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September Roses May 2018
Hot chocolate no longer tastes like chocolate

Tea gets me as drunk as wine

I get about as high on cannabis as I would rosemerry or thyme

The clocks in my house have stopped ticking

Though I never stop to check

There's a litter of stray kittens, outside my door, on the front step

Although time has stopped passing
And the gods have fallen asleep

I still find myself laughing
That I've wept to much to weep
Ive had a few people wonder.
Its limbo
Bed littered
With spicits
Debris
Of a fast chick

Afraid to leave my thicket
It could be tragic
To a has-been
Or have you not
Even opened up the gift you got

Too bad
You trap
Your talents beneath baskets
Dark and drastic

The mystery
Of screaming words
At the ether
Either way,
I'd rather embrace
The ricochets

Let's face it no where's
Safe
'cause people are evil
They know we need hope
And that It too will fade
So the mother **** it goes

I spend endless minutes
Attempting to create
Bufferfly effect
Set a second too late
All theres left to do
Is wake
In the digital l-and
We l-ive in
Mistakenly automatic
One pointing at a chest of tools
Eyes on i
No soul can tell a part a weakling metal


Robots robbing robbers rich
T-error terrifying t-errorists
Artist gods and goddesses
Sharing platform to unleashed gifts


Mint hue bubbles squeak
Fizzy dizzy violet haze
World head to toes spins
Any day it spins coins in change


A quiet girl is sinister
Siren of mystery or future
Robot is your mirror
Peach chin with teeth filter
No innocence and glitter litter
Guilty until proven the latter


A quiet girl a terrorist
Error mouths terror twist
Terrorist from the orient
They hide in between every end
Disguises they cover in
Racist as problem solving


Smile girl watch
A fake smile and eyes
Skin of steel so is her
Heart made alloy
How it blazes to the touch when heated
Oh it bites fingertips as it's cold
Hair resting on the curve of her spine
A woman's hair only breaks if it tries to grow


What she said
Tell me if you can tell us a part
Warning tears borne from her crooked eyes
Robot and soul
Terrorists from t-errorists
No soul knows either
Tattoos or memory shall identify you
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Juhlhaus Feb 21
I sat outside today eating sushi and miso soup in the sun
Some squirrels came by and stared at me hopefully
I put a bit of miso soup in the lid and set it out for them
But they weren't interested
Then a gust of cold wind blew the lid over and the soup was spilled
One of the squirrels went for the crumbs in an old potato chip bag instead
A somewhat poetic anecdote from my lunch hour.
AprilDawn Jun 2014
as though a small town
beauty pageant winner
paraded through  
tossing sweet petals
like fist-fulls of  candy  
from her seat perched high above
local roads
this fragrant litter
purged  in layers
from the catalpa tree
with  it’s divinely
designed
heart shaped leaves
plainly remains
      an organic  shade
for the neighbor's shed

.
This  is  a poem I began to write  7 years ago in Massachusetts ! I realized this  tree also existed  in my  neighbor's back yard where I live now about 2 years ago  ,  a truly  delightful discovery.The shape of  this tree   was  different  and that had thrown me, in identifying it.One day  my nose was clear enough to smell the flowers on the  stepping stones on my way to the car and  the fragrance  catapulted me back to  that  big   tree  in New England.
the provocative dress i wore tonight

made you wonder if i wore it for you

i could feel your stare the whole night

watching as my body flowed

underneath the fluorescent lights

you noticed all my details

how i held my drink in my hand

how deep my curves were

how all the men in the club,

were doing the same as you

the one thing you all failed to notice

is what i hid underneath

you all failed to see the scar above my lip

and the fact that i chew my nails too often

and the purple galaxies that litter my skin,

under the confines of my dress
Francie Lynch Sep 2018
I've used them on my windows
To see the clear outside,
If I read the Op-eds,
I shudder, shuttered and hide.

I've spread them 'neath my plates and cups,
My shelves all neat and tidy;
But the headlines made it clear to me
My glass is more half empty.

They had a place in the litter box
For **** to scratch and squat;
I laid them round my garden plants,
They made fine insect traps.
Rolled and twirled they'd start a fire,
I could fold them into hats.
They cleaned the grease from BBQs,
And they're safe to pick up glass.
Crumple them for packaging,
They work as school book covers;
Add water and some flour,
To shape papier mache lovers.
Fold seeds in them to germinate,
Then use them for compost;
There's many ways to employ
Your Times and local Post.

But I won't subscribe to Dailies
For the felling of our trees;
And yet I miss my papers,
And the ways they worked for me.
But when enthroned,
You'll hear me grouse,
There's no **** paper in this ****-house.

My cell works well to scroll and swipe,
But it's only good for a virtual wipe.
Knit Personality Jul 2017
There once was a boy bear named Eddie
Who knocked up a girl bear named Betty:
   They had a big litter
   Of cubs that would titter
And totter, half Polar, half Teddy.

#
remington carter Oct 2016
leaves roll in my parents’ yard
another day watching your
photos from london develop
red leaves and plain drawings
litter your apartment floor

a repeated phrase
pitiful and rich
broken glass
casting rainbows on the porch
a cigarette burn
on the left hand from the right

your love sits uncomfortably in my gut
fucj u writers block ffff
A HUGE muscular tomcat
invaded our space, ate
our sweet Stripes' food,
and looked like he wanted
to tear her apart.
Rushing in to save her
from his assault, I
chased him away and
kicked him
right in the ****
as he fled my wrath.

