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"espoused" poems
In dazzled astonishment She looked up from her reverie As she heard the flap of wings overhead And saw the flash of laser beams in her dim lit room Before her, stood a winged seraph A radiant silhouette with such gentleness and grace As never beholden on any human face With its hands raised in benediction, It saluted Mary and said “Blessed art thou amongst women… …………………………………… The rest she heard in a trance. Unable to comprehend what was said, The girl looked up nonplussed. Again it said, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee And a son shall be born of thee Whom you shall call Jesus” In that nanosecond of a new revelation Did Mary’s world shatter like glassware Or did her ****** womb thrill with new life Did she swim in the waters of joyful tidings? Or gyrate in the sweeping swirl of tidal waves For the girl already espoused to a man In whose dreams his comely form had begun Flitting in and out Was it a moment of silent ravishment? Or of stupefied bewilderment Did a dagger cut through her heart? Or did her soul take wing in flight???
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Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC
Tidal Waves
IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW* In Flanders fields the poppies blow Here my comrades and I are laden We fought for King and Country Here we are---the fallen. ‘Be proud’, was the national proclamation ‘ You are the chosen’ We left home and our loved ones Here we are—the ill-begotten. Some of us once upon glorious corridors Of Cambridge and Oxford had trodden The best and most fertile of young minds Here we are—the forgotten. How strong we then were, riding on the back of youth Its dreams so sweet and resplendent Rained by bullets in the battlefield Here we are---death has spoken. Pro patria gloria, dulcis pro patria mori (Never mind if our hearts were cruel and rotten We must **** all enemies over the fence) Here we are---the terrible who were chosen. Were we born to destroy and mutilate? But in the battle-front ---all we loved and espoused had been stolen Buried in dark pits of hate and revenge There we were----inhuman and despondent. Those whom we slaughtered and maimed Didn’t they like us once did hold dreams just as golden? Weren’t they who happiness sought as we did? Here we are—to bemoan all the precious from such that had been stolen. In Flanders fields the poppies weep For us who are far from home and have nowhere to return With the wind’s nightly melancholic sighs whispering in our ears Here we are----empty, with dark sins upon us—for absolution is all we yearn. • inspired by the opening line of John McCrae’s poem IN FLANDERS FIELDS published in December 1915 (Flanders is in Belgium where a million died or were maimed). John McCrae (1872—1918) was a Canadian doctor who joined the army as a gunner but later transferred to the medical service. IN 1918 he was made consultant to all the British armies in France but died of pneumonia before taking up the appointment.
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Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW
IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW* In Flanders fields the poppies blow Here my comrades and I are laden We fought for King and Country Here we are---the fallen. ‘Be proud’, was the national proclamation ‘ You are the chosen’ We left home and our loved ones Here we are—the ill-begotten. Some of us once upon glorious corridors Of Cambridge and Oxford had trodden The best and most fertile of young minds Here we are—the forgotten. How strong we then were, riding on the back of youth Its dreams so sweet and resplendent Rained by bullets in the battlefield Here we are---death has spoken. Pro patria gloria, dulcis pro patria mori (Never mind if our hearts were cruel and rotten We must **** all enemies over the fence) Here we are---the terrible who were chosen. Were we born to destroy and mutilate? But in the battle-front ---all we loved and espoused had been stolen Buried in dark pits of hate and revenge There we were----inhuman and despondent. Those whom we slaughtered and maimed Didn’t they like us once did hold dreams just as golden? Weren’t they who happiness sought as we did? Here we are—to bemoan all the precious from such that had been stolen. In Flanders fields the poppies weep For us who are far from home and have nowhere to return With the wind’s nightly melancholic sighs whispering in our ears Here we are----empty, with dark sins upon us—for absolution is all we yearn. • inspired by the opening line of John McCrae’s poem IN FLANDERS FIELDS published in December 1915 (Flanders is in Belgium where a million died or were maimed). John McCrae (1872—1918) was a Canadian doctor who joined the army as a gunner but later transferred to the medical service. IN 1918 he was made consultant to all the British armies in France but died of pneumonia before taking up the appointment.
