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"fax" poems
Raised to believe what you are told sometimes they didn't get it right Beneath the muck and mire reveal true to life issues with consequences Fact checks confirm what we all know however the need to triple check remains The CORE VALUES we poses make us who we are and build our character Days by day we seek to stay connected to friends, business colleagues & family Have we lost touch with the personal affect of shaking hands and saying hello? Face to face and not only by computer screen, fax or twitter. Keeping it real and honest, telling it strait with confidence every time Deep within my core, I value; GOD, family, good friends, hard work, peace and love.
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Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 5:28 AM UTC
CORE VALUES
Its science versus religion And cognitive thought versus deranged fantasy Wars fought for love where loves lost and heroes are burned, cherished, forgotten Little boys with ***** faces and sticks Teenagers with cars Young adults with assault rifles Men in jail some with bars some with front doors a fax machines Trees that reach the sky and some that wither crack and die Burning thoughts of the afterlife a fire fueled by fear of death The chance of being wrong The opposite thought of being right keeping you grounded in the daylight But fleeting in the night escaping just like the sun to comfort some other being The loneliness of lying awake with a deranged mind running free Clawing its way from your brain Grandpa’s dead and dads on his way out And moms still preaching the gospel And gods still ******* on ashes but not putting out fires Cities crumble and rebuild and repeat Everything is a cycle love, hate, lust, love, hate, die, repeat Breathe in oxygen exhale ***** and regurgitated knowledge Of free press movements and the civil war Fighting, sleeping, ******* eating, drinking, smoking, hurting, smiling Fields of crops that feed nations and economies They grow then comes harvest and their end Just like us harvested in the end to feed nations and economies Words that burn politicians and inspire masses Bombs that end lives and ******* children But prove were right and your wrong Our god is bigger than yours he has more firepower too Wrong side of the tracks on the wrong side of the ocean Worms eat dirt what a pathetic existence They eat dirt, **** dirt then die We eat love **** love then die We’re just worms Bigger, intelligent, more aesthetically pleasing worms Hateful thoughts and bold words Worldly views from the comfort of a laptop Medication and frozen dinners Sick, fat and dying Life is beautiful
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Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 4:23 AM UTC
Fire Fueled by Fear of Death
Its science versus religion And cognitive thought versus deranged fantasy Wars fought for love where loves lost and heroes are burned, cherished, forgotten Little boys with ***** faces and sticks Teenagers with cars Young adults with assault rifles Men in jail some with bars some with front doors a fax machines Trees that reach the sky and some that wither crack and die Burning thoughts of the afterlife a fire fueled by fear of death The chance of being wrong The opposite thought of being right keeping you grounded in the daylight But fleeting in the night escaping just like the sun to comfort some other being The loneliness of lying awake with a deranged mind running free Clawing its way from your brain Grandpa’s dead and dads on his way out And moms still preaching the gospel And gods still ******* on ashes but not putting out fires Cities crumble and rebuild and repeat Everything is a cycle love, hate, lust, love, hate, die, repeat Breathe in oxygen exhale ***** and regurgitated knowledge Of free press movements and the civil war Fighting, sleeping, ******* eating, drinking, smoking, hurting, smiling Fields of crops that feed nations and economies They grow then comes harvest and their end Just like us harvested in the end to feed nations and economies Words that burn politicians and inspire masses Bombs that end lives and ******* children But prove were right and your wrong Our god is bigger than yours he has more firepower too Wrong side of the tracks on the wrong side of the ocean Worms eat dirt what a pathetic existence They eat dirt, **** dirt then die We eat love **** love then die We’re just worms Bigger, intelligent, more aesthetically pleasing worms Hateful thoughts and bold words Worldly views from the comfort of a laptop Medication and frozen dinners Sick, fat and dying Life is beautiful
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40
