a dagger from
her billowing sleeve.

Fate had closed her chapter,
it was never meant to be.
Years and tears of love had
made her blind in one eye.


There was ALOT of turmoil I needed to write out.
In other news, this is my 700th poem! ^-^
This was inspired by a folding screen I saw in a museum once (from the Tang Dynasty, I believe), and it was so beautiful! If only it could talk...
And I was inspired by the Four Gentlemen, too! ^-^
Hope you enjoy it! I'm planning on continuing The Letter,
so hopefully, it'll be out tomorrow! ^-^
Thanks again, everyone!
Lyn ***
Amanda Jun 7
You must love me because nothing else makes sense
Kind words you say rarely sneak past my defense
Yet you patiently compliment me daily
Even on days I am ungrateful or crazy
Sometimes feel like I treat you unfair
Or think I would prefer not having you there
I wish I didn't care about you so much
Reacting angrily when you revoke your touch
You reflect the same doting affection
Your pupils are reluctant to gaze my direction
So do not pretend that after all these years you still feel the same
Don't know when or how or what exactly-but something's changed
Because it's obvious you love me by the way you tell me and how you act
No one else would have stayed this long and that's a fact
And it brings so much shame to watch your sad face stick around
Hold on out of concern for the love to which it's bound
But when begged to do what's right for you and go far away
You never fail to find an even better reason to stay
I push you away from me in fear one of us will get hurt
Scared getting close is pointless cause we'll never work
And right when I'm about to pass the point where it's too late
I turn around realizing I'm making a mistake
Again and again the cycle repeats
You never surrender or admit defeat
I need to accept your love isn't fading
No matter how much I deserve degrading
Not one single thing I've done to prove he depths of my attraction
You are alright giving me your whole focus when you only get a fraction
Why can't I provide the security you need?
Used to be able to do anything for you to succeed
Now I have lost all motivation and hope
Remembering how I once was able to control stifled rage and cope
I can be cold and often don't play fair
More than anything I am grateful to have you there
Sometimes get mad at you when it's not your fault
Assumptions spark a critical verbal assault
When angry "I love you" is so hard to say
We are best friends but it doesn't always feel that way
Lately feel excluded from your present life
Can't wait to be free of your soon-to-be-ex-wife
To wake from the nightmare I accidentally created
Eyes opening to a day where I am just someone you dated
A morning where love hasn't got you wrapped in chains
Not obligated to handle my pains
Maybe that Dawn will arrive; hopefully not
I will do my best and our happy ending I will plot
I'll make you proud, we will finally be
The happy family so unfamiliar to me
Please be patient my love, soon we will laugh and smile
Life is so ****** up right now, you make it more worthwhile
Believing your words though difficult to hear
Because if you didn't love me you wouldn't be here
Sorry for the length I should have put a warning
Jude kyrie Nov 2018
I know exactly
when I fell  in love with him.
It was at my sisters engagement party.
I was weeping.
I suppose I was jealous of my sister.
She had all that I did not.
No one was in sight
no one cares for me
well not beyond ******* me,
not for me, really

The fiancees best friend was a ****
he put the moves on me.
Another anonymous ****,
I thought.
I like your smell
are you wearing, my sin.
How ******* cheesy.

No, I hate perfume, I said,
I know you You Have a reputation
you would **** anything in a skirt.
I still like your smell he said.

And I wanted  to believe it
I guess I was lonely
Easy pickings.
I slept with him.
******* him,
it was sweet.

A couple of months later
I was pregnant, in the club
Up the spout,
Bun in the oven
Blasted into maternity
by a guided muscle.

But he just said, Oh ****
No worries love.
And He asked  to marry me.
I said are you crazy
He  said
yes i'm crazy about you.

At the wedding he sang
A beautiful love song
to me in Spanish
Right in front of everybody.
He learned ******* Spanish,
Just for me.
He had a horrible voice.
But it was the most beautiful thing
I have ever heard
so ******* beautiful.

When our daughter was born
he was the doting father.
He worshipped her
but he made me
feel like never before.
I loved him..
That womanizing *******
That treated me like gold.
He had stolen my heart.

Six years later
we have three kids now
I think he is probably
the best father
that ever was

But to me
He is the light,
that causes
my life to shine
Like diamonds.
Love is a rainbow
jude
Written by
Jude kyrie  Canada
Jude kyrie Sep 2018
I know exactly
when I fell  in love with him
It was at my sisters engagement party
I was weeping
I suppose I was jealous of my sister.
She had all that I did not.
No one was in sight
no one cares for me
well not beyond ******* me,
not for me, really

The fiancees best friend was a ****
he put the moves on me.
Another anonymous ****,
I thought.
I like your smell
are you wearing, my sin.
How ******* cheesy.

No, I hate perfume, I said,
I know you You Have a reputation
you would **** anything in a skirt.
I still like your smell he said.

And I wanted  to believe it
I guess I was lonely
I slept with him.
******* him,
it was sweet.

A couple of months later
I was pregnant, in the club
Up the spout,
Blasted into matterity
by a guided muscle.

But he just said, Oh ****
and asked  to marry me.
I said are you crazy
He  said
yes i'm crazy about you.

At the wedding he sang
A love song to me in Spanish
He learned ******* Spanish,
He had a horrible voice.
But it was the most beautiful thing
I have ever heard
so ******* beautiful.

When our daughter was born
he was the doting father.
He worshipped her
but he made me
feel like never before.
I loved him..
That womanizing *******
That treated me like gold.
He had stolen my heart.

Six years later
we have three kids now
I think he is probably
the best father
that ever was

But to me
He is the light,
that causes
my life to shine.
Love is a rainbow
jude
Messages to the dream
Signs of what they mean
Woman and man soon to be wed hand in hand
Mistrust towards man
Cannot comprehend trusting nature of woman
Chances are won't go to plan
That is all I see
Don't understand why he's doting so willingly
While she looks to him so openly

— The End —