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"nakedly" poems
They say artist have a unique way Of looking at this place we call our world We miss that there is more they don't display Unlucky their vision has been disturbed You see, we think we live in harmony Blindly going on with our restless lives Ripping off their band-aide now nakedly To only be looked at as a lowlife Facing the truth in a perspective matter By various colors and feelings Watch as they pick a beautiful flower Painting black to give it a new meaning But even though they bring much delight They are curse with the artist eyesight
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Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Painting a Rose Black
I met him at the dock, While the witch's hour watched Lovebirds dive nakedly into the sea. When he kissed me at sunrise, I inhaled with the hope of holding Brevity. That next night he left me on a sidewalk With the taste of salt on my lips. And as I let go of my breath, I swear I felt a breeze dance between my fingertips.
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Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
Sea Breeze
You were no Eve of Russian literature like Pushkin’s precious Tatyana. You were no young, innocent, provincial girl seduced by cynical Onegin, that bon vivant corrupted by modern European values. You were no mysterious Russian soul brimful of essential purity and self-sacrifice - with a love of pain and pure disdain of happiness. Tatyana resisted all temptation, refusing to take flight, rejecting the man she loved. She was too good to be true; but you, Anna what a pickle you got yourself in, choosing ****** sin. You could share an affair with dashing Vronsky elope with him and leave behind your husband abandon your beloved son, Alexei. But these were not the dreadful choices sealing your tragic fate, my dear Anna. It was those ****** feelings you chased all based on the sin of selfishness. You fed on romance, passion and desire. Your hot-hunger was insatiable, a fire rip-roaring through restraint and all decorum You sweated and panted wild for ****** They say you’re a ‘drama queen’; heartless and mean a woman undone by excess, always longing to undress nakedly making grand errors of judgement. By ignoring Tatyana’s fine example, you certainly forgot there will always be those who tot up the ledger. Your blood debt was owing, it had to be paid. You saw the light at the end of the tunnel - cool down, Anna, let the raw feelings subside be watchful, wary and ever-ready to step aside let the moments of menace and gloom drain – it might just be an oncoming train is due. © M.L.Emmett 2016
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Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
Anna Karenina
You were no Eve of Russian literature like Pushkin’s precious Tatyana. You were no young, innocent, provincial girl seduced by cynical Onegin, that bon vivant corrupted by modern European values. You were no mysterious Russian soul brimful of essential purity and self-sacrifice - with a love of pain and pure disdain of happiness. Tatyana resisted all temptation, refusing to take flight, rejecting the man she loved. She was too good to be true; but you, Anna what a pickle you got yourself in, choosing ****** sin. You could share an affair with dashing Vronsky elope with him and leave behind your husband abandon your beloved son, Alexei. But these were not the dreadful choices sealing your tragic fate, my dear Anna. It was those ****** feelings you chased all based on the sin of selfishness. You fed on romance, passion and desire. Your hot-hunger was insatiable, a fire rip-roaring through restraint and all decorum You sweated and panted wild for ****** They say you’re a ‘drama queen’; heartless and mean a woman undone by excess, always longing to undress nakedly making grand errors of judgement. By ignoring Tatyana’s fine example, you certainly forgot there will always be those who tot up the ledger. Your blood debt was owing, it had to be paid. You saw the light at the end of the tunnel - cool down, Anna, let the raw feelings subside be watchful, wary and ever-ready to step aside let the moments of menace and gloom drain – it might just be an oncoming train is due. © M.L.Emmett 2016
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35
It's a strange courage you give me, ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part! I Shine alone, shine nakedly, shine like bronze, that reflects neither my face nor any inner part of my being, shine like fire, that mirrors nothing. II Lend no part to any humanity that suffuses you in its own light. Be not chimera of morning, Half-man, half-star. Be not an intelligence, Like a widow's bird Or an old horse.
