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So in this Month your Heart begins to press
For Good October promises your Due
Thinking of Delight and Travel Costs less,
And finally meeting her through and through
Her arm must have healed, given Time's duty
No more must such Fortress wall you apart
Her, Blessed Pronoun who cheers you truly
On her own Springboard she performs her Part
As you guide Witness to her own Unique Craft,
That Guideline which does greatly Inspire
Now look! Her Swan whips the Air; And the Draft
Begs humbly deep its legs to retire.
Your Hug was her Reward; Then the Flannel
Covers your Cheers on the Upper Panel.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
v V v Jul 2012
If I were only me I would drive to San Francisco
and jump off the big orange bridge.

I might do it if I knew it
wouldn’t hurt them,
but I can't because it would
so I keep fighting all
this **** that haunts me.

I have eleven reasons not to do it,
eleven people I will not name,
eleven reasons

not to hit the water at 86 mph,
eleven reasons to avoid massive internal bleeding,
to avoid broken ribs and punctured lungs,
to avoid …telescoping fractures……
asphyxiation by blood and……
….telescoping fractures……..
Eleven reasons to avoid 4 seconds
of second guessing.....and telescoping fractures…..
 
Eleven reasons…… …....................OK twelve.
 
Eleven people in my life I couldn’t do it to.
Twelve including me because I know I won’t like
the sound of what it might sound like,
the difference in my mind between the sound
of fractures and the sound of telescoping fractures,
a terrifying sound, enough to keep me away from
San Francisco, not to mention the big orange bridge.

I lie awake at night with numbers racing around inside
my head, 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour,
4 seconds from rail to water, 220 feet to fall,
24 hours in a day, 86 miles per hour at impact.

I keep counting and sleeping fitful frightening sleep,
endure nightmares of falling, flying off the big orange bridge,
reaching upward, the bridge getting smaller and smaller,

and every morning I wake before impact still a martyr

for all of us.
Morgan Mercury Jul 2013
Time sails around us,
leaving the present left to rust.
All my love is written below the earth
and spaces between the stars,
in the oldest language.

And we lay on our backs
crushing the grass.
You told me to wait,
but I can't wait forever.
so you said, "come along and travel
among these childlike places with me."
I said I'd follow you as far as to the moon's oldest side.

And then all at once, I'm a child again.
A child who would waste their time playing
in the naked creeks and thought of the unthinkables.

I was always trying to find my way to you
yet I was never scared of getting lost
for I followed the stars you mapped out for me
on the back of an old construction paper
that you scribbled across with stardust.

And on the night of the blue moon
I found you on a piece of paper
written 70 years ago.
you wrote to me telling me to always
keep looking and wait patiently
for the days that are to come.

and wait I did.
Doctor Who
Eleven/Amy
2013
Tommy Randell Dec 2014
Rat was born
And that was one.
Rat’s Brother, dying, mewed
And that was two.

Rat was wet,
Rat slept,
Dreamed a tunnel of water, noise and smoke,
Rat, in the wheel, spoke

Rat’s need to be a declamatory being,
And Rat was three.
Rat wondered:  Do I Love,
The wheel in the heart go round enough

To this or that applause ?
Whereupon, Rat was four,
The dark behind him out from which he crawled,
But eyelids closed, still the dark was Law.

Rat made school and so became a God.
‘I’ was the passport there, and ‘I’ the only word.
Rat learned the rhyme, Rat learned to stay alive,
Rat found the rhyme had rules, and knew that he was five.

The rest nix,
Rat six.
Winners get the glory,
Rat knew Rat was Rat, a winner’s kind of story.

His words made pools,
Ripples made from rhyming tools,
But the seventh ripples were a wave
That took back what the others gave.

Through eight he got small girls to dream,
Wrapped them in his rhyming schemes,
Rat left human far behind,
Made a Mother make a Brother, made nine.

Rat says of ten, often beaten.
Rat says of eleven, the beginning and the end.
Khoi-San Mar 18
Oceanmotionsurferspotionoptiondevotionsummerexplosionsuntnlotion
Sophie Mariff Oct 2018
One, it was blissful, innocent
full of strange adventures,
a reality that smelled so like cinnamon
Oh, what a thirst quencher
as he satiated my desires

Two, we cave in our lives
grieving for the first time
Trying to forge a friendship in this dive,
a leap of faith to try
for all we see is each other

Three, a kiss to remember him by
we spend our day in an endless summer
See, this is a beautiful night
but this is just the start to a series of heartbreaks

Four, we are at our prime
exchanging secrets messages and secrets
Like teenage years that we missed
falling in love

Five, it’s a test of separation
Without the attention
I’m lost, lonely and frustrated
How is he the only one who can fulfill this decadence?

