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September Roses Jul 2018
As the sun slowly sets
The precursor to the week
With deadlines,
                            Orders,
                            ­               Oh so bleak
The calm before the storm
  Too restless to enjoy
For everybody knows
     It's sunday's melancholy ploy

    Responsibilities loom overhead
     Our heart as heavy as the air
      The world has now gone silent
              We sit in subtle fear
Speak Slowly Aug 2018
Slowly saving
patiently waiting
email received transaction confirmed
item conceived, time contracted
a gift for one, many or all
a package surely to befall
a package arrives as the sun rises
it finally comes, joy
it fills us as we tear it apart "oh boy!"
help yourself, its ok to treat yourself
again save and order
await the presents that cross borders
happiness from innocent pleasures
isn't that a great treasure
-SS
Day 24
Evelyn Genao May 2018
"It's okay."

I can still feel it.
The way your lips touched mine.
Without meaning.
Without feelings.
I missed them.
Your kisses.
Your attention.

My heart.

I saw it.
The way your eyes drifted to others.
Never straying to mine.
Never filled with the same spark.
Always dull.
Lifeless.
Loveless.

It hurts.

You would say it.
Those three words.
Not to me.
Never to me.
To the others.
They always got your love.
I got your hate.
Your anger.
Always.

You don’t have to love me.”

You gave me orders.
Never to be near you.
Never to hold hands.
Not in public.
We did not know each other.
They would get the wrong idea.
“We are cousins,” You would say.
You were embarrassed.
To be seen.
With me.

I can’t.

I was your puppet.
You pulled the strings.
And I obeyed your commands.
You never loved.
Not me.
Never me.
I was your toy.
Something you could throw away.

Take it.

It’s all a game.
Of feelings.
Of pain.
Of love.
Of hate.
You are the king.
I’m your ****.
Just a piece on your board.

I’m done.

I loved you.
More than anything.
I let you use me.
Hurt me.
If I got to be with you.
Nothing else mattered.
You didn’t feel the same.

No one ever does.”
I saw a prompt and this poem came to mind. I hope you love it and be sure to comment what you think. Check out my other works!!
Whittney May 2018
Fighting on the front lines
With red pens
For creativity,
For independent thought,
For common sense
Not Common Core

This is a battle in a bureaucratic war we’re losing
Keep pushing and shoving against an impenetrable wall
But we’re only foot soldiers, not actually giving orders

Kids look down on us and they ask,
“Will this be on the test?”
And say,
“Get out of my face.”

Taught by parent(s) to resist.
These are Kids who fail to create
But recite, recall, and retaliate

“Mistake” has become a forbidden word.

School is no longer a safe haven
Testing, testing, 1-2-3 hundred murdered students, teachers

Hanging by a thread and losing the grip a little more every day

Following the curriculum map to X marks the standardized test.

We dig and
                  Dig and
                                 Dig
For the buried treasure trove of teaching magic. The legitimacy and respect our careers deserve. The money, the time, the love, the support.

But it’s buried under so much testing and red tape, and so    

We fail.
Tanya Feb 7


You should have known you were wrong
when you demanded my pureness
served to you,
as if my body
was a restaurant
and my ******* -
a table to book.


You should have known you were wrong
when you pulled me so close to you
that I could suffocate in the tobacco cloud
exiting your whiskey-drunk mouth,
when you demanded my pureness served to you ,
as if my body was a restaurant
and my *******-
a table for you to book.
Manda Clement Jul 2014
We did not come here on the orders of others
We came freely, our own choice, blown by the soft winds
scattered o'er many a mile
Landed upon Flanders Fields and rested a while

Then death came, disturbed the earth
Destruction hit the ground in which we slept so quietly
Awoke us from our slumber sweet
To witness tragedies and defeat

Now we are risen
and in our place beneath lie men and boys of courage, strong and true
Who fought valiantly but now lay slain
Our gentle roots entwine around their bodies that remain

Each dawn we wake for them and face the summer sun
At night our gaze doth meet moon
We stand tall and proud and dip our heads
And honour them that lie beneath with our petals red
Another WW1 inspired poem. Poppy seeds can lay dormant for many years before flowering. This is what happened on the battlefields of ww1. The earth was disturbed with all the shelling and death and destruction and released the seeds that had been laying dormant. How beautiful yet so sad.
A brave little man with a shopping bag
Defiantly stood before an army tank
A foul machine designed to grind free men
Into ****** scraps to be hosed away

