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Stephen E Yocum Sep 2018
Visiting a friend on his Quarter
Horse farm, the day sunny and warm.
We walked out to his brood mare
pasture, the ladies were running,
awaiting and sunning, anticipation
in the air and their nervous behavior.

Noble his name, consistency his game,
a reliable aging stallion, sire to many
fine sons and daughters, years of proven
pairings, came halter led and prancing.

He had their scent and his spirit awakened,
the three ladies believed to be in season began
to snigger and whinny, their excitement growing
as the stallion entered their grassy domain,
the dance was about to commence.

The handler led the big fella' forward,
both sides began their quizzical inspections.
one young felly more aggressively willing
than the others. Noble excitedly returned
her heightened interest.

Within a few minutes Noble began to rear up,
he knew his job, his august appendage extended,
trying several times to mount his mate intended,
adrenaline pumping his back legs began to shake,
on his fourth failed attempt the eager proven
suitor fell to the ground, rolled over, paused for
a moment and struggled to stand on unsteady legs.
Appearing somewhat embarrassed.

The mare moved aside, kicked her hind legs in
the stallion's direction, whinnied loudly and
ran away. Rejected the old stallion stood looking
perplexed, failure was something unknown to him.
His spirit was willing but his aging body was weak.
The old stud slowly returned to the barn, his head
hung low, no longer prancing.

For every time and being there is a season, aging
is part of the cycle, like this stallion, we all reach
this moment of understanding. Sometimes gracefully,
most times with stunned disbelief.

From Noble to nothing in one afternoon.
The allegorical parable here is impossible
to ignore. Unless your are twenty four.
zebra Aug 2018
the witches
they don't take no ****

feminists with a wand
made from a femur
wrapped in ***** hair,
fingernails, and spit

not good little passive girls
although amused by a good spanking
for laughs that titillate
from a red wicked dicked old man
with slippery fireballs
like a spicy cherry pepper
that slurps filths coves
through a black tongue
and open-mawed bite

******'s queens
oiled torsos and bond fires
drenched ornaments for laughing snakes
that spread like spider webs
while the whips flash licks
hells tender blood kiss

insatiable prayers
******* rituals
mixed like bones in broth
with intricate sigils and saliva red
menstruum her holy sacrament
that shapeshift crones into young girls prancing
and bind water to stones

her spell can crack your skull
like a mules kick
and melt your eyes
like nuclear skies

the witches
they don't take no ****
Blake Jul 2018
So now I weep tears of dashed hopes.
The dreadful sorrow cracking and snapping my teasing mind apart as I say a final and tardy goodbye.

But not for you,
But for the man I met all those years ago.
And for the woman that met you.

My one last wishful thought,
Is the greatest of all...
That somewhere our old souls are still prancing carefree and smirking to the pleasure and gift of our love.
When you lose yourself...that grief will always be eternal.
zebra Aug 2018
i was told not to read that book
it said right there on the cover
that if i did
i would become a scourge
like a hidden genies dagger
the sight of which would terrorize some
and draw others to me
those strange few
who cry to feel it wound their flesh
and crave its rupturing cold edge
an obsession in motion
demanding they lose themselves in the rapture
of dangerous weapons of pleasure and pain
their kiss an obscenity

sure i thought

and as i read it anyway
it's words  
where like a cocked gun blasting
a slow-motion bullet
like a bomb in the skull  
shattering brains
with a storm of licking tongues
and kicking feet

my death scattered me
into a great light that casts a long shadow
of headless prancing nymphs
their menstruum,
kaleidoscopic winding red ribbons
fruits of both heaven and nightmares
like a river of elastic mouths
shifting form like chewed gum

thunder filled the house
a dark paradise found
lost in the realm of the senses
quaking and torn
this gleaming blade

its caress a sanctuary
pulled tight
over searching fingers
that roam for damp places
in a flickering daze
hiding a frozen scowl
impossible times
zebra Aug 2018
when life is charmed with radiance
all kicking pony
and summer sticky sweet with instinct
like a head sloped between thighs

moralities privation comes
stirs it's ***
a broth of orthodoxy
evoking a cinematic painting
of Christ's crimson howls
for the ache of life

his blood sacrifice construed
as desire from the embrace of lust
sins cursed maniacal
save the ******* of priests
for little children's ****
the father
stands aloof
as if nothing but helpless black space

the churches history
a coterie of priests
a prancing parade
in black dresses
with rosy *****  

jesus's own little rays of sunshine
religion  adult
Keith Wilson Jul 2018
Keith has done his rain dance
No more fun in the sun
Too much time in Egypt
until the war was done