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2.9k
Nuances Of A Theme By Williams
Consort shadows Nakedly romping to mirage of sunset sun Celestial beings encountered By druid's they've just begun They dance around the stonehenge Whilst speaking and chatting verses They've left the inner world Trampled the duney surface They write upon those stones Ogham scripted writing Leaving marks amongst moss Their heaviness of sweat inviting Though one cameth from Spain A foreigner to the stonehenge barbarian Her moonlight giveth him warmth On the shores of valedictorian!!!!
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Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Stonehenge consort
if he is not made of them wholly, branches, he will be soon. they are everywhere, and he steps on them, and they are arms from hell. he wears a child’s football jersey, torn at his size and his sorrow. he reaches into it and pulls out his heart, a red balloon given the what for, inside of which he blows his nose. he returns the heart. a yellow adherent hangs from both nostrils, as two ropes being cut at and then loosed from his brain. the first keeps an arm from heaven; the second he catches and loops twice to put on his neck. one is never out of the woods here, and he knows it, knows here is Baltimore, Ohio. he has watched the people, some of them, leave; their happiness would be better called remission. he is giddy when he comes upon a man wearing only a barrel and he tips it with joy and makes better his headway home. the rolled over branches shriek and wake the man who nakedly bails. the branches up their shrieking. his mother he has no dementia of his time in her womb. why for **** the despondent are given captions like ‘blank look’ he can’t say for in his mama naught but canvassing eyes. she’s what he calls ‘at grocery’, shaking a coffee can she’ll buy because a done melon can’t hold pennies. she often at the neck is saddled with two toddlers but in his projection now there is just one making miracle of not kicking the coffee can into another’s back. any girl that occurs lets him take her with his tongue only as she seems to know he was circumcised and after that much paddled. he starts thinking on dad and dad’s laughing when mother’d say boys be home before dog because that’s how it sounded from seizures and of course rock candy in the summer. the barrel splinters beneath him to be forgotten and his legs go to bleeding stilts. his last things by his face are insufficient; rock candy, barrel, and twin. I talk on the barrel, I don’t need it, not anymore.
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Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
the current state of handwriting in Baltimore, OH
if he is not made of them wholly, branches, he will be soon. they are everywhere, and he steps on them, and they are arms from hell. he wears a child’s football jersey, torn at his size and his sorrow. he reaches into it and pulls out his heart, a red balloon given the what for, inside of which he blows his nose. he returns the heart. a yellow adherent hangs from both nostrils, as two ropes being cut at and then loosed from his brain. the first keeps an arm from heaven; the second he catches and loops twice to put on his neck. one is never out of the woods here, and he knows it, knows here is Baltimore, Ohio. he has watched the people, some of them, leave; their happiness would be better called remission. he is giddy when he comes upon a man wearing only a barrel and he tips it with joy and makes better his headway home. the rolled over branches shriek and wake the man who nakedly bails. the branches up their shrieking. his mother he has no dementia of his time in her womb. why for **** the despondent are given captions like ‘blank look’ he can’t say for in his mama naught but canvassing eyes. she’s what he calls ‘at grocery’, shaking a coffee can she’ll buy because a done melon can’t hold pennies. she often at the neck is saddled with two toddlers but in his projection now there is just one making miracle of not kicking the coffee can into another’s back. any girl that occurs lets him take her with his tongue only as she seems to know he was circumcised and after that much paddled. he starts thinking on dad and dad’s laughing when mother’d say boys be home before dog because that’s how it sounded from seizures and of course rock candy in the summer. the barrel splinters beneath him to be forgotten and his legs go to bleeding stilts. his last things by his face are insufficient; rock candy, barrel, and twin. I talk on the barrel, I don’t need it, not anymore.
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7
at your own peril! *dare to vex provoke, antagonize, exasperate that is what my words will do they won't irritate or annoy, bug or merely peeve, a simple bother insufficient vex your core, demand that you more than mere question yourself but riptide extracts the elemental, battery acid on the essence bared learn the power of crafting words for maximum effect torment, infuriate, expose yourself, what has lain beneath the skin, you will let me in, to let you out why play with poetry, the most dangerous weapon unless you nakedly intend to* !dare to vex!
