"nicker" poems
Even amidst all the chaos, stars are born on the rise. Let's hang our bedsheets of jealousy out to dry.
Bask in the Lunar glow of night sky. Reflected dreams shine amongst the will of the fight.
Follow the winding trails of hope, for she's always the test. Best you learn to fear stupidity, as it burns through the nest.
Surely you jest! **** the selfish gesture from heartless chest. Crested Swallows fly down to get rid of your pest.
Blessed be the people, the worst AND the best. Flourish in broad daylight and ingest the nourishment of our plight.
The night owls watch from their perch, then take off on a flight. They're wisdom may be the wisest of the avian kingdom.
Pray to your God to not give up on your way. Sway not from true freedom, these poems are the iridescent rainbow spray.
Splayed and flayed magically out for the eyes of the next child that stays. Days turn to nights, and nights into days.
You eat your Doritos and I'll eat my Lays. We'll cleverly act out our plays. Mend the space of fabric that frays.
We'll tend to bend time to our ways. These rhymes speak louder than illusive money in May.
We'll mold our creations from enkindled passion flames, shaped from warm clay.
Cows moo away and eat grass, while horses nicker and neigh.
Our actions speak louder than our poems do. Live on, cause dark turns to light, and night turns to day.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 5:16 AM UTC
She can find freedom here.
She can be happy here.
She wishes to stay forever here.
Galloping, cantering, chaotically awry.
Flying as one, two beings, seamless lines.
She can find freedom here.
The sun slips gently from the sky.
Her fingers tangled in copper mane.
She wishes to stay forever here.
A whinny, a nicker, a smile as she cries.
She loves what this means to her.
She can find freedom here.
She talks to him, because his eyes don’t lie.
Ears swept forward, and those gentle honey eyes.
She wishes to stay forever here.
Twelve hundred pounds of unbridled energy.
He’s her biggest, closest friend.
She can find freedom here.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
The moon was almost a quarter til
when the cow didn't quite jump the moon
The little boy turned blue
when the cow became roadkill
Jack called Jill
Have you heard the news
Yes she said
It's all over Pox on chanel two
Little Bo go peek who loved to fleece his sheep
Was distraught about
the loss of Bovine
From the earliest dates
they were constant mates
Even gave him
the nickname of Quackers
But now he was gone
Left without a moo of a word
And his nicker was left
without a stacker
But Ole McDonald's was elelated
for it was beef patties on two sesame seed buns
Just as it had been designated
How sick and disgusting !
Said the little girl
with the red riding hood
For she was a vegetarian
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 3:26 AM UTC
I wear my heart on my sleeve,
I'm easy to deceive,
But I always believe,
In my dreams,
I am clever and bright,
I never fight,
I'm not always right,
About life,
I see far ahead,
Pictures in my head,
Me laying on my bed,
I have made,
I am optimistic,
Quite simplistic,
Somewhat idealistic,
On my path,
My heart is a drummer,
My soul a long summer,
My brain is a ******
For good choices,
My blood runs quicker,
Than the finest of liquor,
Than one million nicker,
But really,
I'm nothing so special,
Like white platinum metal,
But I'll happily settle,
To be me.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
Little shadow
harked madam
a bird who wears her wings
only as wardrobe
(though she dreams
in fits
of infantasy)
dusty in her bedroom
in trust to her headspace
an attic dweller
home school tutored
a burden to her wellspring
and buried to her title
averted
feet behind the curtain
little shadow
with the unclaimed
the name of
Elizabeth
**
A foe in the night
an aviary of the berserk :
vocal nicker
and disputes at high frenzy
lend from her garret
uneasy on the household
coughing up all of the family
cussing from their berths
the awoken
shamble and mumble in the hallway
move in a broken thread up to her attic
they’ll crack open her privacy
and find her fast out on the bedding
you can’t spell that to her ghost
in Elizabeth’s sleep
it’s sprung from its host
a living haunting
a messed up devotion
expresses itself on the family
enforces itself emotionally
the hallways are trailed
with dried flowers
and stinging nettles
don’t tread the halls at night
without a pair of slippers
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 5:53 PM UTC