House party no contact No glasses no lenses Isolation got no facts Rich in hope like them benz's Old as **** like a bold fax Reminiscin past tenses Action done by the fences Have I come I to my senses? Need to know, ask for a census Need my own vote call for elections Lowkey mind-broke, I need a pension Need to think about all this affection **** World cold stone cold Was told It would be like this Aint listened to them so I fold Now I see myself down this own road. The me everybody used to see, erode The me anybody could be, be sold Sadness pull up to my corners, be shown The one who blew y'all away be blown Everybody leavin faster than I can say hello People in this world so shaky like a tremolo. People don't come and go no more. You just save up and they go forth. At least that's my reality Maybe I am insanity No sleep till 2 am You see it visually Can't rest till these thoughts are at ease. Life fallin faster than dominos This time aint as good as pizza Not even close rate negative 10 toes No feelings like terminator hasta la vista. Seen a lot like a barista More people snakes than cheetah's Venomous like cobras. Sad **** I got into. Me, myself and my sorry ***
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Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
Hasta la Vista
I saw you at the subway the other day You were drinking hot chocolate I thought about asking you for a sip but on second thought I didn't want to burn my tongue I chased you up the stairs and outside I got into a taxi cab I didn't want to see you, you were looking good I wanted to cool off and take some time out of the busy day I heard a knock on my door, my door Who was there? What are you doing here? I'm really not sure you should be here right now Because I'm going. It's getting a little pricey that you should be in Sweden, my friend because it's the only place for you I hear they have really nice gear of sorts there. You should be in Sweden, my friend. Yeah, you should be in Sweden. Get yourself to Sweden I'll tell you what we can do You're not bent on calling me and we'll do lunch, I'm sure. Your fax machine can fax my bags and it will get in touch with your answering machine's secretary. Your hair doesn't shine like it used to. You're not using that conditioner I gave you last year for your birthday. It was salon selected. I thought you would like it. And now I'm so scared. I'm pale as white. I would invite you to sit but I didn't want you to ruin my new sofa. I've felt this too many times. I just got myself back up the nerve to say, the nerve that you should be in Sweden, my friend. What are you doing here? You should be in Sweden. You can ski when you're there. You should be in Sweden, my friend. Yeah, get yourself to Sweden. I don't care how you do it. Just go to Sweden. Go to Sweden. I'll tell you what we can do. You're not bent on calling me, but we'll do lunch, I'm sure. Your fax machine can fax me back and get in touch with my cappuccino maker. You're not bent on calling me, and we'll talk for a while, I'm sure. You can get back my postcard machine and it'll get in touch with your answering machine's secretary.
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May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
You Should Be In Sweden
I saw you at the subway the other day You were drinking hot chocolate I thought about asking you for a sip but on second thought I didn't want to burn my tongue I chased you up the stairs and outside I got into a taxi cab I didn't want to see you, you were looking good I wanted to cool off and take some time out of the busy day I heard a knock on my door, my door Who was there? What are you doing here? I'm really not sure you should be here right now Because I'm going. It's getting a little pricey that you should be in Sweden, my friend because it's the only place for you I hear they have really nice gear of sorts there. You should be in Sweden, my friend. Yeah, you should be in Sweden. Get yourself to Sweden I'll tell you what we can do You're not bent on calling me and we'll do lunch, I'm sure. Your fax machine can fax my bags and it will get in touch with your answering machine's secretary. Your hair doesn't shine like it used to. You're not using that conditioner I gave you last year for your birthday. It was salon selected. I thought you would like it. And now I'm so scared. I'm pale as white. I would invite you to sit but I didn't want you to ruin my new sofa. I've felt this too many times. I just got myself back up the nerve to say, the nerve that you should be in Sweden, my friend. What are you doing here? You should be in Sweden. You can ski when you're there. You should be in Sweden, my friend. Yeah, get yourself to Sweden. I don't care how you do it. Just go to Sweden. Go to Sweden. I'll tell you what we can do. You're not bent on calling me, but we'll do lunch, I'm sure. Your fax machine can fax me back and get in touch with my cappuccino maker. You're not bent on calling me, and we'll talk for a while, I'm sure. You can get back my postcard machine and it'll get in touch with your answering machine's secretary.