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37
In a classroom neat as a pin the sixth grade social studies class discussed serfdom in western Europe. Young voices decried the inevitability of life for serfs. They espoused running away from the manor, could not conceive of a lack of options. One young girl asked if a serf girl could marry the lord, if the lord really loved her. She had been sold on an idea of equality. Marrying a serf, I told her, would be like a farmer marrying a cow from his herd. The concept was beyond her. Of that I was glad.
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May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
Middle Ages
In this world, there are numerous denominations, split by human hand, divided by persecution, as blood spills to the sand. Genocide, no, xenocide, and by these actions everyday, we commit patricide. We feud for who knows what, killing in the name of our God, be it Elohim, Allah, or the dollar. Civilization? Progress? Humans are far worse than animals, people are cruel, we **** with hidden agenda, we cannibalize our beliefs, there is no such thing as civility. I have a dream? What did that man see, but the barrel of a gun? Humans are created equal, this is espoused by many, and practiced by none, even I allow the stitches of the American fabric to show. I am no poet, I am the greatest of hypocrites, and in my futility, I scream.
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Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
Differentiation
Mao Zedong’s revolution deposed the ancient, 5000 year old rule of Dynastic China. In doing so he espoused the continuous violent struggle by contradictory forces within society to produce a perpetual disequilibrium of revolt against intellectualism and Confucian principle and practice. With the global collapse of Communistic systems, the wily genius of the diminutive, Deng Xiaoping, breathed new life into the faltering rule With a cunning rebranding of “Socialism with Chinese Characteristics”, he maintained the stability of Chinese Communist kleptocracy until relatively recent times. But the middle class awakening of Tiananmen Square and the recent Hong Kong massed protest, has brought into focus the demands of an increasingly educated, increasingly affluent, Chinese society’s expectation and demand for increased democratic rights and freedom and a more just system of the Rule of Law. The day of the old, strong arm, autocratic rule is over. China is emerging, quite naturally, into a world of increased information freedom, where the seeking of each individual’s betterment and independence promises a brighter future of personal dignity, increased self-esteem and an emerging sense of high anticipation. President Xi Jinping’s Chinese Communist Party is now presented with the challenge to moderate in order to survive. To endeavour to embrace and meld the old concepts of Confucian harmony to the vaulting expectations of China’s new world beckoning. M. Denmark, Western Australia. 5 October 2014
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Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
China Must Change.
Mao Zedong’s revolution deposed the ancient, 5000 year old rule of Dynastic China. In doing so he espoused the continuous violent struggle by contradictory forces within society to produce a perpetual disequilibrium of revolt against intellectualism and Confucian principle and practice. With the global collapse of Communistic systems, the wily genius of the diminutive, Deng Xiaoping, breathed new life into the faltering rule With a cunning rebranding of “Socialism with Chinese Characteristics”, he maintained the stability of Chinese Communist kleptocracy until relatively recent times. But the middle class awakening of Tiananmen Square and the recent Hong Kong massed protest, has brought into focus the demands of an increasingly educated, increasingly affluent, Chinese society’s expectation and demand for increased democratic rights and freedom and a more just system of the Rule of Law. The day of the old, strong arm, autocratic rule is over. China is emerging, quite naturally, into a world of increased information freedom, where the seeking of each individual’s betterment and independence promises a brighter future of personal dignity, increased self-esteem and an emerging sense of high anticipation. President Xi Jinping’s Chinese Communist Party is now presented with the challenge to moderate in order to survive. To endeavour to embrace and meld the old concepts of Confucian harmony to the vaulting expectations of China’s new world beckoning. M. Denmark, Western Australia. 5 October 2014
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11
“A demagogue, in the strict signification of the word, is a 'leader of the rabble'.”                         — James Fenimore Cooper, "On Demagogues" a political leader who seeks support by appealing to popular desires & prejudices rather than by using rational argument; A demagogue or rabble-rouser is a leader in a democracy who gains popularity by exploiting prejudice & ignorance among the common people, whipping up the passions of the crowd & shutting down reasoned deliberations; rabble-rouser, agitator, political agitator, soapbox orator, firebrand, fomenter, provocateur "he was drawn into a circle of campus demagogues" Only in ancient Greece and Rome was it a leader or orator who espoused the cause of the common people; demagogues overturn established customs of political conduct, or promise or threaten to do so; demagogues have appeared in democracies since ancient Athens. They exploit a fundamental weakness in democracy: because ultimate power is held by the people, it is possible for the people to give that power to someone who appeals   to the lowest common denominator of a large segment of the population; demagogues usually advocate immediate, forceful action to address a national crisis while accusing moderate & thoughtful opponents                                        of weakness or disloyalty
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Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
On Demagogues 2018
Hailey was my bread & honey, so sweet as ever would yield in darkness what spirit said; she enraptured lares and penates with Thanksgiving where clockwork sublime these snowshoe hares incorporated town yet made shortcake by rhyme where her tiara became a romantic kiss with Utopian dream she once set afar in her earthly presence, these ties of scholarly pursuit in her like bodleian unlocked charm and this game unfurled beyond its claim forthwith reform, this newly espoused ideology ever changing her today.