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Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
dare to vex poetry
With querulous turpitude, I stood Disdainful denied reassurance; Selfless. My crying heart The echo of the wind rebuking All that is remaining of what I used to be. Grotesque deformities my reflection The pain of pure love etched In dreams of aeons passed. Hideous beauty a frightening peace A sweetness I founded corrupt; Hell my heaven My paradise. Honesty a musical once writhing in my breast A seraph convoking legions, Now wings out-stretched I break my own treacherous heart A fiend of Heaven a demon of Hell The first fallen Unto likeness absolved The pennated breadth of twilight Breeding familiarities contempt- I have wearied myself, O God, And I am consumed, Resolute of inequity. He that is down need not fear plucking, Experience is the teacher of fools And a gentle lie turneth away inquiry: If the mountain will not go to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain; The nakedly wan mantic Velleity to tear Christ's body Malapert, before the ruddy shoal; Society covers a multitude of sins Within the penitent sanctity of Heaven's holocaust, in which No man can serve two masters- Oh that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest Eternal and absolute, An angelic image of my shadowed self!. ELEETE J MUIR
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Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 8:35 AM UTC
Lucifer (Extended Edit)
Closed my heart for a moment to open my eyes & mind, didn't realize I was nakedly dancing with some reprobate snakes because I was trying to make them smile like a stripper searching for tips. I liked the way they rattled through life, their ***** thoughts synced up to diff'rent drums 'till I felt the venom in my veins they claimed were love bites, despite the paralyzation of my intuition and warmth. I was seeking out the snake's smile if only for a little while cause I thought my heart could help. But snakes can't crack a smile, no, snakes can't crack a smile.
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Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC
Old Patterns: Seeking out the Snake's Smile
The *** with match, lit the fire scolding kettle with burnt goaless ambition. claiming snobbish golden prowess paid in wanton , savage, screaming tuition. "It is I" said *** "Who has sent aromas of worlds preperations in lifes gluttonous lust smiling rewards genorously hailed with slothed culanary trust..." "tis true" whispered kettle "It is I, the *** forged in iron clad who in laborious toil so generously cast my sweet savory scraps amongst your soot and soil..." "tis true" hissed kettle, "For I, the *** adapt in multiple arrangement of compliment and comfort where you lack with singular solitary function wailing, seared and scarred in black..." "Tis true" whistled kettle "I, the *** filled in glorious substance and magnificant sustenance praised in lifes delicate, vital, victuals and viands in with which I do enhance..." "Tis true" howled kettle "Yet it is I, Kettle, in further fashion of design than copious function in fare do not heed your song and dance..." "Blah" clammered *** "For it is I, the lowly kettle, sing to each melodious morning to begin the days unknown magical soaring..." "Pishaw" growled *** "It is I, kettle, bestowed in somber, modest truth of fact nakedly express that you too, my dear *** are simply black..." "humbug" steamed *** *** humbled... kettle mumbled... "It is in each honorable day we serve our distinguishable stay in detectable unadorned identicle way. "Tis true" said ***
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Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC
*** and Kettle
Tee hee, look at me! Tight little ***** hey can you see? Not a tan line on me! I bask nakedly! Tee hee, tee hee! Pay attention to me! Tee hee hee, bikini hangin' free Grab that thing of sunscreen oil And rub it on freely! Now I shine reflectively! Tee hee! Tee hee is not just words to me It's more a way of life, you see Each **** that bounces bouncily Says to the world, tee bouncy hee hee hee So please upvote my poem, it's free And score a point for li'l ol' me Being so single hurts sorely! Help a girl out, tee hee hee!