Two unknown men - it was not the tank that stopped
It was the tank commander who stopped the tank
All that is left is old videotape:
Two bullets made all problems disappear

A brave little man with a shopping bag
Another brave man with a battle tank:

They stopped -
                              And, yes, someday China will be free
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Truly Great Gratitude knows how to cook
From my Mentor reward a Burger's Gift
Out of a Contest she saw a New Look,
A New White Shirt whose Collar I did lift
So during the orders our Themes discussed
From Family to Travel saw a Best Face
With you your own Self renew and re-trust
Your Fresh Bond Paper your Husband sought Grace
Only when we bartered our Wallet's view
Was when your Picture's truth I discovered
How Human you are; And Friendlier new
Which self-doubted Fever I recovered.
Luncheon was Great; And now invades the Rain
We better both run with Minutes remain.
Nobody Sep 2017
First he demanded I force him on the bed.
He said don’t dare relent till he’s fully spent.
So I start by removing all of his clothes,
kiss and bite him all over, so very slow.

Then he makes me bind both his hands tight,
orders a satin scarf to blind his eyes.
Next I gently bite his neck on both sides,
stirred on even more by his ****** cries.

My tongue wants to lick him just where he likes,
he trembles and shakes as I lick him up right.
He’s hard and tasty, I tease him till I’m sore;
**** and stop, he can’t take it, and begs for more.  

My mouth is so warm, he’s slippery wet.
I take it, and smother my throat in the mess;
and after he’s been pushed so close to the edge,
he rapidly pounds my mouth till the end.
Lawrence Hall Jul 2018
The whole city is full of it – in the squares,
The coffee shops, the ‘blogs, the op-ed pieces
The emails, the news sites, the grocery stores
They are all busy arguing -

If you ask someone to give you change
He says the President is the Begotten One
If you inquire about the price of a croissant
You are told by way of reply that he is not

That the Supreme Court is greater, and that
The President is inferior; if you ask
“Is my cup of Blue Mountain ready?”
The barista answers that Congress is nothing

In the squares, the coffee shops, the ‘blogs,
The op-ed pieces – the whole city is full of it
Saint Gregory’s amused (one hopes) observation on the fondness of the population of Constantinople for arguing theology is well known, and is available at:

http://readthefathers.org/2012/08/19/patristic-theology-is-for-everyone/
Josh Nov 2017


Absorbing dust and Golden heat,
living more openly than I do,
he shimmies to Billie Holiday

The year is not 1957, though
he lives in a San Francisco fog
longing to play the piano

The time in not 11:57pm, though
he orders a ***** martini & swims
in the fishbowl bay

Escaping to Telegraph Hill
to drink moonlight jazz & vermouth
he pretends to live

Way back when

*
I haven't wrote a poem in 2 years!
Gods1son Nov 2018
I just want to ask one question
Is the human race obeying the mathematical rule called BODMAS?
Just a refresher...  
Brackets, Orders, Division, Multiplication, Addition and Subtraction

We have created different brackets
where we enclose people like casket
He's black, she's white, they are rich,
those are poor, she's educated, he's religious, he's fat, she's slim... Brackets

People are treated differently
Based on the class that we've put them in
Some are raised to power like exponents
Others are trapped in like square roots...Orders

The segregation has only intensified our division
I don't fit in here, I belong over there
My group is stronger, those ones are losers... Division

Disunity and absence of love has caused
A multiplication of our problems
Threats, deportation, persecution
We don't like them, we'll bomb them
War, insurgency, terrorism, hate speech... Just problems Multiplication

Every second, our population is experiencing several additions
Our population keeps growing while
Our natural resources are being exploited
And depleting at a rate faster than our population growth
Our resources are experiencing severe subtractions

I just want to ask one more time...
Aren't we obeying BODMAS?
My personal opinion...
Gabriel burnS Oct 2017
Too good and yet true
Too beautiful
To taste
Without falling in daze
Without following
Delirious
An aroma trail of craving
On the back of my tongue
I’m getting equal measures
Of heaven and hell
Perfectly balanced

My eyes are my traitors
Plotting to open the gates
Sending stowaway warriors
Whom I never gave orders
To slip behind walls
Of thickest black pupils
In the Trojan horse
That my eager look is