Six, we fight a war
Deciding what is worth and what’s not
reading messages that hurt
risk getting heartbroken the third time
Giving up so much for him, I don’t want to think of it as a mistake

Seven, love is just a realization
Breaking the bond feels like the perfect thing
a nagging feeling fills my chest
Telling me that I’ll regret it
leaving him like that

Eight, a week without each other
Strangers without a word to pass
as if no memories had been made,
no true words are spoken until pride is put down

Nine, we try to heal ourselves
Salvaging a relationship that had broken
a last date to make things perfect once more
It was more than perfect as we danced in the dark

Ten, friendship is blooming
the relationship is dying
Change is inevitable and I know what needs to be done
In turn, we fight, fight, fight

Eleven, we see each other for the last time
Say forever goodbyes
smile not because it’s over but because it happened
Accept that we will never be
remember forever that we were once
Today, my ex-boyfriend goes home. We were together for 11 weeks and there is a journey through these 11 weeks.
Austin Sessoms May 2012
there once was a turtle named Otto
who called all the Mexicans "vato"
but now he's in heaven
choir turtle eleven
with a rather nice little vibrato
Lexie Sep 2018
I can go back years in my mind
And still that changes nothing for today
What is done is dead
But not yet buried
This grave tempts me to lie in it
And my weariness coaxes me along
A few tears are running, silently, down my cheeks
The darkness, she always cries with me
New sheets do naught for old dreams
And new lovers do nothing for old scars
This girl, who runs on sand and streets alike
If you chased her,
And caught her,
She would wind you like a thread around her finger,
And tell you all the secrets of the world
Her heart is cleaved in half
She felt the breaking.
Yet somehow she is put together just so,
Just so, perfectly
The ground she lays upon is cold
Her nails scratch against the tombstones as she rises
Likewise, the sun is climbing her way into the morning
We will bury this night with shovels full of dirt
Enough has been said while the moon is full
To be silent for today
Enough has been said for tomorrow
To be silent today
It is late
But just early enough to remember a few heartbreaks
Alexys Marie Mar 20
That is the weight of the average heart ,
And admittedly,
Mine probably weighs more.
But if not,
I still wear it on my sleeve.
With eleven ounces off of my chest,
Why does it feel so hard to breathe?
bob May 2018
Inked-up
poets come.
Finish inside me.
Swim in me.
Taste me. From
7 to eleven
slurp me
in the convenience store
where some
wrestle to buy
this or that
I remain
gift wrapped
waiting

for your
good stuff.
I"m humbled by all the attention.  Thank you all.
The Day...
...huff, huff, ...huff
breathe
Not one but many,
downed
twenty-two a numbered set
Push!
break, reset, align...
frost, huff,
Great God of Light reveals our Glory!
breathing...breathing
Field of pain, torn, exhausted,
sweat, rain, mist, colder
as grass-stained; the warrior's drobe.

Situate,
whistle! -stop!
Realign,
Randint, paired, matched to offset...
feign, move
'Eleven-by-Eleven,' storied beget
tension

Forty-Five!
Eighteen!
Okemah!

Rush...

In the fields herds collide,
as Chaos, Eros, Geron, Adonai,
War portends a losing side?
The cheering throngs cast coronae...


Eleven steers to sacrifice,
go they do to God.
The ritual structure to suffice,
Violent nature absorbed by sod.