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48
Don't try to move Just Be still You must prove It"s your will Just be, Quietly Silently Chill No technology No phones No emails No fax Mythology Bones Trails Relax Thoughts flow through my head like streams upon the riverbed Constantly haunting me Is it a plague or am I free Wondering what it is I truly do seek On this Hedonistic journey for pleasure Once I finally reach the highest peak Will I even care if there isn't any treasure And even if there was, how much is really ever enough? No matter how much was there I would still feel rough The journey is over, but at least you can buy more stuff Many toys to play with but your hands are tightly cuffed Look a brand new thing to crave How much money did you save? I"ll take that secret to my grave As a true consumer ridden slave Everyone wants what they just can't have Eyeing your neighbor"s prize like a vulture Euphemise it veal instead of saying calve Euthanized a deal, our throw away culture I want more more more, that's mine not yours So blessed to have our choice of each amenity We"ve bore ourselves into consumer ****** So stressed when all we should seek is serenity
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Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
Use...Less
The tree’s don’t sleep at night they photosynthesize , by moonlight. Leaves drink in the cool wise light And give off dreams of softly fading starlight Whispers of secrets , monthly unfurl A single blossom falls at new moon Hurtling to the ground, awake before noon Ever noticed? The very word has the circle Curled up in the centre , twice to make sure we remember , two full cups , not one. Geko’s slip off old skins And the croaking frog adds to the din As thunder rolls in Triggering the dogs bark Guardian of the stark naked couple Asleep in their parallel worlds Together under the umbrella of ambient lighting Not the natural kind either But a shameless copy of pure sunlight That emenates when their bodies collide On the material plane. Astral visions lead the way to headquarters The address? Fax? Phone number? I’m afraid you’ll have to dial again , Unless you’ve meditated on the vibration of emancipation Then you would already know, you are already there Doors are open , for those who care to try No lock on this baby , Ain’t no safe to play safe We bask in our humble glory Under the shores on undulating tides Rhythmic pulsations no where to hide The emanations come from within, Without , a shadow of a doubt There is a war coming , infact we’ve already been fighting for decades Just like the change of winds, nature knows her stuff Tip the seeds too soon and you’ll end up with a field full of fluff But just in time and a harvest with enough to reduce every super market shelf to dust Even though they already stock that kinda stuff Clean up on Aisle 4, Aisle 3 , Aisle 2 , Aisle 1 Return the purchase , we’ve discovered the **** In the cake And we found the frog in the salad, At least their habitat is intact Or did you think I was still talking about the shops?
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Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
the trees don't sleep at night
The tree’s don’t sleep at night they photosynthesize , by moonlight. Leaves drink in the cool wise light And give off dreams of softly fading starlight Whispers of secrets , monthly unfurl A single blossom falls at new moon Hurtling to the ground, awake before noon Ever noticed? The very word has the circle Curled up in the centre , twice to make sure we remember , two full cups , not one. Geko’s slip off old skins And the croaking frog adds to the din As thunder rolls in Triggering the dogs bark Guardian of the stark naked couple Asleep in their parallel worlds Together under the umbrella of ambient lighting Not the natural kind either But a shameless copy of pure sunlight That emenates when their bodies collide On the material plane. Astral visions lead the way to headquarters The address? Fax? Phone number? I’m afraid you’ll have to dial again , Unless you’ve meditated on the vibration of emancipation Then you would already know, you are already there Doors are open , for those who care to try No lock on this baby , Ain’t no safe to play safe We bask in our humble glory Under the shores on undulating tides Rhythmic pulsations no where to hide The emanations come from within, Without , a shadow of a doubt There is a war coming , infact we’ve already been fighting for decades Just like the change of winds, nature knows her stuff Tip the seeds too soon and you’ll end up with a field full of fluff But just in time and a harvest with enough to reduce every super market shelf to dust Even though they already stock that kinda stuff Clean up on Aisle 4, Aisle 3 , Aisle 2 , Aisle 1 Return the purchase , we’ve discovered the **** In the cake And we found the frog in the salad, At least their habitat is intact Or did you think I was still talking about the shops?