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Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
Bikini String Bingo
I was fishing for a clue or the glue; I can't remember which one. But I found myself in black eyeliner - feeling cold and blue, talking gibberish and smelling foul. A rot of a thousand clowns. You circle me, shark-like. You foolishly engage me with your ***** infused breath. I nakedly Tango in my head - scream inwardly, but I see bulls laughing at me with untrusted eyes. I vow never to be that stupid again. Drifting beyond a state of here nor there. A bleeding truth, dreams. Have I gone way too far? I feel the break from the heat, cool breeze. The oven and its scent of fresh baked bread. I am washed of my sins now, but I still feel snakes in my bed. Or is it that I am dreaming it? Bizarre! The fog has covered my eyes - blindly. How will I continue to cope with my own sickening thoughts? No meds, just freelancing. How do you deal with the highs and lows of life? I imagine it and then put it down on paper. For private eyes only. But soon everything comes out to the light - exposed! I settle in for the night and leave all my worries for the morning. Clearly, I never wished to be more - happier. I think I just nudged myself awake!
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Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
The Clown in the Red Scarf
When I had my sight on you, it was as good a currency I spent on my first dance. There was an element of reluctance, my feet glued to the floor, my body, a deflated balloon chasing after its soul. You were more than a plant draped in petals and perfumed with seasons of romance, you were a garden of light, enticing weary butterflies of this world. So when I pawned enough courage to pluck your name out of those ripe lips, I locked it away so I could relish rolling my tongue and tapping my teeth and watching my spirit twirl to its syllables saying it as if I were singing. Driven by madness, Bewitched with confusion, Feverish with longing Come after the quaint question, “Am I beautiful?” Or “Does this dress suit me?” Or “How do I look?” —am I ever worthy to answer such divine a question? Not that there is a scarcity of vocabulary encased in dictionaries and thesaurus, but perhaps the definition undermines the word. For if I could, if permitted to be brazen and to be bold to cross the border defining our reality, your beauty has invented every beautiful thing known to me. Every poem, on paper penned, on spoken stage, uttered on music, winged; Every song on battlefield charged, until the mind is intoxicated, into ears poured —beautiful is not worthy an adjective to sit or stand before your name. You are to me, what blues is to King and Clapton, what a ring is to Sméagol, what the truth is to Neo, what sea is to a fish, perhaps a hiding place perhaps it is a galaxy of their own, though in the end, bare nakedly, you are the meaning. “Are you beautiful?” Yes, beyond what my eyes could touch.
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Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 9:41 PM UTC
Blank Page
When I had my sight on you, it was as good a currency I spent on my first dance. There was an element of reluctance, my feet glued to the floor, my body, a deflated balloon chasing after its soul. You were more than a plant draped in petals and perfumed with seasons of romance, you were a garden of light, enticing weary butterflies of this world. So when I pawned enough courage to pluck your name out of those ripe lips, I locked it away so I could relish rolling my tongue and tapping my teeth and watching my spirit twirl to its syllables saying it as if I were singing. Driven by madness, Bewitched with confusion, Feverish with longing Come after the quaint question, “Am I beautiful?” Or “Does this dress suit me?” Or “How do I look?” —am I ever worthy to answer such divine a question? Not that there is a scarcity of vocabulary encased in dictionaries and thesaurus, but perhaps the definition undermines the word. For if I could, if permitted to be brazen and to be bold to cross the border defining our reality, your beauty has invented every beautiful thing known to me. Every poem, on paper penned, on spoken stage, uttered on music, winged; Every song on battlefield charged, until the mind is intoxicated, into ears poured —beautiful is not worthy an adjective to sit or stand before your name. You are to me, what blues is to King and Clapton, what a ring is to Sméagol, what the truth is to Neo, what sea is to a fish, perhaps a hiding place perhaps it is a galaxy of their own, though in the end, bare nakedly, you are the meaning. “Are you beautiful?” Yes, beyond what my eyes could touch.