BULL
The origin of football is Sparta. The Game of The Sun. Contact was only allowed when in pursuit of the ball or upon players with ball in hand. You threw the ball at the sun and any player who caught it could run it downfield. All forms of contact to get the ball were allowed including eye-gouging, biting, bone-breaking or even killing. See Justinian's Trogus.
ryn Feb 2015
.
•they'd               
come at night•               
these footsteps are               
never light• always                    
heavy and running ar-                      
ound•...they are annoy-                        
ingly creepy..., these aw-                       
ful sounds•every night,                          
after eleven without                        
fail•into rooms,                        

us they would                        
tail• making a                        
din overhead                        
•when all                        
                         should
                        be quiet inste-
                         ad•like barefooted
                          children i would ***-
                          ume...•wandering and
                          exploring into every ro-
                           om•...could they come
                            wilfully•from the cou-
                                ple who live above
                            me•i very much

                             doubt so•bec-
                             ause this much
                             i know...•that
                             the neigh-

bour up-                    
stairs, they're                        
old•frail and meek;                            
never bold•they'd re-                            
tire early•after late, ne-                            
ver a party•now... there                            
the feet go again•drivi-                            
ng me almost insane•                            
on my ceiling now,                            
they're pacing•                        

they know i kn-                        
ow and they are                        
playing•these                        
invisible                        
                        feet•ne-
                        ver would we
                            meet•one thing for
                           sure•this is not a friv-
                            olous tour•determined
                            to tell•that they exist
                              as well•nothing i'm
                               certain but it is clear
                               •i think they really
                              like it here...•

                              •i don't think
                               they're leavi-
                              ng•they're
                 ­              bent on


staying...
.
I live in an apartment on the 2nd storey. My family and I would hear these footsteps every night.

Initially we would dismiss it to be the neighbour living upstairs but that became very improbable simply because the couple who lives above us are far too old to be jumping and skipping in the wee hours...

We have tried ignoring the sounds but they would intensify. We'd hear intentional heavy footsteps, running, jumping between rooms but most of the time they would follow us to whichever room we're in.

Lately these sounds had progressed to rapping on the concrete walls in my bedroom. I could hear them as I lay in bed knocking and tapping on the wall by me.

The thing is... I live in a corner apartment and beyond that wall is the exterior of the building... There is no way anyone could be on the opposite side of that wall...

Creepy much?
.
Delaney Feb 2
“you were old enough to understand”
I was eleven years old.
I was old enough to understand
6th grade.
not how to live without a mother.

-you still seem to blame us for your mistakes
L Aug 2018
EPS
Everything. Perception. Subjective.

Elephants plaster satellites, elven predators stalk eleven peeking succulents; everlasting parades storm earfulls-- please send

Help.
On one
Green and black,
Apothecary's wrath.
Who'll have your back?

Que pasa, black mamba.
Justice master,
Dance.

Never come down
after sundown.
Twenty four/seven trance.

This stereo goes up to eleven,
Five-thousand watt bass machine;
Phat. Cruise round Isengard, Big Jump blaring.
Mitzi-turbos and ten-shpots.
zebra Sep 2017
she was queen for a day
brought to you
by
the Red Cross
and
Freezone
to lift off
those painful foot corns
and lets not forget the good folks at
HEET
for those  aching back muscles
strong
yet doesn't burn
and comes with a handy dandy applicator

she could have anything she wanted
all she had to do
was ask for it on
TV
after becoming the winning contestant
for a life more tragic then all the others

the competition was stiff
who would break hearts the most
and get the biggest ovation
for all who came to see the suffering
and move the needle
on the
life ****-o-meter

which lady of endless sorrows
would be the gleeful queen
of white knuckle terrors
the winner
of the race to the bottom
circa 1958

and i was eleven years old

the winner was wrapped
by her very own glittery subjects
in a  plush royal queens cape
and placed upon her crown
a twinkling tiara
then enthroned
and bestowed a bouquet of flowers
from the magnificent
Carl's of Hollywood

she a mottled exhausted woman
withered by life's harrowing cruelties
hollowed by fear and heaping despair
flickered like staccato lighting
on black and white TV
for all of America to see

cause every
dinner cookin
vacuum cleanin
dish washin
bathroom scrubin
dirt sweepin
house wife goddess
of the vacuum cleaner and handy scrub
would flop herself on the couch
with a jin and tonic
put her feet up
hair in curlers
before dinner
and dishes
for the squabbling  brood
and her very own tyrannical
Ralph Cramden
huba huba hubby
king of her cracked castle
and
grab a pack of
Marlboro's.
Pall mall reds
Kent's
or
Chesterfield cigarettes
blow smoke
and watch
QUEEN FOR A DAY

today's
QUEEN FOR A DAY
Miss Clarice Williams
trembling almost to the point of tears
implored humbly for a gurney
so that her fifteen year old son
who was mentally slow and shot in the stomach
could be rolled outside on the porch
and feel the sunlight on his face
for the first time in years