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45
Trying to relax A Mosquito bites It's like paying tax I do have my rights It's not a mail or fax I'm trying to read Like a movie ****** A string of pearl beads ******* my blood I spotted a Mosquito Chennai is in flood Big boss is not a good show I hit , so quick like Zapakkk, My hand is not for picnic Listen' o Jack. And all the systems of Mosquito stopped functioning. It's confirmed , for Mosquito No awakening.
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Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
I killed a Mosquito
DURING THIS VISIT I am a layman laid up with a very dodgy ankle that winced about Paris for almost a week with every footaghhhhhhhfall. Now it's the A&E; for me. The electronic noticeboard flashes up its what nots faster than I can scan. I barely catch CQC Good( shadow )Rating. Two wheelchairs (peopleless) chat about the this of that typical wheelchair chit-chat. A portable X-ray machine pretends to be a giraffe. "oooooOOOOK...we are going to get Geoff the Giraffe to have a look at that!" The child smiles through the pain. The screen peppers me with possibilities. Extremely likely? Neither Likely nor Unlikely? Etc., etc., etc. My mind opts for a simple I Don't Know. "Breast." says the screen." "Max Fax & Orthodontics." "Re-hab shouldn't be boring!" A questionnaire asks me to think. Big mistake. I start to think. Pain & Boredom turns these hospitalised facts ( what ever they mean? ) into a something only my brain can understand. "And now, straight in at No.! with a fantastic new single it's... ...Max Fax & The Orthodontics with the glorious bouncy BREAST!" "MORTALITY by The Upper Quartile falls down one place to No. 2!" My shadow is feeling very poorly at this instant in time. Hasn't even bothered to turn up. There goes my good (shadow)rating. I think I'll switch to silhouette instead. I practice my Ogham. SAT 4 APRIL says the clock. It's hands joined together in prayer. I switch off my mind & float down stream.
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Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
WE WOULD LIKE YOU TO THINK ABOUT YOUR EXPERIENCE IN THE A&E DEPARTMENT
Your aspect ratio’s wrong. Stretching the truth this long sows fertile ground for artifacts, glitches, quirks & bugs, worming & squirming beneath pixel shrugs. The worst kind plump the frame to god- awful proportions, bloating bigger & bigger & bigger ‘til vision’s engulfed. Or the kind that squeeze spaghetti confetti onto our plates, drenched in the Sauce of the Week that “can’t be beat!”. Your skewed parallax attacks the facts at hand. Recycle your ******* fax machine this second before it grows smarter than you. Yes, you—with the rolly polly eyes & feint surprise— quit pretending you’re dumb, 'cause you ain’t that numb to the stings & pangs of change. Your sloppy hacks produce quantity @ the cost of quality to benefit the greedy & satisfy the needy, becoming seedy to the logic of reason. Correct your inputs to render outputs worth tender & please remember, it’s what’s within the frame that’s important, so get it right.
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Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 7:29 PM UTC
Aspect Ratio
The memories are becoming extinct, her dust has become not so magical swept up in the corner of the dying tree that once housed the imagination of millions. People are forgetting how to get back to Neverland. Youth being torn out of their chests with the force of Grendel. Forts made of sheets and dining room chairs transform into blank cubicles with a broken fax machine. Another day in the life of the "wireless people", constantly living in our technological limbo. Second start to the left, straight on till' morning. But the second star is missing and morning never comes. People are forgetting how to get back to Neverland. Live fast, burn out... right?