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58
Cosplay Human the art or practice of wearing costumes to portray characters from fiction, especially from manga, animation, and science fiction; a skit featuring these costumed characters ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ this cosplay of human we so oft effect, movie projection of shaped variations, semi-firm but mostly pliant, bone not-so-hard-as-we-believe, draped in skins of tissue pre-perforated, we are forms that can last a century, yet shrivel back to fetus in days, for lack of simple water... think human and know simultaneous, billions of earth persona and billions of cells in each *by  for  of - the people,* each masked, each outfitted in uniforms of differentiating gaps more alike, all unique, masses of differences of constructs same, this cosplay is a preeminent miracle... all of us nakedly similar, all naturally defiant of time, all defeated by time, naturally... this skit we play routinely, costumed in a manner similar, yet different, to distinguish ourselves, and mark as group members pretending to vive la différence! what import all this, pretty words that tell us what we know instinctively? just this... I see you perhaps you see me changing my costume not by choice, still do not wear a masque my cells my words, no cosplay, my humanity on parade, my file open to inspection dare you visit the beginning, when passion drove me, the early version, when I was not circumspect, and my poems were passion plays, verifiable truths and cosplay was not part of my vocabulary
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Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
Cosplay Human
Cosplay Human the art or practice of wearing costumes to portray characters from fiction, especially from manga, animation, and science fiction; a skit featuring these costumed characters ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ this cosplay of human we so oft effect, movie projection of shaped variations, semi-firm but mostly pliant, bone not-so-hard-as-we-believe, draped in skins of tissue pre-perforated, we are forms that can last a century, yet shrivel back to fetus in days, for lack of simple water... think human and know simultaneous, billions of earth persona and billions of cells in each *by  for  of - the people,* each masked, each outfitted in uniforms of differentiating gaps more alike, all unique, masses of differences of constructs same, this cosplay is a preeminent miracle... all of us nakedly similar, all naturally defiant of time, all defeated by time, naturally... this skit we play routinely, costumed in a manner similar, yet different, to distinguish ourselves, and mark as group members pretending to vive la différence! what import all this, pretty words that tell us what we know instinctively? just this... I see you perhaps you see me changing my costume not by choice, still do not wear a masque my cells my words, no cosplay, my humanity on parade, my file open to inspection dare you visit the beginning, when passion drove me, the early version, when I was not circumspect, and my poems were passion plays, verifiable truths and cosplay was not part of my vocabulary
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53
Rules disintegrate between midnight and when dusk hits horizon Ask someone, anyone, to run away with you. I dare you. See if they’ll say no Shrouded with the gentle miasma of sleep just out of reach, a half-step towards the unknown doesn’t seem so risky Only when the sky is swathed in dull orange does logic start to kick in, 70 miles from home with nothing but a broken compass and a fond companion Spit bitter regrets at a nameless former lover The one who scoured every inch of your body and eagerly delved in every crevice of your fragile heart before you even knew the true definition of naiveté Naiveté: (noun) the scared, nostalgic hands that innocently cling to a forgotten yesterday while prodding us towards the blind plunge of tomorrow Declare love to that unrequited forbidden fruit Sleepy vulnerability cracks away at the protective walls we build Besides, what could the ramifications possibly be when come morning, faintness of memory won’t be able to distinguish fantasy from reality? So seize the opportunity; be horribly candid and nakedly honest Feel the transience of the night and relish the fleeting moments that rest between your fingertips.
