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Lewis Bosworth Jan 2017
You may not want me to tell you about
The Galilean thermometer,
But I’m going to tell you anyway:
[It will improve your life!]

The GT is colorful – its rainbow
Of glass bubbles sparkle
Slowly as they sink and swim
Buoyantly in liquid.

Signor Galileo was savvy for his age
[Late Elizabethan],
Even though he didn’t shoot an
Apple off anybody’s head.

GG was one step ahead of Einstein
As his popular theorem posited that
If  D↓, T↑.

This can be seen by ogling the GT
[Note the dog tags]
And checking to see if the blues
Are higher than the reds.

In Galilean terms the colors of the
Glass bulbs are unimportant
Since D is a function of the dog tags,
[Ma Nature dictates the T].

GG invented the GT because he had
A dream one day that
The climate in Pisa was warming up
[The tower began to lean].

Rising and falling as a result of density
Isn’t new to science:
[Jump in the neighborhood pool].
Ethanol in water.

GG’s heirs haven’t profited much from
the GT, nor has it been widely
copied by entrepreneurs of note:
[“slow and lazy”].

The verdict on the GT is still out, but
Early reports suggest it won’t
Exceed the popularity of the Chia Pet
As the holidays approach.

©  Lewis Bosworth, 6-2016
Marrisa Feb 2019
She was afraid of
her own shadow
until you became
her shining light
CynQuavia Sep 2011
Stupid ugly acting peoplewant me to do everything for them heres what I have to say
Shut up* and let me be
All of yall need to flee
Talk and talk and talk
all day long
shut up and go away
Im Not rachet or *****
And yes im nerdy gerdy
I dont care what you've gt to say
Shut up and go away
Some, not all, ask for Reference to speak
All, but some, frisk for Pertinence to leak
Yet in your Portrait such Dignity will seek
Adam's Fresh Peel lay bounty for his Eve
If I could guess - your best trial for Art
Which I suppose should renew their Souls click
If such - no doubt - keep your Dimples at heart
Then crease your Buttons for Sun-Babes to lick
After all, this Journal of Good Repute
Offer these Motifs to season the Man
Flexed or Fixed - let your Acrobats compute
To be at your Prime as Fine as you can.
And as I recall, your Tanned Friend deserves
A Place in such Spot; Though prone to Conserves.
Clayton McCann Jun 2012;=related

Remember his name when you look at the night sky.
                                                           - the Toe-cutter

You are the Night Rider,
a fuel-injected suicide machine,
a rocker, a roller,
a no-controller,
yer a cop killer,
the mighty weird hand of vengeance
come to smite the un-roadworthy.

You, Night Rider,
clearly unaffected
by the state’s urgings
to “yield” and, perhaps,
“soft shoulder”.

You are the Night Rider,
sleeping in on a Tuesday,
performing your masculinity
in unshowered, unshaved machissmo.

Night Rider,
won’t you come to your senses?
Nobody enjoys maniacal laughter
It makes us think of ****,
covered in fleas, bedbugs,
whiskey ****,

or Janis,
and the last moments of an American Saigon.

Ahh… Night Rider,
we share your machine lust,
your fetish,
your hard-on for the muscle-*****,
the suped-up hot rod,
the last of the V-8 Interceptors
(1973 Australian Ford XB Falcon GT).
We, too, like a nitrous kit,
a roof and tail spoiler,
we likes our flat black:
………....................our murderous speed
………..........................has driven daddy to drinkin’.

We ride!

Night Rider, we understand.
We get the lurid infatuation,
but, ****, yer a hick-****,
all these roads lead to jail
–how have you not grasped this simple truth?

The highway is not freedom,
but a circular slave song.

Oh, rider of the night,
why all the re-runs of Seinfeld?
And cheese bread?
You’ve grown a belly, N.R.,
and while it might be glam
to be young, dumb
and full of ***,
or all muscle
in ****-less chaps at 21,
you’re 45, Night Rider,
and no-one cares anymore
about your straight-line revolution,
about your road to freedom,
about it,
about what kind of future
you and Floosie would’a made.

The kids are alright
they ain’t never heard
of you
nor your last,
wild-eyed flight.

As the Lord Humungous has indicated,
no one
gets out
rueben Nov 2015
I'm disposable
You never cared about me
My heart is broken
Anton Kooistra Mar 2016
The librarian walks around.
I look to my right and see a classmate watching videos on youtube about boards of canada, if she looks to her right there's a girl looking at her cellphone, the video has bicycles.
The people in the main hall can be heard all the way on the other side of the library.
I took no pictures today even though I brought my analog photocameras, there is no visual recording of this day.
I look to my left and see a large flatbed scanner, it says EPSON in big capitals and in smaller capitals it says "GT-20000".
The artworks behind the window looking into the hallway look partly improvised and partly thought out.
The reflection of a grey sky can be seen when looking up.
I think it should rain but the clouds seem reluctant to do so.
I will try to write a song today.
The brown artwork is a tree with roots.
I think that is a bit much.
The clicking subsides.
The librarian remains silent, with a sporadic amount of mouse-clicks to break up the quiet atmosphere.
I don't know what the song should be about, in fact I would like it to be about nothing which is something not easily done.
The silvery-blue artwork is made of old plastic bottles.
I liked it, it was great though I am not a fan of the cgi blood used in some scenes.
I can forgive them for it.
I am anton, I am a man in my late twenties.
The large television in the library is turned off.
The noise in the background is noticable.
The door of the toilet is opened and a girl with heavy dark make up steps trough and makes her way back to her work.
The scarf is plaid, red.
I rode my bicycle to my university, the road was broken up and I had to be creative in my driving.
I remember that my classmate records the traces of people trough frottage, it's interesting.
The fingers of students on keyboards seem to tickle my eardrums, they are a bit intrusive.
I will stay in school for dinner.
The white artwork is skeletal and weblike at the same time.
The words are on the wall and on the glass window.
I visited my personal coach who helps me in school, we discussed my plans for the weeks.
The amount of sentences should equal 26.
The noise of typing shortly intensifies.
The words released onto youtube spell titles of songs. 14
I am wondering what to do next.
I am wearing Adidas shoes, they were considered cool when my ex's uncle gave them to me as a present; I felt reluctant to take them.
I visit a university where I study arts.
The head of the author is filled with chaotic thoughts.
I think my classmate has a funny way of typing, she seems to be talking to a friend on facebook and I am not creepy at all.
The internet seems slow.
I think about the amount of documents that must have been scanned on the machine, there are scratches on it.
The voices can be recognized.
I saw monkey heads.
The cables of the computer hang against my feet and are slightly irritating.
The girl next to me changed between videos.
I signed up for a few courses, my academy requires it's students to do so.
I eat and drink at breakfast, lunch and dinner.
The library is lukewarm.
I notice that my fingers already hurt from typing, or maybe from sending text messages from my phone.
The radiator makes a low rumbling noise.
I record stories and poems on casette tapes, they find their way into simple installations.
The garbage bin is empty.
I watched the first episode of Ash VS Evil this morning.
I am warm, I am wearing a leather jacket and a fleece vest over a brown t-shirt.
From observation and randomization
Andrew T Aug 2016
Each night, indigo blue smoke bloomed from the candle sitting on the patio table while the tall brown-eyed girl spat chewing tobacco into a Styrofoam cup leaning forward with her elbows on the porch railing, watching the black birds pick apart a chicken bone as they teeter tottered across a sable telephone cable. Her name was Candace and she wore a backwards baseball cap, that belonged to her brother Joshua. He had died from a brain aneurysm last year.

She always would tread her fingers around the wide brim of the blue cap, close her eyes and remember how her brother use to take her
to softball practice back when she was in elementary school, driving
her around in his lime green Mitsubishi GT 3000, with the windows down,  and Pink Floyd percolating from the soothing speakers built
into the dashboard. After Joshua had died, Candace dropped out of Mary Washington. She found a job at Movie Theater down the street from the baseball diamond, working at behind the register, arms propped on the countertop, wishing that she had tried out for the club softball team at college. When her shift would end
she’d go back home and sleep in until midafternoon. Then she’d wake up and march over to the library to read the picture books while snuggling  on the lumpy couch with the plump giraffes and short elephants, the toy animals with the holes on the bottom of
their rear ends where the stuffing would roll out whenever she’d squeeze their heads.

One rainy day she strolled to the lake and stole a rowboat from the wooden dock. Dipping the plastic oar into the calm current, she paddled through the blue water, yawning, stuck in her daydreams about winning that soft ball championship back when she was ten years old, and after the game her brother had bought her a fudge brownie sundae
and a strawberry milkshake, with a ****** cherry sunk in the whipped cream.  The night grew darker, as her memories turned more emotional. So she  came back to shore, tied the rowboat back to the dock with looping a knot around the nook with a thick rope cord. Then she went back to her apartment house and
crashed on the couch, the blue baseball cap falling onto the floor.

When she woke up from her nap she put her cap back on her head, and
went out on the porch, lit a cigarette, then gazed out at the shining moon
suspended in the clouded sky. She reached out with her arm, her fingers stretched.

The depths of Joshua’s soul lay beyond her touch, and she knew it.
She grounded out the cigarette, went upstairs to her bedroom, shut the door. And then she cried, cried until the hot tears turned icy with the pain, that was wracking her heart with an emotion that staggered like Joshua had when he was in the kitchen that one day, swaying back and forth. Dropping

to the tiled floor, blood running out his nose like a baseball player
stealing home. Then the memory dissipated from her mind, as if it never
come to fruition in the first place. She took off her blue baseball cap.

She held it in her hands. She clutched the wide brim and treaded her fingers around the stitching, wondering why Joshua had to leave her life.

And why she couldn’t let go of this baseball cap.
Marla Toledez Sep 2019
Picture you and me, alone in our blue GT, as we ride out
towards the ends of our suns looking for peace and prosperity.
The winds we make seal our tracks closed
and their fiery chill keeps all actions predisposed.
Our hair sways free as your hand takes mine,
my feet on the pedals and yours to the leather hide.
I wish this now could be our infinity
and that our hearts should be together for now and eternity.
The stars swirl above us as we swerve into darkness,
drunk on our emotions and feeling more than endorphins.
You say you love me and I say it back too,
there's no one on earth I'd rather be with than you.
Krusty Aranda Aug 2013
"Why won't you be mature?" she said.
"You are 20 years old!" she said.
Dear mother, don't you know
I don't wanna grow just yet.

I miss not having to worry about things.
I want to still run under the rain.
Can't I change a car for a bike?
With training wheels so I don't get a scar.

I like to go crazy at random moments.
I like to act stupid while watching cartoons.
Play Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh all day long.
Watch Dragon Ball Z all the way to GT.

So please mother, let me be a kid inside.
It won't be long 'till that kid dies.
I know you'd like to be a kid again too,
so stop hiding her. Let her come out too.
Who actually wants to grow up?
bleh Nov 2016
you'd always come home via the garden path, reveling in the crunching of the twigs, the slooshing of the leaves, the endless clackering of misfound footfalls. till the day, after a particularly satisfying stomp snapping, you looked underfoot and saw the remains of the fallen sparrow's nest

it took you five days to soak out the blood

tonight's supposed to be the biggest moon in 68 years. Biggest moon! Wow.

a girl at the party says it's stupid to care what others think. i agreed with her. She agreed with my agreeance, and then burst into tears. i ignored her and walked away. i'm a frigid *****, but theys' gotsta learn, they

God, the flies, it's such a cliché, but it's true, as you trek down into the sludge you can't see them but you can hear it, the buzzing, you can always, from everywhere, the buzzing

when our flatmate left, he deconstructed his bed. he didn't take it with him, he just, took the mattress, threw it in the water closet, left the headboard on the stairway landing, and the sides and springs'n-**** in the garage
                      i really respect the gesture

in the gully between the graveyard and the mine, they built a highschool. a ******* highschool. lord knows why. it looks like a ******* campers lodge, all the kids climb up the banks and the uni students sell them acid in lolly mix nickel bags. everyone i've ever known came from that school, one way or another. heavens know why. hey, look at the big chimney, guess the furnace is on. it's still in use, huh? probably shouldn't be loitering. anyway-

the big diggerman's dig up the concrete, put it in a bucket.
the big diggermans with the big digger truck, with all the cones and stop signs.
Bawm! Bwam! the big muscle arm, full of strewn piping and pistons, bab's the ground bab bab. Take that, ground! Bab Bab!! the spinning chair vibrates, the man gyrates, and the big arm up's and downs, down down, swivel, dump.

remember when we were thirteen, and the idiot boys made a game of standing in a circle, trying to **** into their own mouths? you wanted to punch them in the face, but didn't want to get your hands *****. if only you'd known, back then, that your limbs were really just overgrown turnips, would you of been so insistent at keeping your distance? keeping the world at arms length? that's always the irony, isn't it. the world was inside you all along

At the end of the cemetery, past the hedges, a car park, overlooking the hill, where there's a huge oak tree, and all the concrete is just fractured under its weight, and the asphalt is in tar stricken colours a blackbird in mid-dive splatter. Anyway. Sorry,-

god, you're making porridge? Porridge? *******, are you even hungry, or did you just ******* want to see the ******* oat-*****-muchus coat everything you

-just, there, in this graveside car-park overlooking the city but also in the middle of nowhere, there's two cars. One, a ******* Mitsubishi GT, all slick and weltering plastic, pure pristine millionaire CEO's toy phallus, and beside it, a banged up old Datsun, and it all seems like an allegory for something, but it isn't, it's just, someone dumped these two ******* cars here, but they're not even dumped per see, the registry in the windows are up to date and everything, but they're just there

      all the damp men take the STOP out the truck, stand on the road, hold the cones, watch the digger man seat shuffling; gotta shuffle move up the pavement before you big hand down

You were too clever, weren't you? to bash her head, right there, in the corner, there, above the left cheek bone, so i couldn't tell, right? to make her look like just one more corpse, among the rot? obscure that one side, turned away? left to decompose, mid-perch, on a desert highway? well, maybe it wasn't, maybe it was just someone else, but the fact that you knew, you knew i'd check above the left temple, and that you ****** chose that as the point of rupture, it shows, it just ******* shows, the

the flies never gather, at the point of death, they just breed in the damp, the gulleys surrounding it, why is that

and just look at you now, sitting there, naked as a newborn, crying to yourself, wiping your weepy eyes with your simpering turnip paws, and it's just pathetic, isn't it? And i love you, i do, it's the one moment i can say it, i can feel it with burning, simple purity, with self effacing truth and clarity, because, here, i don't matter. you don't need me, you need a body to hold, an arm to hug you. in loving you i can be absolved of all qualities, and so, for once, i do, i do

Yeah no! In sixty-eight years! What even is the moon

it's amazing, i've eaten nothing in the last thirty-six hours, except a single dried apricot. yet
                                   i need to *****

  you know that feeling? What a feeling. You need to retch, but there's nothing to retch, and there you are, just standing there, at 5am gagging to yourself in a damp field. A stomach, trying to turn away, fold upon and shaft itself a vicissitude. A stomach, no, no, yes, you see?  You need to empty yourself of this bile. What bile? Exactly. There's nothing. Nothing up-emptied onto nothing. And that's all there is, right, that's all that life is, is given right there; the gag, the convulsion, the upturning unto itself, the attempt, attempt, you understand? Of the cathexis, of the innerworld, taken to contain only the unspeakable within itself, miserly bile, a concomitant of all the worlds ills and would be ills and then upon it taken as an ill unto itself, a single nebulous fluid husk of malignant umbra, held in *******, bound in fleshy lining. But then the expulsion, the retch, is attempted, to take all the seething disease of the inner and to project, upturn it onto the outer world. Where? It doesn't matter. In the bin, into the shrubbery, Anywhere but in here. Once it's gone, it gone, that's all that matters, gone, go, go, get. The body tries to push the malaise of(as) the internal unto the external, the outer, but in doing so, finds itself(boundary) empty, where it thought it incubated only vile, there was instead, only nothing, but still, somehow, the convulsing, the retching, the act itself, remains. And that's it, you see? That's all it is, all the emotional turmoil, all the half-hearted hallucentric episodes, the all of everything, is just that, just an, an emptiness trying to upend itself but finding there's nothing to upend, but it still asserts itself as process, as an unending nausea, unresolvable nausea, both grounding and thrown, the throwing and that-which-is-cast, bent under itself,  nausea

the swamp reclaimed the garden last summer. flood season, after all. some days the stagnant waves came right up to the brickwork, can still see the lines, see? your old swing set's a gonna though. all the rabbits either abandoned their dens, or were drowned out. lord knows how many micro-organisms died as well. lot's of new ones were probably borne though, right? hear those flies, bzzt, bzzt. life loves damp heat. you can never tell, never tell really.
fuuck, porridge. porridge is great. you start with some dry oats, but by the end, who knew? the porridge isn't the oats. the porridge is the *process*, the murky texture that you just keep pouring into and it just sits there, it just takes it in, ever cloudy, ever stewn upon itself.

all the sounds, all the sound, all the sound, all the sound, all the sounds, all the sound all the sounds, all the sound, all the sound, all the sound, all the sound, all the sounds all the sounds, all the sound, all the sound, all the sound, all the sounds, all the sound all the sound, all the sound, all the sounds, all the sound, all the sounds, all the sound all the sounds, all the sound, all the sounds, all the sound, all the sounds, all the sound all the sounds, all the sound, all the sound, all the sound, all the sounds, all the sound all the sounds, all the sound, all the sound, all the sound, all the sounds, all but sound

when we'd get lost in damp forests at dawn, or around the sea cliffs at midnight, you'd always sing Poison Oak to me, and i never really got it to be honest, that one song always eluded me. why a yellow bird?
many years later, after my cousin killed herself, i'd think back to you, standing there, and i started listening to it again, and something, something really resonated. a kinda deep, all absolving, wash. but i still don't *get* it, i

******* porridge man, what the **** even is it
Wolftrax Aug 2016
I remember the year of ’95
She was beautiful, and so right
We spent every day together
I knew it wouldn’t last forever
Those kind of things never last
But man oh man, did I have a blast

We spent the days out riding the town
Never thinking about winding down
The guys were jealous, my girlfriend too
She was such a beauty, I treated her good
So delicate and gentle, I never wanted it to end
Sadly one day, the day I dreaded, finally happened

My best friend, back home from serving overseas
Picking up his Mustang GT, after months apart
Knowing it was in good hands, never a worry
I still miss that car, it was one sweet ride
Take one for a ride, if you ever get the chance
There’s nothing like it, you’ll always remember it
Wrote this, after a dream I had.
Kaitlin Frost Oct 2012
You're somethin you know that?
Everything about you just makes me

Breathe girl, don't be nervous.
Linking arm and arm down those halls.
I just have to stop and watch
You are everything and anything about me.
And that old GT car.
Laughing and singing.
I don't sing.
Not in front of just anybody.
You brought it out in me.
Love is a big word.
MOTV Nov 2015
I conjured with my very hands.
Rays to tear the Sun from this land.

I conjured with my train of thought.
Witnesses to scorn the blocks.

I conjured with my weary soul.
Ravens to gore upon their demonic bones.

I conjured with my mute like voice.
Solders, halos shining radiantly with a crimson gold hue.

Whom of you knew that life is more than just what we see
Through lost time in the lost minds of the lost trines meaning

I am believing there are more in the minds of the man

I am believing in Divine corner slabs.

I am believing that the heathen has control of the world so torn
Until Holiness kicks in their doors.

Lost in a Mind
In a Land
In a man

Where time spans don't exist
Think about a hat that can't fit
But you still squeeze it on

Depicted as a hazard
Drug Addict

Surprised he ain't in an attic
Dam nab it
Flow is drastic

Like a flood
Taking out the lives of the lost
Are we lost?

Flowing thru subconscious

Rawr from the tundras Michael is a monsta'
Spittin heat
Eating pasta
Words are like that, coming from a mobsta'

Bats breaking necks
No naggin
Know that I ain't dense
It is hard to get out my adolescence

Mind still on herb and finding Truth in existence

Pitiful poem
Sipping on chrome
E.T. is still in need of phoning home

All dogs need a bone
Need to bone
All dogs need a bone
Need to bone

Lost my brain...
Lost my game...

Lost in strange sights...


I just might...

Stuck in torment...

Cannot move...

Thoughts seem eternally gloomed...
Doomed to a recession.
Lost in the inception.
Is there a redemption?
Thirst from women 'cause its pleasurable

Need my play- that audible

Hear me scream; need audible sound waves to come out my brainwaves.

What is lower than dirt?
It's I alone
rock bottom and I think that I might just go off the poem
and find my way home
please I need to be the be
and the be has I so let us go holmes.

I've lost my mental
black teeth who cares about my dental

* treat a ***** like a rental*
if she a Bentley I keep her for a week, then move from my GT continental
I set my soul on finding truth
where is, who needs proof?
I tried to break the bars raise the roof
a left the scene, gone, aloof
moved with the wind but still sat still
killed myself
brought me to the deep darkened will
of the uncovered man that I have found
in this land
hi son of sam
I am high
son of am

**Use your mental

It is essential

Get on the mic

**** em good

They call you daddy don't mean to be disrespectful

Not being neglectful just choosing words

If bird was the word and the word was on shurm

Learn prophecy confirmed to the date times unturned
Julie Schnell Apr 2016
Cold air circles
Around frozen faces
Red noses and cheeks
Lit under the darkness

Sitting on a lift
Going up, up, up
Three girls sat
Laughing up the mountain

The top was near
The ride was almost over
Two pairs of skis and a snowboard
Prepare to get off

Snow in their faces
Wing whipping by
The girls got ready
To take on the mountain

Standing on snow
Two skis gt caught
Laughing screams are heard
The ski lift shuts off

Three girls on the ground
Look to the right
And low and behold
The three boys they like
We had to write a narrative poem about an embarrassing moment...
Miley Cyrus Jan 2015
When i look in the mirror
...i see a scared girl
...i see a girl brainwashed by society
wanting to escape
i see a ******* scared girl
surrounding herself with poetry and quotes....
thats all she wants to hear is how.....
how she can get a mater of seconds
she wants to get from point A to point B
in 2 seconds...
shes so scared of the in bettween
she fears it....
she also sees
an ugly hideous beast...
looking through the societyscope
she sees an ugly *** monster
with thin eyebrows
ugly feet
ugly hair
bad skin
she sees all wrong
...because society sees all wrong
..she knows deep down that she has the tools to love herself
....but shes so brainwashed
from all those years and her surroundings
...she wakes up every morning
dreading the day ahead
fearing fear
....she attends an al white school
meaning a building full of people believing that their way is the only way
...and she feels alone because according to society
..their right
so how does she gt out of that can she love herself
when the world is telling her
that shes worthless because shes not the ideal
easier said than done
King Tutankhamun Feb 2017
For God so loved the world
He let his own son get murdered
In front of the world
Prosecution set execution
Women men to children
Seen the casted sin
Of an innocent man
Locked up for nothing
All because he was a glutton
To punishment
Mankind is a threat to self
Gotta make laws to feed themselves
Subconscoius bruised I ain't amused
Mad cuz I don't gotta short fuse
And in the news
They persecutin' brothers black n Hispanic like Jews
And the Indian can't get they own land back
Aboriginals coming back home
But don't worry there's a plot
For secret attacks pass that
Mack and let me load it
Unload it as the shots exploded
Brain imploded
Of the elite
Those for all of the lies told in guise
LeArned wisdom
From the serpents above got no love
To these hypocrites
Hanging on double standards
Evrybody loves Jesus
But they ain't down with em
Hit em like hammer but it will hurt
Slow yo roll if you wanna be the one in the dirt
I expose flies of the American pies
We ain't gone get a piece
So I might as well die
For the cAuse once I open my jaws
I get a round of applause
From the spirits dancing above my head never fled
From the source so **** the source
I'm the black matyr
Like baking soda n water
Rising like dough you need to gt smarter
The universe ain't went no where
Everybody entertained over there
Lost souls glancing
And I'm reading spiritual books right here check the glare
I see Times a ticking guns clicking
War horns is pinching
Off the fat man lips soon to take a trip
To the white house with my angry mobs
Just burning the clips binggggg
hazem al jaber Oct 2017
Lovely guest ...

Naughty dream ...

Good morning dear guest  ...
You were my guest to my dream...
The most beautiful guest whom I ever got ...
how beautiful and kind ...
you were to me within my dreams ...
loved this dream with you ...
as i adore you  ...
and right ...
i'm longing again to that dream ...
and long with all misses to you ...
yes sweet girl ...
it was a lovely naughty dream ...
as we also got a naught feelings ...

yes i was ...
the most naughty dream ...
that i ever gt ...
and i got you ...

come babe ...
let's do again ...
let's make ...
as we did ...
into our dream ...
that naughty one ...
lets do babe ...
now ...
let's make it real ...
let's both feel reality ...

sweet girl ...
what ever i look for ...
i remember you ...
what ever i think in ...
i think of you ...
and what ever i feel ...
i just feel you ...
that's why ...
you were a guest ...
the most sweet guest ...
to my dream last night ...

good morning my lovely guest ...
i'v a dream with you ...

hazem al ...
Vladimir s Krebs Feb 2016
lay awake with nothing to hold you away from the keys in the ignitions cursing  letting all of your night mars let lose free. i see no chance to go fast.  every curve around the windy mountain roads.  driving fast letting the wind flow threw picking up your own soul  . flying threw shifting every feeling that high daze. letting my stereo play louder not paying my own attention flooring the gas peddle. nothing is a daze cause i have no limits i can't break. driving fast threw the night with nothing to hide as i turn up my music blasting all the vibrations shattering all the windows in my spider gt. no stopping letting lose all your demons lose before you get trap'd into life that you have to settle down. this feels like i can't escape but i rather drive faster that i would realize before my own dream that brings me back to reality. when life is so ******* ******. my daze  shows my thrill of anger with no regrets. just like i am following my dead heart.
fast to thrills day dreams will bring you down after something reminds you to realize reality *****
Styles 12 May 2017
The moonlight has ears that can hear me speak.

Every time my summer silence quakes, my mind rolls out in waves of awe.

Sometimes moonlight cuts me off, steals my lane and drips silver links to my window.

I am guilty of poking my finger through your dreams as if you were paper.

Cats roam and reflect your sheen on their black sleek coats.

Steal my heart
make waves shiver
crash me like a ship stranded in paradise, destroy me like the Berlin wall.

The coins in my pocket rattle and jingle together like pieces of pipes fighting ruthless in a gang war. I am blowing through forlorn streets with a restless burn to prowl and graze through fascination.

I see you come shining down
your light shrieks at cars and plants a bomb.

They explode together like a duet singing a chorus of battered flames inside a incredible, human heart ache.

Bring me closer.

I am listening.

Bruise the high hills
sparkle trees
bloom through cities
dance with windshields
cruise alleyways and splash your light across it all.

I am entranced by cat coats gleaming my eyes like an answer to a difficult question
that is so profound I have no reply but to bless you.

You watch lovers confess to each other, their secrets hang like an anchor down your face.

I have kept a close eye on you.
all my life
you follow me
driving a crisp, white
Hennessey Venom GT
1.1 million dollars flying out careless rolled down Windows.

Hit the throttle
threaten me with warp speed.
Let's aim for a tree and turn leaves into illuminated rain drops sprinkling down insights from the heavens.

Let's pick up your favorite friend and hit the town.

We could travel down to New Orleans where
Night life is a Mardi Gras extravaganza screaming riots
on streets and balconies,
bras and ******* gleaming from the light posts.

We could traverse rooftops and blind the owls.

We could slip between the perfect cleavage and live right there, perfectly lit and completely absurd licking tanned girls with waxing brilliance.

Do not wane yet.

We are not done.

We cannot crumble here.
We fly on
entranced by the entire planet
in all its terrible and fantastic beauty.

You spell reflections
with delicious rhythm

You sing on hoods like a Hill Billy gangster spitting out lines that only mesmerize.

Hit the throttle.
I'm down to shine.
Hiraeth Jul 2018
I, too, dislike it.

I was trying to not think
When out of the gaping wound
Of the car-detailing garage (smells like metallic ***)
Came a Nissan GT-R fitted with an oversized spoiler.
Backing out sounded like clearing the throat of God.
A gold snake zizzed around the license plate.
Sunburnt hubcaps, fancy undercarriage installation
Casting a pool of violent light on the pocket pavement
Of gum blots. Was this that filled me with desire?
All rights reserved © Hiraeth Poetry 2018-2018
Hira malik Feb 2019
the saint raised his eye brows and looked at my worned out face,
night as if have swollowed my speeches
and my sleeps always wait for rising days,
' u are desiring for waste when time is ahead, LORD is busy in bestowing the hosts,
attend ur heart that mourns whole night, hold ur breaths those dying to gt behold'
'i look up at the sky with sleepless tiring eyes,
''call the mountains when i get old,
beaten rocks , parched lands embracing sunset, grave the pleasures where hearts too cold,
my dreams insane me , when i drink the taste of ignorance,
i frown and i drown in my own silence, when my words hate me,
i bury my head again for no sake, for no treasure,
when i look at the baseless life, when i laugh at the senseless fear''
hurtlovebug91 Apr 2020
I am from Mrs. Meyers
From scentsy's and Del Monte fruit
I am from the Plants in every window and brass figurines,and DIY sheelves  

I am from the Needles of the douglas tree crunching under are feet as we play Hunger games with Nerf guns.

Im from Sunday family dinners and love is love no matter who you  are or who you love.  

From my great grandma Barbra Ward and my mom Anglea Ward

I am from the random family game night and having dinner together everynight.

From " I love you to the moon and Back." and  "So what happend was"

Im from "it takes a Village" as we all chip in, Aunts and Mom's and sibbling and cousins all the same.

Im from Oregon, they came from the Lone Star state making a life in the ****** state, also chorizo and eggs, and Gibblet Gravey

From the storys of my great Pappa helping build the railroads coming from Texas after a transfer moved Brabra, his wife and him to oregon.Bikes we get from GT, where my uncle desines and tests bikes.

I am from the Hallway in each house filled with the kids of the ages, each picture showing how we have grown up. From the Great great grandmas Owl kichten radio, with enough greece of its own to fry an egg.

I am from Family is everything, Love is family no matter what.
We did a I am from In class so why not post it
Ryan O'Leary Jun 2020
In recent years there is
a trend of culling by
killing non native species.

Possum's in New Zealand,
Rabbits in Australia and
Grey Squirrels in Gt Britain.

Attempts at wiping out
native populations by
non native colonials
occurred in America
where the indigenous
Indians were slaughtered
by the millions.

Australia issued licences
to hunt Aborigines recent
as 1908.

Fr. Felice Vaggioli wrote
a book about The British
treatment of Maori which
was banned. An attempt to
wipe out New Zealand Maori
was almost successful.

Efforts were also made to
eradicate the Irish by the
British = Scots Welsh English
known collectively as WASP's.
White Anglo Saxon Presbyterians.

When one has a WASP infestation
what do you do, seriously, what ?

Therein lieth the solution to the US
problem if you answered correctly!

— The End —