And gazes are bridges
Unwillingly
Supporting the siege
Of epiphanies
You and me
Caught in our ambush
Completely surrounded by Us
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
There are Doves in chains
electrodes to their wings
But to keep them silent
not to make them sing

There are dreams encased in fear
and it is the dreamers who are afraid
just as there are jailers of freedom scared ****-less
but locked anyway into their own game

Eyes are put out
in deep rooms too dark for seeing
Souls are squandered, coerced
into soulless believing

Delvers of pain torture Truth
cut it and burn it until Truth is dead
Masters of innocence, child-men
devour their hope on iron beds

Wild-hearted, men to men inflict cruelty
in the name of Gods created from need
Prisoners of conscience
victims of prisoners of greed

Where are there reasons?
In whose heart can there be room enough
to allow such ******* injustice?
Evil is the end of all our Love

Where is the Future?
Can men live knowing men exist
whose orders rip out all our still beating hearts
and feed them back to us
in the name of some Equality ?
Umi Mar 2018
To its mistresses wish, the blade dances through till she has been pleased, leaving a mess by engraving the scars of death as a mark, Alike a shadow she does not crack, cavorting a masacre of cruelty,
Berserking she follows the orders, shedding blood in fountains of death and misery without chance for this rage to stop without order,
Emotionless, cold, time is for her to stop moving when her ****** devotion consumes her entirely, swaying in the dark, destroying,
Tortured with true or false everyone disappears, time flows again,
A phantom glides over the sea of blood, in a mist, scarlet red,
Observing this would cause a riot of emotions to rage in pure fury,
Her name already burnt away, as a new one was given to her after this rumpus had found its peak, leaving the mistress in bliss, joy,
Watching their attemps to flee as they reach their dying moments,
Until those who get to close have perished, nobody and nothing left,
Cricling karma surely will catch them, after this sacrifice is done,
Warm blood melts the left over snow, laughter echos and reverbrates through the unending seeming night, bells ring, it is only midnight.
In the end her loyalty and efforts, her energy and love for her mistress
Are but a ****** devotion

~ Umi
Mariam Apr 2
Arranged meetings
Arranged greetings
Arranged smiles and well designed spoken lines ...
They always give me orders:
“Now sit ... speak ...
Introduce your self ... No, wait the girl doesn’t speak ...
just listen ...
Listen till your temper starts to peak ...
Be nice, Be kind ...
Ignore his immature idiotic mind ... “
So I sit and I listen and I ignore ... but I speak!
And when I speak ... the freak ... disappears!
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
EᔕᔕᕼI
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The kitchen's air is redolent with spices,
peppers and cinnamon, all-spice and star
anise, thyme and curry. The cooks are
shouting orders; taking rose-silver pots
and copper pans; each having the print
of the Lily of Aurelinaea; from the wooden
shelves, plates and bowls from the cup-
boards; some are stirring soups over
coal-fire stoves; others are dicing carrots,
potatoes, fresh poultry and more.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Esshi, in a light-green off-the-shoulder
dress of rose-silk with a triple ruffle trim,
lined with yellow ribbon, a thigh high slit and
white lilies beadery, is speaking to the head-chef
who nods. "Certainly, Lady Esshi." he says
and turns to his busy staff. "Bring out
the paella pans! We have orders for the
Queen Mother!"
"Yes, chef!" a woman says as she pulls
out a rose-silver paella pan and places
it on the stove. The head-chef turns to
Esshi. "You need not worry, Lady Esshi,"
he smiles. "I will make the dishes with
care."

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"You always do, Bael," Esshi chuckles as
he washes his hands and she walks to
the corner, sighing. 'My Lady...'
she thinks worried.
"Lady Esshi?" her thoughts are broken
by a woman's voice. She turns to see a  
florist behind her. 'So lost in thought,
that I did not hear the door open.'

