"fri" poems
For the first time in my life I'm writing to my friends. Or maybe it's for my friends.
Because I never thought things would end like this. I never thought things would even end.
They've been here for years and they'll be here for more, I thought.
But all that was lost when they saw my life as a battle to be fought.
I've never been good with spoken words but I've never been silent with my writings.
So I'm speaking and shouting and yelling about how I never knew things were ending.
Tell me things. Anything. Please. I'm so lost at what to do. Specially here and now that I don't have any one of you.
I know it's not good, you could say unhealthy, even. But I've grown so used to all of you, you were my safest haven.
But I know I lost it. And I know that you see it.
But help me out and tell me why you saw my friendship and decided to drop and leave it.
So this is my sorry. And my thank you. And my fare well.
I know you are all better without me but i won't be better without you, and I hope you can never tell.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
.
Friday
FridayFriday
Friday Friday
FridayFridayFri
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Friday Friday Friday Friday
Friday Friday Fri day Friday Friday
Friday Friday Friday Friday
Friday Friday
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
Shutting down,
My immune system fails,
Vulnerable to the germs that breed about the town,
One mistake,
Protection wasn’t used,
Vulnerable to the taunts that make my soft heart break.
Although my heart is broken,
Words only cut so deep,
I know that I am human,
Even as I drift to endless sleep.
For advice and help – please contact any of the organisations below:
Terrence Higgins Trust
Web: www.tht.org.uk
Helpline: 0845 1221 200
Offers free and confidential services for people with ***
Positively Women
Web: www.positivelywomen.org.uk
Helpline: 020 7713 0222 (staffed by *** positive women: Mon-Fri 10am-4pm)
Aidsmap
Web: www.aidsmap.com
Information, news and resources for people with *** and AIDS.
I dedicate this poem to all those who are suffering from HIV/AIDS, those the world has loved and lost through HIV/AIDS and to all of those affected by HIV/AIDS.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:26 AM UTC
365Nectar #46 The High Priestess of Soul
Fri. November 8, 2013 10:38 P.M.
Deep in the distance
dancing upon the horizon
a deeply distinctive voice
defies definition
bending genres to her will
clearly breaking boundaries
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Little Girl Blue
lettin' it all out
with a wild as the wind
Sinner man
just tryin' to feel good
absolutely refusing to be misunderstood
a strong-willed priestess turns tempermental tunes
into blazing beautiful harmony
putting a revolutionary spell on you
belting emotional songs of freedom and spirit
Peace of Heart
Nectar of Truth
just in time
to do what you do...
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues.
Born to a preacher handyman
and housemaid minister
a gospel pop fusion diva
emerges from the Glory of Love
a strange volatile fruit
blossoms into young, gifted, and Black
spitting storms of spiritually smoldering Black Gold
from a silky soul
that scorches the earth
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Masterfully mesmerizing
Black rock
Blood
and Candlesmoke
a fiery flow of
tangy, tantalizing and titillating
under a fog of duality
genius bears two heads
vibrant and intricate
a saucy songstress swings with passion and honesty
an empowered diva
breaks down and let's it all out
just energetic expressive jazz
injected with well composed folklore
live at Ronnie Scotts
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
From Newport to Baltimore
an exiled priestess feeds forbidden fruit
and hypnotizes the masses
with tantalizing love me or leave me alone torch songs
a powerful
Four Women
high on Lilac Wine
blush from Broadway Blues Ballads
in Baltimore
See-line woman
goes to hell
to save Little Liza Jane
and shelters in Barbados
Cotton-eyed Joe feeds
Brown Baby controversy
behind Blue Prelude
Did it move you?
Yeah...
Hell yeah.. it moved me too!