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Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
Peter Pan Was a Liar
I wander from room to room trying to pick out what to keep What to take on to the next place where to sit and where to sleep I'll take the bed of course maybe a couch or maybe two a writing desk and oil lamp so I've at least got stuff to do I dont need a television fax machine or dryer I'll write letters for a past time dry my clothes in front the fire I think I leave all of my gadgets too from the office and kitchen that way when they break wont be me you hear bitchin' Blankets and a rocking chair books and candles too pots and pans and plates and stands and cutlery for two Of all the things around me there's so little that I need will be nice to simplify my life and shed this cloak of greed
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Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
Moving out
She was a dancer, caught off beat by a neat little stranger lurking in the body of the womb, where once she strayed from danger, within a motherly costume. After show drinks, stage & waits in the green room, were pipe dreams for this Mum without a groom. Yet still, and continuing so, she provides for two girls, her blonde Monroe's; be that lifts to school or another big shop so the nonstop keeps from turning blue. But how up North can you keep from the cold, when constant frost creates the vignette to the serviette snow out there? Cheap beans and even cheaper bread won't make that meal you read and said to be good, any better than it is. But a text, fax, pigeon post fast, to your Mum back home wipes clean these thoughts of being alone and underfed, and instead; restores your faith in everything and anything you may do in the future, and what you said- to me once on that walk; will stick with me until we next talk or, maybe quite possibly, drink until glasses are empty and the wine bottles clink. for the Carters
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Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 9:12 AM UTC
MOTHERLY COSTUME
Wireshell trash can sweep-brushed by Fusion, Alero, Chrysler Something. They’re filled to the brim like sepia-stained skyscrapers with swivel chairs and water cooler pow-wows. Boss’ talking fax machines and projections for the second fiscal quarter, flipping a stock EKG reading on its *** We’re all millionaires. All up like the NYSE at seven o’clock in our living rooms watching the fireplace playfully threaten our investments while CNN sends money through the VCR slot. Cars, no garbage trucks, cars, cars, scraping hubcaps off the high sidewalks like beautiful harpsichords. Neighbors. Suitcases and dresser drawers packed tight with meat tape, paper towels, and coffee mugs/fine China make heaped trash bags seem obsolete. There’s no garbage here. Downtown’s neon district makes enough that they could afford a glowsign on every window, every square inch of every lunch special, gallery opening, or Salvation Army bell-ringer. Forget New York, we're the city that never sleeps.
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Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
No Garbage Here
Please do not wake me from this sleep leave me in this dream for here life is perfect unlike there where its in between In my dream I live with you a simple life beside the lake we got to bed at sundown and rise as each day breaks No telephones, alarm clocks pagers or fax machines. Just books and pens and paper filled with poems and other dreams A stress free life I get to live at least while I'm asleep But that seven am wake up call is the reality I keep Hopefully we'll meet again perhaps in dreams tonight When in our old four poster bed you'll kiss and hold me tight
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Aug 14, 2010
Aug 14, 2010 at 1:31 PM UTC
The dream
“Can you hear me?”  “Can you hear me?”  …. “Come-in” Boys with “walkie-talkies”, walking and talking, squealing and squawking The girls were chalking – on the sidewalk Range, one quarter mile.  More over water, the box said If all you hear is static Run some wire in your attic Or tie it to your gutter “Can you hear me?”  You may utter Copper wire strung on a fence For Russian signals the pretense Every beep, buzz and whistle Was that to do with someone’s missile? A weather fax for steaming ships,  “doodle doodle” sound Deadly tips! Vacuum tubes soft-lit for me RCA, Westinghouse, and GE Their glow-warm magic casting a spell A hook set lightly - I could not tell Gizmos, and gadgets, in crate after crate Rolled into the business - helped shape my fate War surplus it was, "truck's in" they would holler Purchased for two-bits on the dollar So thank you Dad – the hook you set grew into a job, my needs were met A needed change, a needed change Courtesy, Machinery Exchange
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Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
My Father's Business
Interruption creates dysfunction, I try to stay focused but find myself distracted When my flow state is corrupted It causes a malfunction. Why can't you send a message Instead of speaking to me in person Calling is a last resort, I'll wait for your text. The talking in the office is irritating. The sound of the fax machine Papers shuffling Quiet is key Headphones help me, I feel like I'm time travelling When I put them to use, Please stay away from me.