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Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
Ephemerality
Women like the skyscraper He's cultured so dapper And on paper how we perceive things it goes along way too print His hands showing nakedly walks of hints He's up to stunts Whose the one to blame What credibility made you want an old flame Or to write like you never danced   nakedly before Feeling lost after the glow graveyard shift hours slow Her body like the naked breeze air show Ever Sunday brunch Was divinity like Velvet Naked but it never shines In Philadelphia The College boy Alpha he loved Rina Moaning for Lisa Those Scholarships And his lady Left stains on his white collar Business trips The fantasy-scape Like the ship of her naked tip nail's Going to the ****** Islands sail He got the writer all roped into him Like her poem was his script let it arrive with him And their words Were like no other trip Admiration another naked talk vacation But in reality, they weren't naked to be fantasied To contemplate is this really Our time for fate The temptation is always there Like the cross leg road He's the intersection My mind is inside all his fragments To meet our perception Like a writer's block Goes a long way to anyone Reaction The kiss lipstick color beyond naked Fit so well French Connection Language goes beyond anyone that is naked Salacious, Delicious, Ambitious, Notorious Amourous, naked generous Without being naked Delirious Golden naked mounds He groans and it's quite normal to be yourself and growl like Wolf or a Fox She's the Triscuit He loves his Southern tasting biscuits He puts his suit on Dash of pepper and salt Are the stars at fault Over his shoulder He wraps her around She felt a freeze Wanting to hear the naked truth She was his cherry He played his basketball dunk Her naked cream The naked writer in between got drunk Her leg crosses and He's the tie being crossed she was in her flip flops The writer kept her heart of his message with cute pups Well the naked writer received An unusual box and she was naked LOL
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Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
The Naked Writer
Women like the skyscraper He's cultured so dapper And on paper how we perceive things it goes along way too print His hands showing nakedly walks of hints He's up to stunts Whose the one to blame What credibility made you want an old flame Or to write like you never danced   nakedly before Feeling lost after the glow graveyard shift hours slow Her body like the naked breeze air show Ever Sunday brunch Was divinity like Velvet Naked but it never shines In Philadelphia The College boy Alpha he loved Rina Moaning for Lisa Those Scholarships And his lady Left stains on his white collar Business trips The fantasy-scape Like the ship of her naked tip nail's Going to the ****** Islands sail He got the writer all roped into him Like her poem was his script let it arrive with him And their words Were like no other trip Admiration another naked talk vacation But in reality, they weren't naked to be fantasied To contemplate is this really Our time for fate The temptation is always there Like the cross leg road He's the intersection My mind is inside all his fragments To meet our perception Like a writer's block Goes a long way to anyone Reaction The kiss lipstick color beyond naked Fit so well French Connection Language goes beyond anyone that is naked Salacious, Delicious, Ambitious, Notorious Amourous, naked generous Without being naked Delirious Golden naked mounds He groans and it's quite normal to be yourself and growl like Wolf or a Fox She's the Triscuit He loves his Southern tasting biscuits He puts his suit on Dash of pepper and salt Are the stars at fault Over his shoulder He wraps her around She felt a freeze Wanting to hear the naked truth She was his cherry He played his basketball dunk Her naked cream The naked writer in between got drunk Her leg crosses and He's the tie being crossed she was in her flip flops The writer kept her heart of his message with cute pups Well the naked writer received An unusual box and she was naked LOL
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107
Once there was vernal sunshine all around With plants and blooms in color and scent abound Butterflies here n’ there and from all corners unseen Flitted back and forth in iridescent sheen Birds sang tuneful songs of contentment Squirrels and bunnies hopped in spirits buoyant But all along now I see trees, leafless and bare Nakedly shivering in winter’s chilly air        Even when the Earth adorns in full glory Here I bide alone, so dull and dreary Oh! Dear! Why have you so hurriedly left me? Was it to make me drift aimless in this turbulent sea? We were once a happy pair of doves Seeking warmth under each other’s wings By sundown, we flew to our evening nest Under temple spires, we sought easeful rest We walked the meadows, gathering spring flowers We roamed aimless through ocean strands We watched life’s ceaseless ebb and flow We waited eager to grab life’s evanescent glow We knew sorrow’s depth and worth Each morn, for us, was love’s rebirth We walked close to paths supernal And lived ever in love eternal Now I have lost the rhyme n’ rhythm of life I see the world around with sorrows rife I am a broken reed far beyond repair With no songs to be played now or ever Once we danced to the rising and lilting measure Each synchronized step, we took with such pleasure Oh! I hear from far, your anklets rhyme and chime They ring in my ears through the time Each wayside flower to me recalls your lovelorn face The wind swayed lilacs reflect your grace Deep in silent night the odor of your flowing hair Comes wafting, and for a while, I feel you near A boundless emptiness often fills my space The question –‘What next’ stares at my face Yet never shall I yield, but shall bravely sail Hoping, we together shall meet at the Golden Dale
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Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
Why Have You Left Me?