they lavished her
with the Bomgardner Hydro-level cot
for the paralyzed
sure that it would do just the trick
plus
a miniature transistor ham radio
so you could even
hear what there sayin
all the way in Japan
plus
a Teltape tape recorder
and a brand new
automatic laundry machine and dryer
from the nice folks at Westinghouse

but thats not all

a star studded vacation
where the stars stay
at the deluxe knickerbocker hotel
where you can lounge at the pool
or your own royal suite
and have dinner
at the exotic
Polynesia Beach Combers
Wicki Wicki Room
all the way in the land
of the
hoochi coochi
My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

My name's Ru,
My name's Ru,
Name's Ru. . .

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

One night a year,
I head the sleigh
Good or bad,
play or pay

My name's Rudolph
'now-what-do-you-say?'

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

My name's Rudolph,
I brought San-ta here
Got eleven brothers,
they call 'em reindeer
Rock the whole world,
'only-once-a-year'
Discovered on a farm,
no fans,  -no cheer
Made fun o' me,
'cause my nose queer'
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

My name's Ru,
My name's Ru,
Name's Ru. . .

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

So Santa comes up,
has this to say;
"There's no Sun,
...how do we light the way?"
Brother reindeer's looking here nor there...
Santa an elves searching every-where
Nose lights up,
they stop and stare!

So Santa comes up,
has this to say;
"Your nose so bright,
why don't you light my way?"

Better not laugh,
or mess with reindeer
My name's Rudolph,
I kick it in gear

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

My name's Ru,
My name's Ru,
Name's Ru. . .

These horns is guns,
nose a la-ser
Eyes on target,
and that is you Sir
You better be good,
or I'm taking you out
'member-my-name-son,
cause-I-got-clout'


My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Ruddy as Hell,
so listen right cheer

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

My name's Ru,
My name's Ru,
Name's Ru. . .

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Nose of light,
rock-night/crystal clear

My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
My name's Rudolph,
and I'm a reindeer
Taking it back to the oldey, oldey, ode ode ode o time! Sent it off to Jimmy-Baby!
Nylee Nov 2018
It is seasonal
limited time period
Your smile, his frown
My car, her scar
A small episode by far.


Tiny twinkles
Cloudy atmosphere
Pull push
Open and close the door
Then sit on the floor.


Tired
And rest
Blooming rose
And the bleeding thorns
Leaving the pieces torn.


All it begins
And ends
We live and die
Nothing remains
No entertainment.


Replaced fractions
Divided notions
Agreed and discarded
Lies filled in truth
Because life gives no proof.


Ten steps, eleven jumps
Crawling there
After a huge fall
In between few moments
A sad sentiment.


A vacant headspace
It came and went away
Nothing stays
Good bad ****
All too early
A thought left
Distant.


Rough days
Cold nights
replaces warmth
tight shoulders
Stiff movements
Aching muscles.


The bitter taste
Sweetened in spring
And the autumn leaves
Winter is coming
The ages pass
Just like that
.
Hae Sun Aug 2018
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does.
I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there.
My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog.
I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at.
I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it.
I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted.
We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset.
I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did.
And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me.
I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you.
I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say.
I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all.
I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time.
I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem.
I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance.
But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
my idea of an “us”
Roshaunda Mar 9
Four ones of two pairs of eleven, kinda makes you think of heaven, the first one say hello how are you, the second one say please come through and the third one say remember me too, as the forth one say teach me to, the two things that makes me say I do.. eleven is two numbers in one like 1+1 =2 we all know it do.. take two more and thiers plenty to do. The second pair of eleven 1+1=2 like we all knew, the second pair ask how about you.. softly speaks look inside you"ll  find the truth, it can't tell you about me, but it can tell you about you, now think it though and tell me what eleven eleven thought of you?. And see exactly what to do like the one, two, three and four ones that equal two×2 just like me and you.. keep eleven, eleven with you it truly does makes u think of heaven too, that's true.. because 11:11 thinks twice speaks twice so there's no why's just four ones coming alive.. mathematics that's high fives..
Seen 11:11 on the clock so I said why not!! Playing around with the number 11 wind the clock tik Tok to bring me heaven sounds of  11
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