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Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
Hailey
Oh keeper of my soul Guardian of the sky Seep within my depths Deposit your tender heart For I will defend it with all that I am With the fight of a warrior, I will protect thee With the spirit of a mother, I will nurture And heal your scars beautiful My love, all of my love, I lay bare before you Ingest me, consume me Infuse me into your purest essence The fire of dragons lays dormant within Awakened with purpose alone Protecting fiercely the most delicate of hearts Mine is in your charge As yours is in mine Espoused and revered To the death Without fear We will vanquish the shadows of doubts Casting out with them The lies that would beseech us stay Timeless and eternal, Coterminous, harmonious One and the same are we Born united We are infinite, fated Bounden and bound One
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Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
Amour Nonpareil
*Kissing lips of the softest feathers Remembering lightening and mosquito songs Intensifying the moment between thunder claps Sarcastic quips from a woman so beautiful to me Trembling with mouthfuls of devotion Entangled and ensnared in the ache of my heart Never to be without my love Epic stories of love, life, and commitment Like fairy tales written long ago In some far away land that we couldn’t possibly know Zephyr winds blow like strangled tornadoes of Adoration sweeping my words across the sky Beckoning sweet diction in the bat of a lover’s eye Enticing the love of late nights coiled in your embrace Transcending all the doubt and fears of two High school sweethearts with nothing better to do Bards sing songs and speak poetry Adorning exquisiteness upon the exquisite Rhythm without the comfort of rhymes Nightingale’s lingering song croons Espoused on the coldest of cold winter nights Safe in the affectionate passion of her kiss*
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Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
Untitled Love Poem
I’m in a limbo. A state of equivocality. Everything hangs in the air, but I try to chart my daily course as I normally do. Times are tough. Uncertain, too. Notwithstanding, I’ve taken more than I can chew. I’m in too deep. I’m in a dark place. You see, I was the golden child. A beacon of light. Envy was nothing new to me. I rarely espoused it, but was the oft object of it. Little Miss Perfect – always so put together. Always has her things together. I have Midas Touch, they say. I’m on a plane higher than my peers – on a dais atop the average twenty-two year-old. I can do no wrong. Only upwards from here. So they say. So I thought. Today, my days bleed into one another. Sunday? Monday? What difference does a name make? I run on two hours of sleep and three thirty-minute naps a day. I don’t wake up to my 5 AM alarm. Nor sleep through it. It throttles to life as I hurriedly read tomorrow’s later’s assigned readings. I might get some sleep in. I rarely do. Finish your readings. Finish your work. Finish your classes. Eat in between. Objectively, I’m in a good place. Roof over my head. Food on my plate. More importantly, safe. No 40-degree thermometers and sputum litter around. This makes me feel worse. Ungrateful ***** Little Miss Drama Queen. A million would **** to be in your shoes. I’m in a limbo – my brain encased in a cloud of humdrum trepidation. Filled to the brim with silent thumps of dread. Thump. Thump. Thump. It’s not as if I did not try to do better to feel better. I do – I always do. My lists abound. #SelfCare’s always on top. Thump. Thump. Thump. They do little to quell my panic room of a mind. Sometimes I wonder if this is how watercolor pigments feel. They are always so vivacious off of the manufacturing press. The reds are constantly vibrant and the blues are consistently resonant. But they fade when water comes into contact – even meshing into an ugly grey on the canvas when they touch the other diluted hues. I’m in a limbo – no sense of past, present, and future. Everyday is a low frequency static hissing at my ears. Wonder child soddened by the somber. I’d build a rocket, they say. I’d own the world, they say. All I am is tired nowadays.