Rain rain rain aplenty
all the drains are running empty
Like Santa's Rudolph always prancing
I will keep on rain dancing
Sam Jun 2017
Do you remember the nights? Back when we would chase the shooting stars under a canvas sky stained black. Nights we held so dear, prancing in the twilight.
                              Those nights led to coffee-shop mornings. Mornings when the "House Blend" was the only thing keeping our eyes open. Mornings that we spent holding each other tight, watching the sun climb in the meridian.
                               I thought those days would last forever, but here I am, kissing this cigarette. Wishing on those same stars that we used to chase.
in blue sky
the hawks circle
the bird feeder

the ghost of
a young adolf rules...

the dog that's
been caged
walks in circles
(the wires to the cage
sit in Washington) and

as the cage opens...

say i
prancing in a circle

one hand waving free
"don't tread on me"
an American revolutionary war phrase, "Don't Tread ON ME," positioned below the rattlesnake is a warning that reflects the basic principle of individual FREEDOM!
Osiria Melody Feb 14
Jubilant child, gently prancing to the candy store
A lollipop, chocolate bar, or a fruit paid in full
Locked door, crying river tears that make my sad
eyes swirl red, like peppermints
Mommy and daddy don’t love each other anymore

Notorious teen, aggressively committing thievery
A pack of cigarettes, alcohol, or pills paid in full
Locked door, smiling sunny teeth that make my
cheeks radiate, hurt
Popping pills like death candy
Mommy and daddy just got divorced

Apathetic adult, hating to have my own family
Bottles of colored juices, packs of funny looking
lollipop sticks, or death candy sprawled across the
(Alcohol, cigarettes and drugs are my friends,
how pathetic)
Haphazard mess, failing health over death candy,
coughing smoky clouds, dragon voice sadness
Mommy and daddy are dead

Harder to breathe when you’re trying to speak
through grains of sand
Found a dull romance, much more emotionless
than my parents’ relationship
Your promises of climbing mountains and
swimming oceans

Nothing more than promises, false and broken
A living dream of what it all means, withering
At least, death candy never commits infidelity, an
insatiable lover
Takes me to my grave, burying me in all
these substances

I drew my inspiration from admiring the sweetness of a candy store.
L Nov 2018
For all the empty promises, the crocodile tears, the anger, the emotions in general. For the tears, and the hurt, and the longing. For the good times along with the bad times. For the adventures and the laughter and the prancing and the frolicking.

For the beaches and the overlooks and the rollercoasters and and the drugs and the beer and the shenanigans. For the casinos and the hotel rooms, for the crazy people and the jokes we made about them. For all of it.

I love you
Arianna Oct 2018
Strutting birds of paradise
Flaunt satin, silk, and velvet wings,
Their plumes the rainbow outcoloring.

Shimmering, masked, they dance:
Petticoats swish, hat-feathers bob up and down
Prancing through
Galliards, pavanes, voltas, and branles.
Inspired by a mid-17th century painting of dancers. Seeing the bright colors of this image, the ruffs, doublets, and crinolines, it struck e, the beautiful but unnatural silhouette of the figures. They reminded me of exotic birds: majestically strange.

Painting name: "Bal à la cour de Henri III, dit autrefois Bal du duc d'Alençon" by an unknown artist.

Perhaps they danced to something like this:
Arianna Mar 25
"... staring, staring
at the rippling surface gyrating closer,
winding slow, swollen coils
about my neck.