After my momentary
satisfaction passed,
I regretted having kicked him.
As it turned out, he won.
Stripes had a beautiful litter
of his kittens, and when I
kick him in a recurring dream,
I wake to the pain as
my foot forcefully
strikes the wall.
Austin Sessoms Apr 2012
smiles fade
into empty couch
cushions
late nights
talking about
the future
reduced to
the idea
that change
is only
natural
gum wrappers
litter the floor

     "would you like
      a piece?"

perhaps
but offers
made on winter
nights hold
no
relevance
now the sun
exists
burning my eyes
as I roll off
the couch
the impression
of that
emptiness
clinging to
half of
my face
Auroleus Oct 2012
Once not long ago
In the vile state of Utah,
An evil wizard
Impregnated a feral cat with
Mormon seed.
In no time at all,
A litter was born
And all of them died
But one–
Mittens the Kitten.

Mittens grew up with a sense of entitlement
Because the evil wizard filled his head
With the Mormon scriptures.
When Mittens would catch and **** a mouse,
The evil wizard would pet Mittens
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

In the evenings,
Mittens would enjoy a bowl of warm blood.
Sometimes it would coagulate,
But Mittens loved his blood.
He lapped it up
With a a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

The evil wizard was a Harvard Business Grad,
And since feline-humanoids were not accepted
At Harvard Business School,
The evil wizard taught Mittens
All that he knew.
Mittens soaked up the knowledge
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Some years went by and Mittens
Became a successful business owner.
He would lap up bowls of
Other people's business
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Fast forward to the present tense
(My personal favorite tense)
And Mittens is running for president.
He uses his magical smirk to cloak his lies
So that naive voters might believe that
They should vote for this cat.
He smirks and he lies
With a vigor that is borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.
Laura Jane Apr 2015
I am with you
here in this place
scanning with cool
and radiant eyes
Causing silver haired women
to pantomime
The Thing Thats Wrong With Us:
their heads shake
and their thumbs waggle in the air
like worms.

Our thumbs irk them,
patience wearing
thin as their lips.
They are so sad for us,
for our murderous stupidity.
They know
what is wrong:

because our empty carcasses
litter their living rooms
the busses they ride
the classes they teach
slumped
in the seats where we left them.

Heidegger said
that attention creates access to the world,
And we've crept away to the edge
dangling our attentions over the inviting precipice
like the sorcerer's apprentice
unsure
of how it all takes place
but certain
of it’s awesome power.
The well overflows
and we are swept away
as the women look on
Cindra Carr Nov 2011
There’s nothing to see here
Dusty bottles skewed in the back
The ***** mirror only deepens reflected frowns
There’s nothing to see here
Broke down jukebox squalling about lost loves, lost jobs, and lost luck
There’s nothing to see here
The bus long gone with dreams of many
Pieces of labels litter the floor
There’s nothing to see here
The lights don’t need to flicker at the end
The long nights are empty
Booths are unused
There’s nothing to see here
The doors click shut
Locked down for the night
There’s nothing to see here

cc111711
L B Jan 2018
She may walk through crowds
unseen
An advantage of her age
poking through products  
at her own distracted speed
Feeling fruit or sniffing soap
Reading labels
fine print through two pair of glasses
turning slightly
hoping no one sees...
how gone it's getting....

She may lean on cart at check-out
just shy of your usual...
Old
who ask for double bags
Nope, she will not slow the line that way
Remembering work
assesses pain
shifting weight to other leg
to spare an aching knee

Not one for counting desperate change
Not arguing every item on receipt
Not fumbling coupons
nor writing checks

...will not slow the line...

reluctant to let go of youth
Remembering exhaustion's day
she will not slow the line that way--
Fiddles with smart phone
(Yes, she knows how!)
to pass the time
She fumbles through her purse--
God only knows
what “old folks” look for
Probably glasses, tissues, gum,
or
"Where the hell's my keys!"

Stopping by a news rack
on the way out
Is she waiting for a cab?
Who cares!
Outta way, she stops to read
The New York Times, WaPo, Journal
Thee chapters of a novel
Outside their pay-walls
The mind beneath the woolen cap
is at it
grazing once again, for free
Where she often likes to feed--
her curiosity
No one sees her watching
from the inside out
and the corner of her eye

But what to do about that cat litter?
or ½ and ½
on highest shelves?
she simply cannot reach....

Always some tall good-lookin' guy around
to flatter
his size
looking for dog kibble, “big game snacks” or beer

She plays
the old lady card so well
...and somehow
gets what she needs
Always shop during dinner hour.
Shop DURING the snow storm, just as it's beginning.  :)
Edward Coles Feb 2017
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
C
namannagarhere Jul 2018
✍️✍️✍️  नमन नागर ✍️✍️✍️
    
          जब तक था दुनिया का मतलब l
      
                    यूज किया  मुझे ll

            होते ही मतलब पूरा  बोले l

                जा छोड़ दिया  तुझे ll
Naman nagar always  right
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