She thinks as her eyes fall on the flower
vase.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The vase is art noveau style; a deep emerald
green with a maiden in flowing silks, her
hair bejewelled with lilies. Esshi's eyes then
rise to look at the flower arrangement - white
lilies with lilac kisses, purple roses and
several stems of lavender.
"Lady Ainhara said I should bring this to you."
"It's lovely," Esshi sniffs the fresh flowers.
"Very beautiful! You certainly outdid yourself.
It's for our young Queen, I take it?"
"Yes. And Lady Ainhara said I should bring
you this also."
She sees her place some paper, quill and ink down
and Esshi smiles.
Hard to believe that this is my 800th poem! ^^
Wow!
Anyway, enjoy part 4! ^^
Lyn ***
Bison Jun 2016
Whether weather withers
Heavy penny pinchers
Or orders hor d'oeuvres
Don't mean I'm richer
I'm just not a city slicker
Don't say I'm bitter
I got honey in my pitcher
Oh no wait that's pilsner
Sorry I forgot my censor
And she told my I got a ****** up
******
There's a reason I don't miss her
And I'm just trying to be honest
But she left with my wallet
And now I'm elbow deep in Comet
Paying for a dinner, faux gras, I said that like ***** grass to the waiter
I know I can't pronounce it
**** it he's a hater
And she said see ya later
Later on Imma be Dark side
Like Master Vader
I roll up like high tide
And my homies roll up to Eastside
And I tried to go nuts
Now I gotta run hide
'Cuz bacon munch next door on their donuts
Call me crazen, brazen, but
I was cravin' me a donut
So I strolled up
And then she showed up
Tryna get some tacos
And she was with her ****-o
Head look like a rock-o
And he knows bout them rocks though
So I zip-zap-skidaddle
Back to the Eastside
Now the bar died
So I try to find a quick ride
Down to mi casa
But the cars they passa
Without no second glance - uh
Until I drive myself - uh
Now I'm in a jail cell
Callin' for a lawyuh
Writing out my woes nuh
Hiding from my phone bruh
Cigarettes at home
And my heads all full of fog
I should sleep this off
Imma sleep this off
Story poem/ Awful rap? Are those a thing? I feel like they're a thing.
spysgrandson Sep 2012
I was...

encased in a silver humming tube
shooting through blue sky and soft clouds

the attendant (my daughter’s age) stood
thin knuckles gripping the seat in front of me
whiter than clouds zipping past the window
her doe eyes transfixed on the men
praying with each shallow breath
they would ask nothing of her

some spoke English, some gibberish
waving their razors in ominous dance
slicing the air that carried their words

a pilot at their feet,
a thin red trail, a single line
the only biography he had
written on the cabin carpet
between the cockpit and
where they stood
barking at us, punctuating their orders with prayer and praise
to some God I did not know

“Al lah, A lah…”
more threatening chants
“Allah, Al lah”
more—a shrill scream interrupted this dream
as one yanked an attendant to his side—more venomous words
flying at us like poisoned arrows
(but all of us too frozen to move as these flew through pressurized air)
“please” the only word she uttered before she froze
eternally in the arms of her ****** assassin

the lump in my throat fell, I leaned forward and others did too
(I never saw, but surely they did)
trying to think through the hateful haze
to younger days
how to disarm an assailant—they had to teach me that
I had to remember that—we did that for our beret
but I couldn’t reach back
not further than that morning
when I said good bye to my son

still (“Al lah, Ah lah”—ripping anger from their guts)
I thought, I can do something

the attendant beside me, tears now flowing from lost eyes
(whose smooth blond hair now even looked like my daughter’s)
backed up, her trembling hand brushing my shoulder
(did I think, the last human touch for her, for me?)
my hands grabbed her fingers and I squeezed them gently
(just as I had my own child when I left her side at the altar—
did I say the same words, “Be happy, you deserve it...I love you”)
she looked at me, raindrop tears now instead of fears
we smiled faintly as I pulled her to my seat and rose to my feet

outside the windows
gray square stones now filled the air
blocking the morning sky
where are the clouds I thought…
but only for a second
we
are
not
hostages
we are…going to…

I did not feel the cabin floor as I moved towards the miscreant crew
between me and the cockpit door
I was young, light and agile again, sailing at them
their words no longer calling for their god
but now they spoke in direct command,
nothing of some promised land, but
“STOP OR WE WILL…”
we will…what?
Could I have laughed at the irony…
or we will what?

another now with me, no older than my son
(and looked like he as well)
headed down the aisle
towards men now racing to meet us
four against two
but somehow I knew we would never meet

the lump was in my throat again, my clenched fists relaxed
my own teary eyes turned to the windows, away from the maddening screams
and between endless glass, steel, and stone
I got a glimpse of pure blue sky
last night CNN had a special about 9/11--reminded me of this narrative written on the 5th or 6th anniversary of the event
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