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Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 5:25 AM UTC
Languishing
I’m in a limbo. A state of equivocality. Everything hangs in the air, but I try to chart my daily course as I normally do. Times are tough. Uncertain, too. Notwithstanding, I’ve taken more than I can chew. I’m in too deep. I’m in a dark place. You see, I was the golden child. A beacon of light. Envy was nothing new to me. I rarely espoused it, but was the oft object of it. Little Miss Perfect – always so put together. Always has her things together. I have Midas Touch, they say. I’m on a plane higher than my peers – on a dais atop the average twenty-two year-old. I can do no wrong. Only upwards from here. So they say. So I thought. Today, my days bleed into one another. Sunday? Monday? What difference does a name make? I run on two hours of sleep and three thirty-minute naps a day. I don’t wake up to my 5 AM alarm. Nor sleep through it. It throttles to life as I hurriedly read tomorrow’s later’s assigned readings. I might get some sleep in. I rarely do. Finish your readings. Finish your work. Finish your classes. Eat in between. Objectively, I’m in a good place. Roof over my head. Food on my plate. More importantly, safe. No 40-degree thermometers and sputum litter around. This makes me feel worse. Ungrateful ***** Little Miss Drama Queen. A million would **** to be in your shoes. I’m in a limbo – my brain encased in a cloud of humdrum trepidation. Filled to the brim with silent thumps of dread. Thump. Thump. Thump. It’s not as if I did not try to do better to feel better. I do – I always do. My lists abound. #SelfCare’s always on top. Thump. Thump. Thump. They do little to quell my panic room of a mind. Sometimes I wonder if this is how watercolor pigments feel. They are always so vivacious off of the manufacturing press. The reds are constantly vibrant and the blues are consistently resonant. But they fade when water comes into contact – even meshing into an ugly grey on the canvas when they touch the other diluted hues. I’m in a limbo – no sense of past, present, and future. Everyday is a low frequency static hissing at my ears. Wonder child soddened by the somber. I’d build a rocket, they say. I’d own the world, they say. All I am is tired nowadays.
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11
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod Espoused a Violet, That chiefer to the Skies Than to himself, allied, Dwelt hesitating, half of Dust, And half of Day, the Bride.
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1.1k
To this World she returned
Who lives a still life? he asked. It was the end of the day, he was alone. He could think of a few souls living quietly, not doing much, letting the days go by. They would say they were busy exercising their minds, reading sporadically, worrying a little about distant children, noisy neighbours, absent friends, the state of the house. But they espoused stillness, enjoyed the afternoon light as it fell across the windowed sill illuminating that Venetian vase. They were not anxious about making tea, just yet. It was good, this being still. She often wondered about the still life, the artists’ ultimate challenge, duty even to that most particular of genres; the attempt to catch the moment, the fleeting moment, it could only be a moment when light fell sharp or diffused on objects chosen or arranged, a never to be recovered moment, except by the painter’s hand. Here was a chair, a red armchair in a room almost certainly in Gordon Square, Bloomsbury, a Vanessa Bell, she said, painted in, well, 1934 or 5, and very characteristic then, its dark blue cushion plumped for a soon-to-be sitter. It stands in front of her painted screen, obscuring the lower part of the window open to the morning, yesterday’s flowers in a vase nearby, on a table with books. And above the chair, a small painting hangs, an intimate scene, left of the window where the long curtains fall to a still pool of fabric gathered on the wooden floor.