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Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 10:39 AM UTC
Time Travel Malfunction
A nomadic soul blows carelessly in the wind. Winding down an untrodden path, he creates a new way for a friend. Patience again and again, will be the factor that lends, the helping hand to lost whims. Flimsy ghosts in the wind, sing freedom songs to no end. Mend a broken heart to be tended. Send a lost letter to be commended. On you travel, unrelented. Spend a moment to be splendid. Not confused to be offended. Pending goals to be achieved, you're relieved there are more answers conceived. Hidden truths be believed, and perceive a message indeed. Seed the plant to feed the steed. Need not selfishness and greed, to enjoy the aroma of **** Knead a knot in in your back and take a **** and relax. Tack kind words to a fax, that slips on through the small cracks. Jack and Jill with strong backs, keep traveling on down the tracks.
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Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
"The Noble Nomad"
O sweet baby, it's so magical, this technoligical-realm of fantasy! My apparent want of you is fiery, so astronomical. I succumb to your desirous-advances, make love to you in the shadows. I can taste your "Y" in space, rinse the screen-dust off my tongue & face, but then what darling? French kiss you in email, whisper sweet nothings into my cell, finger your text, do you with symbols, *** you up good in jpeg, explode together on Skype, hammer you on Twitter, free flow into you with a fax, seed you with a nice warm stream of pixels? O my dear lady, I miss the feel of real flesh, the sensation of your feminine flower-grip, that sultry look in your pretty-eyes, the wanton shuddering, nailed-fingers streaking on my back, your hypnotizing unrecorded-vocals & the alluring fragrance of your raw hot-skin. And O I feel lonelier now, more than ever before this modern age of science & hi-tech communication. How 'bout you, do you feel the same??? Just sext me & let me know! :-P...
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Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
The Frustrations of Passionate People in the Modern, Scientific, Techno-Age
A city asleep is ruthlessly efficient Dreams are distributed Hopes exhibited Snapshots in time briefly revisited New lovers, children The functionally insane Serenely succumb to the sandman To visions that satisfy attention spans To nightmares that vanish with morning Raisin Bran But poets and drunkards resist this plan They walk through empty streets Feeling incomplete Taking their women ***** and their whiskey neat Finally they too surrender to sleep Tossed by worries into withering wind Of dragons and fax machines Of reality dimmed Sunrise distorts them and they vanish as they begin Just like tomorrow And tomorrow again
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Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
Sleep in a City
I always hated the color of your emotions On these dull and rainy days Haven't seen the sun for months Can somebody fax me the apocalypse Can we just go back into a Big Crunch Don't care about time anymore it just slips Through my fingers I'm not perfect like you think, I'm patchwork My design has so many flaws and quirks I'm made of skin and bones, some tell me if I'd try to swim I'd sink Wish I was more of a liar so maybe I could float What a tease you are in your little floral dress And your needle and your thread and your thimble and the little squeaky noises from your rubber sneakers tread Thought you were so cute when you'd ask me to drink my wine and eat my bread Who knew a sip would turn into a bag and a loaf of bread I hated how you looked up when I would look down And the town felt like a bell tower full of time where I never heard the bell sound And when you would close your ears it felt like a tsunami had hit my face and turned me into a zombie walking frown Where my brain was so angry it turned red and filled with blood until I drowned And there you sat that afternoon playing with your alabaster Barbie that oddly represented you And you combed her hair and gave her a personality that you could choose And you forgot all about the needle and thread, and all my patchwork of yellow and red and blue You forgot all about me and if you would have mixed all the colors right you wouldn't have anything to lose But here I am with my wiry string and my patchwork bruise I've got smoke in my lungs and oil in my stomach fueling an industrial revolution that's way past due
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Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
Playing Dollhouse
I always hated the color of your emotions On these dull and rainy days Haven't seen the sun for months Can somebody fax me the apocalypse Can we just go back into a Big Crunch Don't care about time anymore it just slips Through my fingers I'm not perfect like you think, I'm patchwork My design has so many flaws and quirks I'm made of skin and bones, some tell me if I'd try to swim I'd sink Wish I was more of a liar so maybe I could float What a tease you are in your little floral dress And your needle and your thread and your thimble and the little squeaky noises from your rubber sneakers tread Thought you were so cute when you'd ask me to drink my wine and eat my bread Who knew a sip would turn into a bag and a loaf of bread I hated how you looked up when I would look down And the town felt like a bell tower full of time where I never heard the bell sound And when you would close your ears it felt like a tsunami had hit my face and turned me into a zombie walking frown Where my brain was so angry it turned red and filled with blood until I drowned And there you sat that afternoon playing with your alabaster Barbie that oddly represented you And you combed her hair and gave her a personality that you could choose And you forgot all about the needle and thread, and all my patchwork of yellow and red and blue You forgot all about me and if you would have mixed all the colors right you wouldn't have anything to lose But here I am with my wiry string and my patchwork bruise I've got smoke in my lungs and oil in my stomach fueling an industrial revolution that's way past due
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25
There is a special person- and, not just to me, alone, but to all of us who see her as one of our very own She got promoted some time ago- and what a terrible loss! But, regardless, we remind ourselves- that she remains to be our boss. I made a promise to myself- that every now and then, That I would try to make her smile as often as I can I could have sent this piece of work by email, fax, or text But this way its been immortalized out of love, and deep respect. Merry Christmas Millicent!-December, 2013 copyright r.riddle December 05, 2013
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Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
That Special Person
A neat and tidy life she leads Every day the same To keep it all under tight wraps is her only aim In her mind she organizes Replace, rotate, no compromises Every thought and every word, They're all arranged by sizes Every thing has its' own place That she's made just for it Ideas go here, memories go there, No mess will she permit By each night her mind-desk is cleared No stray documents are found Until morning comes they lay in files Waiting safe and sound But sometimes something new will come In a way quite efficiently Better known as a fax, but to her, a facsimile Startled by the incoming message She rushes to give it a home - It does not fit with any files Registers, databases, or others of the like, She leaves it sitting on her desk Where it sat overnight Without a place of its' own The message grew and grew Without a spot to place it in, She didn't know what to do As it grew out of her control, She watched with total awe It overtook her entire world All she did was withdraw
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Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
A neat and tidy life she leads
Art work in pencil Peach shadows on the outline of everything Jaw lines, good times Trees in the park Dinosaur tracks and Fedex Fax Librarians don't do their job I was talking about shadows Then my mind was robbed
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Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
Patch it and Thatch it
Close to "around the bend" Proud to call a wall a friend Posting letters others wouldn't send Caring too much about the triple word score. The trend or what's trending What the be jeepers are you befriending Could it be any more condescending I guess peacocks are misunderstood Remember when you had a list You know, when you were not ****** When we were all Swedish "tyst" Drums, glitter, blood and filo fax How did it come to this? Writing words on a padded wall With ****
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Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Unhinged
These pumped up kids with their sugar coated noses? Minds supplied with hand guns and prickeled roses? - Eating mushroom caps? Raising tax? Running away from office FAX and paper stacks? - It’s a lie! We aren’t the lazy generation of non-believers! A drug ridden nation of gamer streamers. - Who the **** said we don’t stand for **** We’re fighting those that think that climate heat is just a myth. - We ache for peace in a world of racist schemes and broken dreams. - We’re out here aiming so. much. higher. When your mind is wired by a narcissistic liar. - ...And you say we **** Take a look around. This world is changed by those like us that make a sound.
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Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 3:51 AM UTC
“Snowflakes”