Panic flutters to life,
pushing feebly against the tranquility
immobilizing my limbs.

I often dream of winged horses.
And observing the darkness overhead,
the phantoms of dreams and life merge their faces,
flirting coquettishly with a nightmare.

The golden thread between us tightens,
and I know you're waking up.

The movement travels through the maze,
tugging heartstrings in seismic waves
like those that lap the rocky shore
where I've dreamt so much of winged horses,
and pondered furiously an arcane memory
of prancing cloud to cloud through the Northern Lights
somewhere, sometime
Rolling down St. John's Heritage Highway
after Sean, my grandson's birthday party
I belt out my pioneer song with vigor
echoing across the vast beauty,
wide open, sacred spaces
pristine vistas

Norman Rockwell cows grazing
in bygone pastures happily
moo along

Driving past the yellow deer crossing sign
Florida woodlands giddyap near the edge of the road
long brown antlers prancing to
a timeless rhythm

I hope and pray that I can somehow
kindle a spark of appreciation
in my niece and grandsons
so that they may behold
the baffling greatness
and mystery that is our universe

These young'uns are mighty attached to the
virtual reality, world and landscape
of computer technology

A sprinkling of cowboy stars flash
an omnipresent wink
Sunset bonfire explodes across
the frontier horizon

Turning the corner onto Emerson Drive
smoldering scarlet orange embers
reflecting lights
shoot fireworks, launch rockets
through an ever expanding field of vision
Homunculus Jan 20
We are but a fleeting plume of dust,
We are but a withered patch of rust,
We are but an aimless wind, whose gust
Is drifting, through the dreary twilight's must,

Awaiting, the new rising of the dawn,
Awaiting, the dewdrops which glaze the lawn
Awaiting, the quick prancing of the faun,
Whose dancing through the fields might lead us on

Through streams and forests, far from where we've strayed
Through pastures, where the lilies rock and sway
Through clearings, where the sunbeams pierce the gray
Of the foreboding clouds, to light the day.

Yet, here we wait, with eagerness and zeal,
Yet, here we lick these wounds, which never heal,
Yet, here we churn the spinning water wheel,
Which drips a fatal poison in our meal.
Star BG May 13
I live my life as if in a cartoon.
Moving inside laughter, tears
and colorful visions.

Yes, I live my life in a cartoon
dancing, romancing, and prancing
on the big screen of life.

Perhaps when I leave source
will present me with an Emmy.
Inspired by chat with Stu Harley Thank you
Aleena May 7
Walking through the doorway
Acting like it’s your birthday  
Is how you came into my life
Prancing in like its nothing
Got me wondering if you’re royal
Even while you’re breathing
You got me unable to take it easy

Hair of an angel
Voiced like a gem
Keep it breezy
Or I’ll get crazy
You’re making be dizzy
With these lavish things

Skating on a board
Into my mind you soared
Like wind you can’t ignore
The desires they take over

Striding in like a mere bagatelle
Making me look for a wishing well
So don’t be flexing on me
You got me behaving flakey
Because you’re so tasty


A mind runs free.
Gleefully prancing through the pastures of crippled thought.
Thought to have been here all along,
Along the thoughtstrings of my restless mentality,
Written within the pages of a book held dear.


A heart flies,
Dreaming of the dreams in which my soul runs free.
Jealously imprisoned,
Surrounded by it's falsities.

The grasses on which I feed,
Are made of my naivities.
Nutritious only in thought,
Scarcely getting me by.

Scraping away at every crumb.
The mind runs free.


Blissfully unaware of its imprisonment.
Dreaming of peace,
Unaware of its fleeting nature.
Wickedly addicted to the sensation.
The brevity,
Of being free.
Despite having never been at all.


The mind runs free.
To write these lines.
My endless ramblings.

Jonathan Benham Aug 2018
Shut down the barricades,
no matter how vapid,
words will come out.
They remain paramount in a mind
without thought and will sound unlike
the exchange of a delusion
so, so, and so
Just to hear a voice,
just to hang from the rafters
instead of tying a rope around my neck
and prancing on the stage
like some kind of fool.