Mr. Bojangles wave bye bye to a Blackbird
in chilly winds that don't blow
while willows weep something seemingly
symbolic of soothing
to an African mailman in Central Park
and an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
The High Priestess of Soul
caged but still singing
shivering sensations
from stubborn sweetness
under sweet strings
that sharply spill and scatter strength
to the sorrowful
that daily dine and devour
silky, soulful, and spicy
Pastel Blues.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
tues.
exhausted piano teeth mozart pere
gnashing slashing sound barrier
stretching zoology beyond the bird
cannibals in the a-z azimuth
weds.
mirage of red awnings all-night resort
cannibals in the azimuth stairwell décor
thurs.
cold as leprosy embraced
yet somehow curled
fri.
frail departure voice to ****
height hair duck drake
cold as geology young rocks flame
(hidden within the blink of eye)
4.9k
365Nectar #60 Devour Me
Fri. November 22, 2013 9:18 P.M.
Devour me...
A provocative passionate pouring
of pillaging and plundering...
A pleasing prowling
of a piercing plunderer...
A lovely, limp nymph
laid upon a sizzling alter...
Smoldering...
Awakening all the senses
a choking of lust
unleashes exhilarating
and
envelops you...
Effortlessly evoking ethereal...
a sinister seduction
seductively seduces
and hungry hips
breakdance with hysterical
Stimulating a surreal surge of a sweet seeping...
waiting...
impatiently...
For you to chisel
an unimaginable devouring...
S slow steady climb to the summit
of the ultimate ******
Time-
Time-
Time... a tool to employ flamboyantly...
immediately...
eargerly...
Expose my conquered heart
that leaks
of streams
of cream
of succulent sensation...
Expose my tamed moistness
that whispery whines
as you build a legacy
of torturous licking....
Seductively...
Slithering in spicy spirals
of stirring screams
from stormy shivers
of steamy anticipation
of your redefining touch...
Suddenly...
drowning in the sticky sensation
of all that is us...
A tender luscious love liquefying flesh
and penetrating souls...
We blend in blazing bliss
tapping taboo for titillating thrills
you rock a rowdy ravishing
inside me...
I whisper wet whimpers
and beg for bitten breast...
Our wrestling hips
hug, ***** and groan a hungry growling...
Pounded into saturated submission
I linger in lubricating dreams
for you-
to...
devour me.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
somewhere
in this vast oasis of home
party streamers of the heart
faded stuck to the walls
pale pinks like the sinking sun
drowning in it’s own image
below the horizon
i feel that’s us
where we belong
laughing through our shame
the night calls without names
into the last party of the decades
rushed into goodtimes and struggles
flushed away into pollution
tv static nuclear radiation
here on this couch of your parents
orange and yellow
brown
from some era I can never understand
or touch
as with each moment some new invention is formed
the past is squashed
we strum along to the hum
of a world
never quite ours
but here we are
5/27/11
1258pm fri
May 27, 2011
May 27, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
It's an old, run-down, brick building-
with some pickup trucks, and a John Deere tractor-parked in front-
It has been there for many years-
with many memories in its 'font.
Why, that building knew your folks, the children,
watched generations come and go thru that door-
It waved good-bye to new recruits
as they left to go to war.
It became a sort of, "meet and greet"
Where folks would come , take a seat-
the coffee urn, filled to the brim
for those waiting to get a trim.
(and for anyone else who wandered in)
And the stories! Oh Lord, the stories!
One would start with an anecdote-
another followed with a joke-
then another, each trying to top the other.
Folks would laugh so hard, you'd think they were die'n-
for there was no way to know
Who was telling a truth,
and who was lie'n-
(a determination that never could be made)
A great way to end the week!
The building had no signs, because everyone knew what it was,
so why spend the money to tell folks something they already knew.
Then, one day this appeared on the door:
"Welcome Stranger! Come in and see!"
"The One and Only Barbershop"
"Where the BS flows like the River Nile, and the coffee's always free!"
(Open on Saturdays 7-3)
Closed Mon-Fri
copyright: richard riddle January 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
I wish you were here
my best friend
with green eyes so clear.
I can swim in them
and feel the warmth again.
Tears of happiness
roll down my face
waves of emotions
like the blue,big ocean
fill my heart with desire
set me fri, get me higher
because our love is like fire.
Deep inside my heart
I am longing for your touch.