Once there was vernal sunshine all around With plants and blooms in color and scent abound Butterflies here n’ there and from all corners unseen Flitted back and forth in iridescent sheen Birds sang tuneful songs of contentment Squirrels and bunnies hopped in spirits buoyant But all along now I see trees, leafless and bare Nakedly shivering in winter’s chilly air        Even when the Earth adorns in full glory Here I bide alone, so dull and dreary Oh! Dear! Why have you so hurriedly left me? Was it to make me drift aimless in this turbulent sea? We were once a happy pair of doves Seeking warmth under each other’s wings By sundown, we flew to our evening nest Under temple spires, we sought easeful rest We walked the meadows, gathering spring flowers We roamed aimless through ocean strands We watched life’s ceaseless ebb and flow We waited eager to grab life’s evanescent glow We knew sorrow’s depth and worth Each morn, for us, was love’s rebirth We walked close to paths supernal And lived ever in love eternal Now I have lost the rhyme n’ rhythm of life I see the world around with sorrows rife I am a broken reed far beyond repair With no songs to be played now or ever Once we danced to the rising and lilting measure Each synchronized step, we took with such pleasure Oh! I hear from far, your anklets rhyme and chime They ring in my ears through the time Each wayside flower to me recalls your lovelorn face The wind swayed lilacs reflect your grace Deep in silent night the odor of your flowing hair Comes wafting, and for a while, I feel you near A boundless emptiness often fills my space The question –‘What next’ stares at my face Yet never shall I yield, but shall bravely sail Hoping, we together shall meet at the Golden Dale
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40
IN BED WITH STEPHEN KING backstage: Romeo tries it on Juliet 'its 'im 'ard the slap shocks the extras they pause mid-make-up Juliet's received pronunciation slips back into her native Cockney Romeo told to go forth and multiply anyway, Paris is more her type and oooh his *** in ahhhh...those tights Romeo's...ughhh....halitosis she winces with each kiss taste of garlic...cheap cigarettes an audience applauds the curtain falls glad to be just Jane again she takes time to un-Shakespeare her self boy but she could ****** a kebab Romeo: once again Andy her ex & yes yes she wants *** but...not with him Paris: now Peter gives her a saucy wnk "Hmm!" she thinks "Hmmm!" she imagines him nakedly mad for her sans tights...sans everything alas that wink was for Tybalt...god **** another night in bed with - Stephen King.
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Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
IN BED WITH STEPHEN KING
Fighting for mirrored memories fast while fornicating fools swear in deep swear they've never fallen in love? When will the world remember that love is no diamond, no word, no expensive dinner or pair shiny shoes! What has happened to the smell of a rose, it has been dipped in stinking **** The voices that echo in eternity do not recall themselves serenading nakedly with Hallmark cards or memorable dunches! There was blood in the streets, soldiers blister punching the backs of heads, and happy church goer's clutching their burning crosses in blasphemy! Generations of the hip divine rebelling for hope on the TV sets, internet in love and met, forgetting that the moments in nature are the only true ones Hilarity at the thought of many that think it is easy to live again! Sad pouring mountains with rubble stained back packs lick their centimeter gashes as perplexed cooks spill oil on their $2 shoes and smile Shame on the masters of war that pour themselves in books getting their vote, with white smiles, waving hands and blue shiny suits that Elvis wore all the better, at least the Mississippi could move and groove like a human being with a crying blues soul Not a thing to be proud about when the sales are shot, the days are run about, and friends fiend for the next big thing Make more, make this, make a squeal in the middle of the night and see if a soul outside hears a thing Smile at the postman and he'll **** in your mailbox Make an effort in a line of millions and see if the mirror smiles back in the night or the early morning So sad and soft are the eyes that I see in my dreams unborn First that goes, a glow glimmering in a the shine before World War II Teach these manic's the meaning of absence of soul to see how far the world can fall Won't be here to hear, in the back, listening to the sounds of yesteryear Forgive no one, remember nothing, look to the stars for guidance and in due haste, due haste, DUE HASTE, for soon they may be a fog of forlorn memory