It’s true,
I will never
reach my ideas of bliss.
For that is only an apology,
bound to happen.
What now?
It is time to bury my head in the sand,
just as delusions do.
As a darkness descends to these troubled lands,
carefully watching are those who feel a cold shrill,
hear with frozen aching,
breathing in the quickening frost...

Growing hoary slowly,
as the rime it seeds,
pressed blades of grass feel the man in need...
This is a toll that must be paid!

Her fleeting thoughts dance with the wind as she twirls about spinning into the winter’s descent...

Darkness falls and so doth she,
her thoughts in brightness, uncoupled glee,
her heart in love and mind carefree...

A sweeping, dashing, vision he shows,
In moon as deep earth,
her sweet heart glows,

“Forget the quickly, approaching fee!”

“Dear Night, oh Darkness; spare this man!”

“I see you, -hear me for I plead too, I’m watching from your ice-gripped troubled land!”

“Take me instead; I’ll pay his cost or your dark soul is truly lost!”

“I twirl with woe, I dance thus so, -wanton abandon…
the shivering cold and this ice I stand in,
Your chill, the frost, the illness and the terrible cost,
...our crops and all our people lost,
and still I shall ignore your hand!"


“No, your reparations I thus will pay!
Leave us now, unburden this land, your frory wind is not his plan,
God does love us, -he’ll stay your hand!”

“Some sign, an answer, please, oh please!
On frosted grass I press my knees,
will you not hear my lovelorn cries?
Why must you take him, why must he die?
I cannot stand so idly by!”

“How can you torment such good men, our town, our lands, tis ours, our home this place you’re in?"

Frigid heart of icy Dragon,
feels not nothing, mourns no loss,
bears down harder with his frost
and punishes them all for a sin...

“You beastly anger!”

“The cold hand of darkness in my eyes, my heart burns bright with moonlit scorn!”

A trumpet sounds when lightning strikes,
and thunder heard, it splits the night!

“A toll too great I shall not mourn,
Soulless winter’s passing bound,
in frosted days of chilling found,
You maketh tender hearts thus lost.
Your winter brings her frozen frost,
You tear and break frozen land asunder,
destroy our love our hearts you plunder!
Be gone such evil, lest love soon die, my heart he holds, my soul and sky!”

“Your freezing laughter has distended me…”

Storm God

“Clouds of fury, thunders might, upon that moon, clouds cover her light!"

"Sweeping winds, wisps of ice and snowy swirls opaque the night, freeze that man, take his life!”

“Break, then shatter with my cold spells of ice, he, then she, with no respite; I shall forever control the night!"

“Tell tale of love to me in playful fancy?”

“The darkness I bring; cower as your lives in fright, no man shall evade my thunderous might!”

“Sway me not oh fairy dancer from my cold winter in your bones shall arise a chilling cancer!”

“Destroy I must and hear you not, your land in peril with a wind I roar, cry you will in pain and so much more!”

“I am this world’s white awful sore!”

“Beg you shall, whimpering dearly, for darkness cometh so swift, severely!”

“Feel it, hear it, a painful sound my thunder shatters the peace with world renown!”

“As once, as was, forever more and now I smite so deafening score, I deliver you both to death’s door!”

“There is no heart within this storm; there shall be no heart in earth forevermore!”

“Love you say”

“…as if I know?”


“No life, no love, no NOT nothing, no, from nothingness I come and to nothingness you go!”

“Thus an answer to your pathetic dancing, your spinning motions, your frivolous prancing,"

“A stronger wind, a tor-na-do, witness the awful power I sow,”

“ heartless mind to which you sing, out dance that you spineless twinning!”


“Yes, -die!”

“With his dead heart I’ll crush your soul for yours IS my quest to break!”

“Time is such a fleeting flower and Lo, I come with all my power, your time has come this is the hour!”

“I hate your love; die for me, your bond is cur-sed I decree!”

“My children are the Nephilim, their snowy crystals I turn to rain and freeze it quickly about your ankles for you as he, shall not escape, nothing, no one shall escape, all the creatures shall die this time for I am the maker of the flood, I am the abyss, the king of wisdom, the tree of knowledge, the one of action, crowned master of the earthen plane, the king of gods and king of kings and origin of all things, if God there is then he is I and what I create I shall make die! Know this mere mortal, the name of betwixting thing you learn…”

“I am that old God known as *Sah-turn!”

“My toll do I demand from thou!”

“My toll I ask, I DEMAND IT NOW!”

Sobbing sadness as she prostrates her hands to ice, her ankles bound and crying is the only sound...

The ego of the deity is in question, she searches for another way, a path of inquiry to make him stay, for the horrible fate wrought this day and lands of beauty coldly buried away...

For what could change the mind of darkness?

“Master, I see the wheels have ground to a halt and you’ve descended from the heaven’s vault but how can such lowly animals and nature be at fault, for is it not the goblins of the saw that should be punished, that should be sought?”

“Those who chop away at your great tree are the ones who smile with uncoupled glee for they smite your creation and tear it down and care not for your might, your world renown!”

“All nature is but your possession, oh timeless infinity I do not question, your purpose or need but I do ask, nay beg of thee, allow my love to thus be free, let us hold each other if we die, see my supplication, hear my cry!”

“If let go we will with all haste and prudence, your wrath is great and our presence a nuisance, away from this troubled land you’ve made, the frozen tundra of the grave, a night wrapped by your terrible song in this evil place we do not belong,”

"...please let us run!"

“You have cloaked the beauty of the moon,  covered her sky, I beseech you master hear my cry above the thunders of your sky, wrestle free my love from grip, let us pass, let us slip, let us go this night, oh great black wheel and great north wind and wolf and beast and Dragon from the faraway east and master of the air and seas and Lord of all as your voice decrees, I beg here on my dying knees,”

“The toll you demand is a life for a life, save him, put me under the frosty knife!”

Rumble, rumbling pondered thoughts, the wind is ceased and snow dies down and ground gets soft as air warms up and moonlight shines as clouds dissipate while the god of night decides their fate...

Her sobbing subsides as the ice and snow become water and seep into the earth, her dress soaking and hands covered in mud she addresses this king of kings once more. She stands and fills her lungs with warmth and begins to dance a dance of thanks to him who is hidden but a chilly wind shows that it is still forbidden. Her love watches from yonder far hill as she holds back her dance and stands so still, calling out to the color of night, stern her voice has no sign of fright...

“Punish the land and make your mark for that will teach us to give offerings to the dark,”

“Give rage unto that which hath no heart, pummel the earth and sink the ark.”

“Oh he is such a jewel to me, I’ll dance no more, I’ll show no glee, and no happiness to smite your sea in your great debt I thus will be!”

“Call your hordes, all four to thee, let them of wisdom punish me, my dancing finished great Gyges, your ring of darkness; oh wine-dark seas!”

“The four are eager for the flight to crack the seals and split the night, and show the signs, enact the plan, and run dark in blood this troubled land.”

“You see my master? We know your tales and tell our children the wonder and the mystery of our ark that floats upon your sea and all the things we know you make for we teach our children of them for heaven’s sake!”

“As natures hand you make the call, Oh Famine! Oh Pestilence! Oh Plague! Oh Death, -bring them all!”

“Come now in darkness for your master calls, his voice too loud as to be vague…”

“Run we shall, away, away…”

“Your great power, oh great one, the shatterer, thunderer, the bringer of the nightly fall, watch your subjects cringe and crawl, and supplicate on hands and knees with praise upon your mighty awe.”

“Why not bring them? Bring them all?”

“Enforce your toll, make your presence known, reap the seeds of what you’ve sown, our lives have always been yours to own, for you are great upon this land, your fury descends with mighty hand, now and forever shall it be known, no man can seat above your throne!”

“The trees thus stripped of their leaves and these hands are whipped upon our grieves,”

“Save my love from those stinging leaves from wintery chill and icy snows, hand of darkness, north wind that blows,”

“Lightning strikes and deadly throes,”

“In mercy your true power shows,”

“For you are the master, king of night, maker of fear, of horrible fright, the Ouroboros, the clouds your wings, the heaven’s motions, order of all things, the one who rings the magnificent treasure, the source of all our earthly pleasure, one to which we all do pray, -alas Ethiopia, dawn a new day!”

“The moon descends as does your power tis dawn you fool, that is the hour!”

“You can keep your anger and unpaid toll we’ll keep our love, our lives and my gentle soul.”

Storm God


“Here comes my weathering, wintry, malicious chill!”

“Child die as your suitor must, this night, this storm, this hour unto my lightning ******! Rain, hail, fury thehowling winds of wolven glory and end I put to this sorrow’s story, down the trees, wash away the lands, rip apart the heavens know my hand!”

“…and what is this nocturnal noise?”

“In my storm are birds chirping? Is that daylight on horizon now? Nature cannot desert me, no, not now!”

“The daybreak shines, undoes my vow, ceases my storm and scatters my clouds; know this mortal is not the end for I shall come back again!Your words and pleas will not save you then, this trickery I shall not forget, your souls I’m coming back to get and when I do you’ll grovel in fear for you’ll know the moment of death is near!”

“On that night you’ll pay my toll, I SHALL NOT REST WITHOUT YOUR SOUL!”
A tribute to my favorite poet. Edgar Allen Poe.
Derrek Faraday Nov 2018
Translucent, red traffic light
Belongs so comfortably
No one made a fuss over its colour
Just an instinct for the shade
The perfect pigment
No hustle, no alarm
Being the man who ponders this
Am I not allowed the breeze or the brevity?
Are we blessed to fidget the cigarette?
Cursed to be tense
I imagine a mellow, white man
Prancing on a set of traffic lights
Naturally pristine and silky
He plays in an explorative band
Rock and roll on scalpels
So smooth, that breathing
Not a single itch
I’m going to achieve such a feat
One day
I’ll be a queen *****
wichitarick Jul 2018

When the wind blows round it swirls and sweeps memories of what was once there, thoughts of an old song take longer and longer to repair

Began toe tapping almost adding in the clapping but would rather arise maybe explore to find a new prize

Stuck in a cerebral gap this tune may take a map,keeping digging in try to place that gorgeous groove

Set off out the door to not be a bore, soon found myself pacing in time to some hidden rhyme ,waiting for it to arise

Birds and buses beginning to chirp and hum adding their part, as I try to pick up more clues

Taking it in stride feeling this may be a long stroll,that unknown elegy will be a nice surprise

Rambling again, smooth echoes entering my mind hopefully helping to harmonize my next muse

Making the next strut to remove muzak from that rut, picking it up a key or two will surely bring brightness to my eyes

Lost lyrics lingering ,slowly letting go of that *******,  guitar maybe a banjo or dobro waiting with a new lick to diffuse

Back to the trail humming along listening to the sky's to drop that song,so will this shuffle bring a new ruffle or just be for the exercise

Again set to travel as the sonnets unravel,  hoping that bebop will be part of the hop desiring the dancing, breaking into upbeat prancing finally finding that new melody will be the best news. R..C.
Ever have that one song you can't quite figure out? or that person who seems to always hum a different one?     I often use the music as my guide ,so if alone or having a lost moment make my own harmony to stay with the flow of the moment  . Thanks for reading. Your thoughts are helpful Rick
AJM 3d
Evening fire kindles in the heat of summer &
Lays the sun to a tomb of rest beyond the horizon.
Inside this day will kindle a creature of divine beauty.
Summer’s bound to manumit its lovable beauties:
Such pulchritudos glide through the soft-kissed wind –
A papilionem flies across summer’s day & into the Eliss of Bliss.

Running through the calm, balmy night is a lonely deer:
Endlessly gallivanting through the dim, fimly forest of the
Night. Spirits & angels gleam in the shadows, as a beast is
Entrapped by a godly presence: for in time comes the awoken sphere, Enriched in heaven & crafted by He, guiding the forlorn fawn to the Eliss Of Bliss.

Tuscany plains are covered in green, a mare is prancing tall & lean.
Enlightenment smiles from within the dark bay & enthralls from behind Her eyes of viridescent. She stands in still-motion, awaiting patiently for The black stallion, who’s dashing to her, from the statuesque mountains Of the Alps. Serenity fields they prance upon, in between the sun, Passionately, in the Eliss of Bliss.
Prancing, Unaware
Brown, gold
Now red and cold
now dreaming
now talking
moving slower
Finally done
Corpse returns to the earth
Hunting beauty
Michael Feb 25
In this age when bullying is such an item of concern I cannot help smiling whenever I recall my youth as a boy soldier; then it was practiced as an art form, encouraged (I’m sure) by authority for its character building aspects. Thus:

When I was in the Army, well, that's Apprentice school,
Inspecting one's belongings, early morning seemed the rule.
And hours and hours spent beezing boots and ironing, folding, kit.
Taught me to carry on with smile and hate it every bit.
One had to lay one's kit on bed, and sleep by there on floor
To survive next morning's panicked fright begun by crashing door,
And that prancing A/T noncom., his ego, bully led,
Who would burst his way into our World and yell 'Stand by your bed'.

Then we'd all leap to attention, crumpled; ruffled hair.
And our eyes they'd be unseeing though we each knew he was there,
Looking straight ahead, just hoping, as he poked among our stuff,
As he picked up polished boots, that he wouldn't be too rough,
And hurl them through the window or against the fire door,
That he wouldn't scrape his own boot studs along our polished floor.
Of course these hopes, these dreams of ours, were just pies in the sky.
As well to hope or dream like that, well, pigs might even fly.

Now he's checking button stick, and laces properly square
And the cardboard frame inside your shirt, the one you never wear.
The plimsoles stiffly black which you've polished shiny bright.
The dimensions of your bed block; that counterpane's real tight.
And its corners, every corner, must be folded tight to bed,
If it's not you'll spend a morning drilling hard outside with Fred.
And now, today, I marvel that our masters thought it right
To let this sneering, snarling, youth on us vent all this spite

But the proven test of character when all is said and done
Was despite the gruelling life we led, we jeeps, we still had fun.
And my particular little joy, the butter on my bread
Was thinking, when outside of School, I'm going to smash his head.
Some others might have thought the same not that it really matters,
For though I don't recall his name, his memory lies in tatters.
And after all, recalling life, those patterns on the quilt,
Can we be sure that what we write is free of any guilt?
King Oct 2018
Finger tips, so freshly pricked
The blood, drips so sweet
Dark red, falls and stained
The socks, covering my feet

Finger tips, covered in red
The blood, flows so fast
Dark red, stains the dead
My shirt, torn across my chest

The night has only begun
As the moonlight showers
So does my everlasting fun

Chaotic energy
Demonic Clergy
Sweet sun falls
While spirits rise

Dancing, prancing, gallivanting
Underneath the sweetness of a dark moon
Such a delectable array of freedom, yet it ends so soon

Sun rise, ruins our freedom
Tomorrows day, drags us back
A year, we wait bleeding
My chest, still dripping red

Sun rise, the end of holiday
Tomorrows day, I lay lifeless
A year, we repeat the ritual
My chest, healed by my king
Elizz Aug 2018
I sit outside
Gazing up at the sky
I find myself wondering if there's even a way
To get this last week to sip bourbon
Just so it'll be too drunk to find its way home
And in its intoxicated judgement it'll choose to stay
Add on a few more days to this death sentence
Just a few more sunsets is all I want
A few more sips of your laugh to get me tipsy
If I followed the curved road of your shoulder blades
Would it get me back to the beginning of june?
As to avoid the emerald colors of prancing fall
Who will soon give way to swooning winter
With its gusts of cold love and bitter affection
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