Gently hands,touches me softly
lips of temptation
what a beautiful creation.
of tenderness and happiness.
We are in love.
When I am closing my eyes
I can see the starts in your eyes
shines so bright,with endless light.
When I open my eyes
I can face it, it feels right
but I am alone in this moment
far away from you
and thats the truth.
I am longing for you
I wish you were here
with me ...
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
the lovely picture window (always the same, always different)
There are painters who must,
having found the place, must,
repaint it, compelled to repeat it,
each a variant, yet always the same,
always different
I awake to a perspective that is wide,
always differentiated from the prior,
always almost similar, but never with
the same exactitude, differing attitude,
same longitude, identical latitude,
always different
horizon distanced, in all ways a view
encompassing, duality near, far distant,
harmoniously, eyes open, magnetized
to wake before 6am by the suns modesty,
first light, first clarity, a curtain risen, yet,
always different
am I so blessed or thus cursed, for the urge
to disclaim and ode, compose and thus self-
decompose, analyze, reflect, slice apart, needing
the comprehensive understanding this me/place
scripts the raw appreciation, daily differentiated
always the same
this peaceful venue seizures, chest calmly
pounding at the insistence it commands,
the price I must pay for the prize to praise,
to sing, weep, reward restful sleep with lyrics
eked out, pouring, unsustainable yet finished,
always different
a single May Iris, returns, born from a torrential,
thunder, lightning, sky mayhem, rises by a sundial
greets midst a planted clump, upright rises, lavender,
in a majestic solitary, absent but a day prior, yet mine eyes
failed to witness its discernible emerging birthing creation,
always different,
always the same
here, I am Iris too, always the same, a day aged,
but the differences minute but stolid actualized,
this overnight sensation, my body’s restoration,
what I visualize, indivisible, now visible, realized,
miracle of continuity, unchanging chained change,
always different ,
always the same
wonder, am I more blessed, or a s~lightly cursed being,
my breath restored, wet eyes full brimming, changed,
revived but always modified, a newer old man, whose
sum total always a different number, but in sequential,
compelled to confess, no understanding of this miracle,
always the same,
always different,
this daily visionary miracle
6:36 AM
Fri May 24
2024
Silver Beach,
Shelter Island
May 24, 2024
May 24, 2024 at 6:53 AM UTC
Fulde hænder og hænderne fulde
Fuglehænder og hændernes fugle
Tankespind fra hjernen, hver gang dine
Beskidte hænder får mig til at gispe
Af ængstelse efter berøring fra andre
Himlen lyser mørkerødt, men indeni
Er min lunge kollapset. Sort.
Skænker dig ikke en tanke når jeg
Mærker himlende fornemmelser,
Som tager mig langt væk fra dig
Trækker vejret dybt og sukker -
Søde tanker mod de dybblå
Have, og strømmende bølger
Himlen brænder og dyrene skriger
For at sætte dig fri; fra mig
Dømmende blikke og blikkende dømmes
Deres øjne følger mig når jeg går ned
Nedenom og hjem, ned af gaden
Nedværdige kommentarer snurrer.
Månen lyser himlen op, men kroppen
Damper mørke skyer på boulevarden.
Spejder og søger, efter svar på vores
Problemstillinger, af nederste skuffe,
Min yndlings dig, mit hjerteskud på
Øverste del af himlen. Ses kun i kort tid.
Vandrende på vejen leder jeg efter
Det vi begyndte med at have. Kærlighed
Du elskede mig ind til benet, men mit
Skind bedragede, min eneste dig, du
Skal forgudes, tilbedes og elskes.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
The Hardest Forgiving Slant
<|>
9:19am Fri Sept 22 2023 ~ 8:02am Fri Sep 29 2023
commenced during the Ten Days of Awe
<|>
we debase our language daily,
robbing the spectacular majesty [example]
of awe with the common overusing
vernacular of “awesome”
especially forgiveness is degraded,
we utter “I’m sorry” trippingly,
costless, less than cheap, with even the
snap-on veneer (1) of sincerity discarded,
but move on to the next rudeness
but today I will not permit myself
an easy letting-off-the-hook, no shifting
of blame to anonymity, or fast forward to tomorrow,
when we can obfuscate our intrepid
dishonesty one more time…again
to forgive those who have injured us,
not that hard, or the judging deities,
who silently wink and nod, but offer
no certitude beyond trying, itself a
maybe, maybe not, truly tiring this
trying tacking the constant requests
so first an etymology explication on
the tension inherent that very word,
f o r g i v e
As a word, as a sensed,
intuitively-
it is a
Perfect Continuous Infinitive! (2)
to
forgive is
perfect,
to forgive is
continuous,,
to forgive is
infinite!