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Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Still Lives : Still Life
I buried it deep I buried it far no easy trip by train or by car It won't be exhumed it can't really be traced no markers seen completely erased I'll carry the scar celebrate if I dare making it through somehow and somewhere My baggage my own layered deeper than hell a depth so unknown the darkest of wells No, my love I'll not venture the seals or question the locks proposing appeals Some things are better not disturbed or aroused for memories played in silence espoused
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Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Married to my baggage
a maiden’s heart broken we bury here in the grave; we bless her and wish her god speed and that she leaves all pain here on earth and we pray that all blessings be hers as she goes forth to meet her one true Lord in Heaven a maiden betrayed by her espoused true love here on earth; and we the nuns who attend to this burial we in each heart we too bury a maiden’s broken heart betrayed by one’s true love by the world’s harshness but meet our Maker even now even now in confined spaces on earth itself to transcend the pain of betrayed trust, of betrayed love, of life taken beyond flesh
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Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 4:07 AM UTC
a maiden's broken heart
# *What cannot my praise effect in your singular mind? When flattery soothes – or when ambition is blind! Desire of the heart, is it an earthly vicious seed? Yet, sprung from high, is it nothing but a **** But to God 'tis its glory and when love aspires, 'Tis but a spark of the most heavenliest of fires. To the ambitious youth, thou too covetous of the flame, Too full of the vermin running throughout thy frame. Unwarily led astray from any virtuous ways - Made drunk with love, and somehow debauched with praise. Half desire, and half consenting to the ness of the ill, For in the blood the sentiment - cannot it be still? To thee I must reply — pray thee - what pretense have I, To take up arms for justice or for your love’s liberty, I cry? Love governs with an unquestioning right, Love’s the defender and love’s the delight. Be ye good, be gracious, be just, be observant of the laws, And in loving wonders - be ye especially espoused to love’s cause. Whom has love ever wronged in all its peaceful reign? Love cannot sue for justice for any judgement would be in vain. What millions has love pardoned or has taken on as foes? To what revenge does love get even or even mildly expose? Mild, easy, humble, studious and good, Always inclined toward mercy, never spilling any blood. If this is the love that you know put it on like a suit, For in you -  you have God's most beloved attribute.* #
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Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
The Answer
trolling the doldrums for crumbs of gold selling old caldrons to witless witches wearing goblin teeth and dragons blood earrings from Hot Topic I languish in the Emo village that is the United States – Self-serving ******** preserving their precious habitats while habitually encumbering the global ecology drinking biodegradable Starbucks in Buick Escalades escapade-ing ***** raiders afraid of Mercury in retrograde staying clear of the mayhem and playing fear propagating madman I stoke wildfires with gasoline prodding the populace into premature *********** – poorly formed ideas the norm the scorn for the figureheads shows on the shoreline boorish oarsmen, moored, pour their kerosene blood onto the floor…. Sure, pure Fuerer fodder, but newer shoes were never shod and the godhead faces west into the sunset – druidic fluids escape wiccan slits as the children of the Azure seas never get to be born Pleaedian starships collide inside Antarctic subterranean dwellings indiscriminate shelling of uninhabited caverns as ravenous reptilians eat the jaw muscles and left eye sockets of organically fed Dairy cows… espoused louse houses in Fall fashion blouses trounce the infirm in clown shaped bounce houses again, the sin goes unnoticed as the blood of the innocents grants the elitists another thousand years of power – The tower on the hill still shines in the moonlight on the 5th night of delighting the religious right… mighty flightless birds self-assured and fed on bramble burrs purr at the sight. bodies strewn all askew; the moaning few with skin turning blue true to the stories of old as lack of oxygen blends with the biblical beast mark and staving for air the impaired dare not to ask for Jesus aid… instead they lay, waiting to be saved –
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Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
new day, again
trolling the doldrums for crumbs of gold selling old caldrons to witless witches wearing goblin teeth and dragons blood earrings from Hot Topic I languish in the Emo village that is the United States – Self-serving ******** preserving their precious habitats while habitually encumbering the global ecology drinking biodegradable Starbucks in Buick Escalades escapade-ing ***** raiders afraid of Mercury in retrograde staying clear of the mayhem and playing fear propagating madman I stoke wildfires with gasoline prodding the populace into premature *********** – poorly formed ideas the norm the scorn for the figureheads shows on the shoreline boorish oarsmen, moored, pour their kerosene blood onto the floor…. Sure, pure Fuerer fodder, but newer shoes were never shod and the godhead faces west into the sunset – druidic fluids escape wiccan slits as the children of the Azure seas never get to be born Pleaedian starships collide inside Antarctic subterranean dwellings indiscriminate shelling of uninhabited caverns as ravenous reptilians eat the jaw muscles and left eye sockets of organically fed Dairy cows… espoused louse houses in Fall fashion blouses trounce the infirm in clown shaped bounce houses again, the sin goes unnoticed as the blood of the innocents grants the elitists another thousand years of power – The tower on the hill still shines in the moonlight on the 5th night of delighting the religious right… mighty flightless birds self-assured and fed on bramble burrs purr at the sight. bodies strewn all askew; the moaning few with skin turning blue true to the stories of old as lack of oxygen blends with the biblical beast mark and staving for air the impaired dare not to ask for Jesus aid… instead they lay, waiting to be saved –