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Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
A Fog of Fortitude
Fighting for mirrored memories fast while fornicating fools swear in deep swear they've never fallen in love? When will the world remember that love is no diamond, no word, no expensive dinner or pair shiny shoes! What has happened to the smell of a rose, it has been dipped in stinking **** The voices that echo in eternity do not recall themselves serenading nakedly with Hallmark cards or memorable dunches! There was blood in the streets, soldiers blister punching the backs of heads, and happy church goer's clutching their burning crosses in blasphemy! Generations of the hip divine rebelling for hope on the TV sets, internet in love and met, forgetting that the moments in nature are the only true ones Hilarity at the thought of many that think it is easy to live again! Sad pouring mountains with rubble stained back packs lick their centimeter gashes as perplexed cooks spill oil on their $2 shoes and smile Shame on the masters of war that pour themselves in books getting their vote, with white smiles, waving hands and blue shiny suits that Elvis wore all the better, at least the Mississippi could move and groove like a human being with a crying blues soul Not a thing to be proud about when the sales are shot, the days are run about, and friends fiend for the next big thing Make more, make this, make a squeal in the middle of the night and see if a soul outside hears a thing Smile at the postman and he'll **** in your mailbox Make an effort in a line of millions and see if the mirror smiles back in the night or the early morning So sad and soft are the eyes that I see in my dreams unborn First that goes, a glow glimmering in a the shine before World War II Teach these manic's the meaning of absence of soul to see how far the world can fall Won't be here to hear, in the back, listening to the sounds of yesteryear Forgive no one, remember nothing, look to the stars for guidance and in due haste, due haste, DUE HASTE, for soon they may be a fog of forlorn memory
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Drip drop One tear two tear Drip drop One puddle two puddle This **** is getting old Tears falling on the inside of my face Too shy to show their face Yet the reopened scars on my wrist Dance nakedly in public Drip drop My tears drip Into the depths of my throat The feelings all but pleasant Choaking and coughing Of every one that pelts my trachea Drip drop My blood drops Creating puddle after puddle I'm afraid to even look at my feet Because I know their all overflowing They say blood is thicker than water Yet they dance so elegantly together When their the ones that are drowning me All because I'm afraid you'll say its my time to go Pack up my **** and hit the road Drip drop It's kind of annoying I'm glad I only have a few seconds left Till the facet in my veins and tear ducts Finally close themselves Or the water company realizes I'm not paying the bill
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Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Drip Drop Tears Drip Blood Drops
first you feel "TERRIFIED" then you say 'THIS IS TERROR" then you think then you say "THERE IS TERRORISM" ------------------ then you look at the world ------------------ everybody knows the child everybody knows her fate everybody knows their part in it everybody knows how to steal power everybody knows everybody knows what they should do everyybody knows ------------ face the ***** boldly naked to naked ------------- face the ***** nakedly know you know know you know what to do
0
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC
terror
He doesn't know, Or doesn't care, About how much i desire, I want, I need his embrace, Like a window requires its lace. I'm the window, I am the glass, Nakedly exposed to sun, Honest, Truthful and lustful, Like a fool waiting for the fall.
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Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
Lace
often i look down at myself, my body, and ask myself what have i done to it? these feet, used to nakedly wander through grass, roll wobbly on blades, kick carelessly in water. now, they sink into quicksand. these legs, used to run for infinity, swing into clean air, lounge across chair arms. now, they are streaked pale. this stomach, used to tremble with light, dance in the sun, lie flat. now, it dips in hills and valleys. these arms, used to lace through trees, hang heavily on bars, hold my body. now, they recoil. these hands, used to form art with fire, write to remember, caress plant buds. now, they pick at petals. this body. now, stained with regret.
0
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
body