what a marvelous, perpetual
past, present and always futuristic
word (alas)
The Hardest Forgiving?
to forgive oneself
so nearer to impossible,
the first responders doing triage,
leave people like me for last,
as it a unconditional condition
with no cure that can be effected
indeed, by our very affect,
they instant diagnosis seeing our
very gestures, body language, or ****** expressions,
all reveal the hopelessness of
the never-to-be-given-grace,
among us
for a thousand years,
I have tried and failed to forgive myself
for the worst I’ve done,
and there is no sword or club,
blood-letting,
that can dispatch the onerous burden I carry
so I write poetry,
a salve that offers
temporary relief,
while I write,
imposed a
momentarily distracting,
a kind of dusting of self~spin,
that chills myself
just until
the, this!
poem is finished,
the slant is drawn
<§>
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —
Sep 29, 2023
Sep 29, 2023 at 8:12 AM UTC
Lort nok bliver råbt i gaderne
Baglæns fra politi
Autoritære magtnydere
Magtliderlige voldsbrugere
Råbende autonomer skriger
LORT NOK
Derude i natten
Løber de fra staten
Staten siges at passe på
Os
Løgn løgn løgn
det er lort nok!
De begrænser os kun
Lader os ej studere
Den anden verden af Frihed
Vi lærer kun at leve
I en ulidelig frihedsløs
Verden
Vi lever ikke
Kun efter regler
Sat og bestemt
Fra barnsben af
Jeg skal være lydig
For ellers får jeg gas
Mens alle voldsmænd går fri
Du skal underlægge dig voldsmændene
Din ytringsfrihed bliver dig frataget
Og du må aldrig lære at nedbryde DIN regering
For hvis du nedbryder den
Bliver de frihedsberøvede frie
Og voldsmændene bliver taget
Folket er underdanige
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
sailing down
a sunless sea
downward to
infinity
no stars above
to give me hope
or guide me to
an island shore
with every change of course i make
my destin--y
remai-ns unchang---ed
no escape
from this wilderness
no running from this
empti-ne---ss
...da-da-da-dahh
duh da-da da da dahhh
ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
fa--r
so far be-yond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long time
just take my hand
and you will find...
...da-da-da-dahh
duh da-da da da dahhh
so i turn my ship
into the wind
and fa-ce the tru-th
that i have seen
softly singing
she calls my name
with open arms
i release my pain
and as the sea closes over me
my hea-rt at last finds
ser-en-it---y
... oblivio--n
a broken heart's best frie-nd
ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
fa-r
so far be-yond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long ti-me
just take my hand
and you will find...
... oblivio--n
a broken heart's best fri-end
so i turn my ship
into the wind
embrace the heart of
obli-vi---on...
"hello friend"
she welcomes me within...
so ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
far
so far bey-ond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long time
just take my hand
and you will find...
obli-vi-o---n
obli-vi--o---on
obli-vi-o--n
" i'll be your bro-ken hea-rt's
be-st frien--d... "
.
Pic Poem
http://oi57.tinypic.com/10qb7tz.jpg
.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
I woke up this morning, and no I am not singing a blues song....
There is something big and white in a small room
I had a torrid few minutes trying to recall...
re-fri-ger-a-tor
a step forward
ouch! My kneecap hurts, not fun.
I learnt the refrigerator although white
is not as soft as a pillow or a cloud
I managed to make the room safe
by pushing the refrigerator
out of the window.