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i find myself to be a contentious person because my big mouth never shuts but there's a lot of good coming out that just gets interlaced with some bad well-meaning, albeit, not exactly thought out thoughts that get espoused before they're finished i'm a rushed man amid no rapids
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Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 4:41 PM UTC
Big Mouth
Explosions All the pretty little Colorful pieces I've ever espoused Pink bows burning All the little plastics Melting off Sticking to My fingertips I can hear you Driving by I can hear everything Every word That you are saying You inadequate idiot I'm now Equipped for this To rub you out And swing you All around the room Dancing, prancing Catching tunes Moods of maybe marvels Egg shells crackle Under our feet Bleeding tears And shiny tires Where all I think about All I dream about Is forgetting Who I am
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Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
Moon rise/sun dies
i never espoused a conspiracy theory about it "they dont want us to write" but it is more of a dare a triple dog dare for when youre filled and when youre boiling over then, make it so that its hard to read elusive dodgy and half true undone and part mean gushy lump-throated i dare you triple dog say a single true word
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Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
regarding poems
It has been so long The same voice had sung a thousand songs Each day a battle to remain strong Standing on the right side, but all feels wrong Precarious wants, dubious desires Trembling feet crossing a string of quagmires I danced, but never on a stage made of wires My need for certainty is indubitably dire Call for help only from a trusted friend Shattered glass hearts are difficult to mend A soul that espoused strolls pressured to ride the trend Gravel and sand are known to never blend Instruments thirsty for power play harmonious notes Imperious waves swallowing quiescent boats Wails and screams incarcerated in throats Every motion a command from shrouded remotes I wish to find the nearest escape Be free to embody my envisioned shape I will sketch and color my preferred landscape But these self-proclaimed kings hunger for another grape
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Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
The Wish
Long long, ere long ago Adam was adolescent Eve was effervescent Both were glad in body clad Adam and Eve exposed each The duo explored to match Adam was adulating to catch Eve was electrifying to ****** Pancreatic hunger in one way Pubertal love on way any way Cupid apple drooped in sway He grappled apple-gel of angel Couple cuddled and meddled Kindled, spindled and fondled Fire of passion ceded seeds of love Shy free, sky free, spy free, scot free Capsule of calories captured Rupture turned into rapture Head to head dual bite at sight Headed to fuel the duel of luring love Adam was adamant on that eve Eve spelled eventful gospel of life Only lonely lovely pair espoused Exploded mirth of birth on earth
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Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
Adam and Eve
A roommate shows me this hookup app - the consensus favorite. “Call me crazy,” I say, “but if we’re reducing *** to something cheap and cynical, wouldn’t **** be safer and easier?” She frowns, as if I’ve espoused an unpopular political position so I make a show of putting “join the app” on my to-do list - which is like sending it into outer space. Sleeping with someone you don’t like - or even know, seems impolite, even seedy but there’s a power to it as well - knowing I could if I wanted to - I quash that thought as it rises, like heat. Besides, factoid: I have an imaginary boyfriend, And although my thoughts are free to roam far and wide, I’m nothing if not faithful.
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Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 5:00 AM UTC
an app for that
Espoused to the moon was the lady in red she who only kept secrets inside of her head many have perished in search of the key that would unlock the center they all hoped to see deep in the forest at the heart of the glade in water half frozen alone she would bathe to battle her demons and test her will her beauty entranced all who sauntered those hills just echoing laughter on a sweet path they crossed now they'll wander forever yet never be lost
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Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
The Lady in Red
Long long, ere long ago Adam was adolescent Eve was effervescent Both were glad in body clad Adam and Eve exposed each The duo explored to match Adam was adulating to catch Eve was electrifying to ****** Pancreatic hunger in one way Pubertal love on way any way Cupid apple drooped in sway He grappled apple-gel of angel Couple cuddled and meddled Kindled, spindled and fondled Fire of passion ceded seeds of love Shy free, sky free, spy free, scot free Capsule of calories captured Rupture turned into rapture Head to head dual bite at sight Headed to fuel the duel of luring love Adam was adamant on that eve Eve spelled eventful gospel of life Only lonely lovely pair espoused Exploded mirth of birth on earth
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Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Adam and Eve