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PJ Poesy May 2016
He is **** writer
She is scarcely clad inciter
Writer stumbles along
scanning her song

For words to add to his poem
Songstress pretends not to notice
adjectives he steals
thieving glance at his heals
All marauding spinning wheels
Prosody ‘o orthography blow him

plethora a plush collusion
exile of garment illusion

each sit across room
She ties ribbon to bloom
this ribbon runs through typewriter
Who will be inciter?

presume it is not Jeroboam
****** be this poem
Joel M Frye Sep 2017
Neck-deep in the business
of business,
only his head remains sleepless
in the dark of early mornings
to enlighten those
who sleep in, and spotlight
his peers who delight him.

His capital investment
is love and empathy;
he replenishes the funds spent
on an island of shelter,
the helter-skelter of Monday-Friday
a Distressway away.
North Country chair on the dock
over beckoning waves
sounding their Circe song,
drawing him to the bedrock
of peace
with himself and others.

Generous with his words
his head runneth over
and verses cascade down,
filling one from another
like a mountain of flutes
poured from a veritable jeroboam
of the muse's vintage.

Only love shows as he writes
doing the poetic hokey-pokey,
left foot in, left foot out.
He has turned my world around...
and that's what it's all about.
It's about **** time you got your own tribute poem.
Kuah Yee Han Jul 2015
This is an argumentative essay in the form of a poem
Don't gotta have the incentive to test me because I know 'em
Many more lines to come 'cause I'm a rhythmic jeroboam
Some lyrical crimes to come but I'm not sure what to talk about, so um

Hmm politics, a very controversial topic
It's microscopic, because the government's still myopic
Come on, don't hide the truth that's catastrophic
Now how on earth do we abide laws and be patriotic?

Okay, education, something we do not properly attend to
As a result, kids become aberrations, that like to, well, offend you
When a boy fails a test, he just needs to make amends and who
is to say that he can't improve? Most pretend it's untrue

Pressure to subdue, hard times to push through
There isn't any choice, we just have to make do
What I just talked about, are pretty much taboos
Rough waters ahead, but I'll still paddle my own canoe.
#yeah #ok
Firebuns9 Feb 2018
Cracks on the Armor of Hell

Yes it gets tight and suffocating to say the least,
That your shortness of breath is a sign that your closer to death,
But does that constitute justice for what you have done?
That while you were in your head,
From the outside,
All it looks like is that you are never going to face the dead.
Happiness is a funny thing that it looks like all I’m doing is having that gratifying fun,
You know the feeling!
Like when you bite into that honey bun.

The world brings you back in time to your youthful years of ****** this, and ****** that and don’t eat that because you are too fat,
Yes that is true, yes it isn’t false, it was said to me and all I can ever think about inside,
Is to just let me be,
So I formed this armor, and I drilled the holes so that they could all be blocked from what I see.

Believe it or not the world does the darkest things, but nothing was darker than within my armor,
No one could tell, because I felt like I could only fatally falter,
My spirit was trapped unbeknownst to me,
Where am I?i feel at a way of being lost that sometimes words can’t even explain emotions.  hell?
Have I done 10 years of life in jail?
Yes, you have, the world brought you thoughts that sent you to be confined by your lonesome.  
Within that armor, I created the greatest poem as I sipped in one sitting on that glorious jeroboam.
Tyler A Sullivan Jun 2017
Here is a poem
About an occurrence that happened once in a blue moon
Grab your jeroboam
We'll drink for awhile stop. and then play a tune
Why you ask why not I say why not play a tune, say
Hey
Where've you been past days
I have some wine
Why not spend some time
Do you still drink your white with lime
Such a strange thing to do
Let me pour the glasses
One and two
There
Wait the cigars mise well smoke.'em
At such a celebration such
Yes yes here and missouri we love too much
Sit sit I'll grab them
I think I left them in the tackle box
Or maybe in the top drawer with my socks
I should hope not
You should hope not
Very unpleasant
And they the only ones I got
Such a waste
Ah here I've found them
I left them on the counter top
I wish my mind would stop
Here I've been ramblin on
When you've been gone
All this time
So long
Here take it it's local ya know
Wait stop there again I go
Talk talk
Let me here your story
Of past foreign glories
Of the landscape of sand
In a wartorn land
Just you alone
With rifle in hand
Only,
Well, only if you can
I...I ..wouldn't want to impose
Quite rude of me
Don't you suppose
I'm so sorry
Sit relax
Take that camel off your back
Here I'll hang it on a rack
And you help your self to bed
Hit the sack
Yes yes
We'll talk more tomorrow
Yes in the morning I think
Then we'll drink
Then we'll smoke
Then you can tell me
Over tea
Or wine
Or whisky
What it was like
In a country so risky
So backwards
So blue
So broken
So forgotten

Take a rest sleep for some time
In the morning it'll be "rise and shine on the biscuit line"
Giovanna May 2020
I start with my poem,                         
when I am down with jeroboam.      
I'll simply tell of the frame.              
Down the river, the moon, the night with a restricted name.          
As the hour of darkness approaches,                                          
the moonlight encroaches.              
Flopped under the cloudless skies,                                                      
far away an owl cries.                        
I call it a night,
when the extinguished darkness arise.
This is the poem I wrote for my family. This signifies their position in my life. The darkness symbolizes adversities and moonlight their love and support.
The end is melancholic. As it ends leaving me alone with my adversities.
969
We're not getting any younger
said,
Methuselah to Jeroboam,
don't listen,
said,
Mother Shipton who was as
old as the hills,

keep taking the pills
said,
the Doctor.

— The End —