Whoops.....sorreee!
there is something under it outside, round and red
a volley ball is round and red
but this round thing is gurgling
and very red indeed
except for the things like lips that are going bluey-grey
Wow the world is fun with severe memory loss
and a laissez-faire attitude to exploring things.
Bubby, my neighbor gave me a present
it is heavy, has a handle and a little lever on the side
safe......fire.....safe....fire......
It fits in my mouth, I wonder if ..
BANG!!....
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
Syrenernes store buketter af sprøde blomster springer ud og spreder en duft af sitrende lykke som jeg tager del af, når jeg kan overskue at smile og være mig selv.
Jeg sidder under det.
Og jeg ejer al den stilhed jeg gemmer på, som jeg kun tager med mig når jeg er alene i natten, på mine lange vandringsrejser i mine udtrådte gummisko, som minder mig om dig.
Når jeg fortæller mig selv at jeg tager mine tanker i at gå på afveje og drømme om den magt vi kan få af hele verden på markerne med de grønne stængler. Og at hvis man skruer tiden tilbage, så kan man lære at leve livet rigtigt. Hvis jeg nu havde givet mig selv lov, og havde sluppet mig selv fri.
Så kommer der blade på syrenernes grene, for jeg har siddet der i flere timer end jeg kan tælle på hænderne.
Og mærket mine følelser, selvom der er tusindvis og på trods af at de i hober går i krig mod hinanden, for at fortælle mig modsatte ting og at livet går videre.
Så jeg rejser mig op, og går videre mod nye velduftende blomster i et forsøg på at lære af min erindringer.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
It's an old, run-down, brick building-
with some pickup trucks, and a John Deere tractor-parked in front-
It has been there for many years-
with many memories in its 'font.
Why, that building knew your folks, children,
watched generations come thru the door-
It waved good-bye to new recruits
as they left to go to war.
It became a sort of, "meet and greet"
Where folks would come , take a seat-
the coffee urn, filled to the brim
for those waiting to get a trim.
(and for anyone else who wandered in)
And the stories! Oh Lord, the stories!
One would start with an anecdote-
another followed with a joke-
then another, each trying to top the other.
Folks would laugh so hard, you'd think they were die'n-
for there was no way to know
Who was telling a truth,
and who was lie'n-
(a determination that never could be made)
A great way to end the week!
The building had no signs, because everyone knew what it was,
so why spend the money to tell folks something they already knew.
Then, one day, this appeared on the door:
"Welcome Stranger! Come in and see!"
"The One and Only Barbershop"
"Where the BS flows like the River Nile, and the coffee's always free!"
(Open on Saturdays 7-3)
Closed Mon-Fri
copyright: richard riddle January 27, 2015
My father, for 20 years, was a game warden for the State of Texas. I would often ride with him on weekends throughout his 6 county district, stopping at many of these small, rural, unincorporated communities. It was, as we say, "a real hoot!"
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Døde blikke,
der vandrer rundt,
som zombier på Dommedag,
eller en tiger i bur.
Ingen kan glemme,
hvorfor vi er her,
endda i det næste årti,
vil mindet sidde fast,
sort på hvidt,
i bogen der.
Og de er her alle sammen,
store som små,
arm i arm,
de gå.
Hovedet holder de højt,
i et forsøg på,
at stoppe det,
de ikke kender,
selvom de godt ved,
at man med terror
sjældent bliver venner.
Paris' gallionsfigur,
er nu ændret,
fra Eiffeltårn til blyant,
"Je suis Charlie"
Vi håber ytringen en dag bliver fri
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
kom med mig
bare bliv i nat
du siger alle de ord jeg engang ville høre, men det føltes ikke rigtigt
hvad forventer du at jeg skal sige
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du tager min hånd
og siger du har ændret dig
men søde, dine undskyldninger narrer mig ikke
fordi for dig er det hele bare et spil
så bare forfør mig nu
for tiden har gjort mig stærk
jeg er begyndt at komme videre
jeg siger det her nu
du har haft din chance
og du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
en lille smule for forket
og jeg kan ikke vente
men du ved lige hvad du skal sige
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du siger at du drømmer om mit ansigt
men det er ikke mig du savner
du kan bare godt lide det du ser nu
men for at være ærlig
er det helt ligemeget nu
for du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
jeg var ung og forelsket
jeg gav dig alt hvad jeg havde
men det var aldrig nok
og nu vil du pludselig have kontakt
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
gå hjem til din kæreste
jeg slipper dig fri
jeg elsker mig selv
du har et problem
men kom nu ikke og spørg mig om hjælp
for du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
en lille smule for forket
og jeg kan ikke vente
men du ved lige hvad du skal sige
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du siger at du drømmer om mit ansigt
men det er ikke mig du savner
du kan bare godt lide det du ser nu
men for at være ærlig
er det helt ligemeget nu
for du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
jeg kan elske med hele mit hjerte
jeg ved jeg har så meget at give, jeg havde så meget at give
men med en player som dig
der har jeg mistet troen
det er ikke den måde jeg skal leve mit liv
det er bare lidt for sent
det er bare lidt for sent
en lille smule for forket
og jeg kan ikke vente
men du ved lige hvad du skal sige
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du siger at du drømmer om mit ansigt
men det er ikke mig du savner
du kan bare godt lide det du ser nu
men for at være ærlig
er det helt ligemeget nu
for du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC
It's an old, run-down, brick building-
with some pickup trucks, and a John Deere tractor-parked in front-
It has been there for many years-
with many memories in its 'font.
Why, that building knew your folks, children,
watched generations come thru the door-
It waved good-bye to new recruits
as they left to go to war.
It became a sort of, "meet and greet"
Where folks would come , take a seat-
the coffee urn, filled to the brim
for those waiting to get a trim.
(and for anyone else who wandered in)
And the stories! Oh Lord, the stories!
One would start with an anecdote-
another followed with a joke-
then another, each trying to top the other.
Folks would laugh so hard, you'd think they were die'n-
for there was no way to know
Who was telling a truth,
and who was lie'n-
(a determination that never could be made)
A great way to end the week!
The building had no signs, because everyone knew what it was,
so why spend the money to tell folks something they already knew.
Then, one day, this appeared on the door:
"Welcome Stranger! Come in and see!"
"The One and Only Barbershop"
"Where the BS flows like the River Nile, and the coffee's always free!"
(Open on Saturdays 7-3)
Closed Mon-Fri
copyright: richard riddle January 27, 2015
My father, for 20 years, was a game warden for the State of Texas. I would often ride with him on weekends throughout his 6 county district, stopping at many of these small, rural, unincorporated communities. It was, as we say, "a real hoot!"
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
Are you still a friend?
Are you still a friend
Are you still a frien
Are you still a frie
Are you still a fri
Are you still a fr
Are you still a f
Are you still a
Are you still
Are you stil
Are you sti
Are you st
Are you s
Are you.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
Vi har løbet så længe
kan vi tage det med ro
og for en gangs skyld
Lad os være hinanden tro
Du er min blomst
lad mig være din biolog
helt ærligt kvinde
Jeg vil høre hvad du tænker på
Det kan blive os mod verden
du skal ikke være bange
lad mig fri dig fra dine tanker
Vi kan klare det her sammen
Hvad er tid når du er nær mig
det står stille i mit hoved
siger ikke at vi har travlt men
Tiden går hurtigere end jeg troed
(f.b)
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
I'm staring out the taxi window
Watching the droplets of rain
Hit the ground in agony
The wailing sound of the
Clouds rubbing against
Each other in sync with the cry
Within me
I am NOT sad; neither am I happy
I just didn't see you today
And I feel as if I'm missing
A huge part of me
We haven't even spoken
I don't know the sound of
Your voice
But I know the beaming smile
That catches my eye every
Time I get to campus
The radiance in your eyes
That somehow manages to
Travel in the medium of air
And seeps in my veins
To become something deeper
And more meaningful
It's YOUR happiness that
Glints from afar that
I am missing
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC