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"quaky" poems
Is there someone out there that can make the insecure, secure? The lost become found? The weak become strong? The introvert extrovert and all things in-between? The ugly more beautiful? The headedness and nightmares become more of a joke? The sounds in the background become solid and free Chuck out the garbage The ties that bind thee Those that put you in trouble of the deepest kind The ugliest of mothers hellbent on revenge Taking out pennies from someone else's den Is there someone decent and cool To help get along in the life of a fool? I am the pest the irregular verb Adjectives, hyphens the comma's full stop and nerds All comprehensive found sometimes expensive So you'll never know what kind of gift wraps inside Quaky, Jackie, Stumble bunny and fall Am running amok for the sake of it all Sinderella what a fella He went to the garden zoo Played hokey cokey Oh what a jokey He even drank the soup Happy Halloween you creeps! © Bernard M Coldwell all rights reserved
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Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
Happy Halloween
you told me to send a picture i looked another way you told me to send a picture i laughed it away you told me to send a picture again and again and again i cared too much not to cave i wish my **** form could be sculpted like clay i tuck my necklace away i try lip-biting, play with lighting, hiding my tan line from last summer you tell me to send a picture i have it ready quivering, quaky fingers quickly, quietly, hit send you tell me i did a good job when the chat reloads, its gone. you reply for two more days. you ghost me.
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Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 8:41 PM UTC
disappear
the moon must be crazy in the way that it glows when it does, for only ***** things happen at night, at twilight is when the hungry men prowl for the ripened darlings in their lacy things - when the fingers of the raving ones are stickiest in their rabid breaths, in the time that wallows in the dust of the stars' dusky debut is where the shadows are livened with all things creeping and perilous, though, it was in my silken milk moonbath that i rinsed the nagging sharp terrors from my fortitude undergoing a quickening, and in the pool of light amid the crystal rocks - that i gave my fervent wet hearted soliloquies. -- lest i forget, it was in the late moon's lament with his opal grand aura painting softly my glowing path that i embraced the silent white cub, in his quaky ascent who radically up-ended my existence. -- treasured Sir Moon in your tremulous spry loon i trust the satin truth in the madness you brew.
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Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 11:33 AM UTC
Truth in Madness
Some secrets were meant to remain secrets You weren't supposed to tell me that way That wasn't how I should've found out And now I know And I can't feel anything Anything but what you said In that shaky, quaky, terrified voice Because I pressured you into spilling More than just the tears that cascaded down your face right after The break in your words The hint of agony Never again will I hear that Because I will keep you safe I swear it My little flower
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Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Her
Whatever you do - you can never lure me Little does she know I am in trance Worlds away in her presence She is everything star - season and air I hold breath for her perfume weakens me Sucker for her quaky voice I remain I hate how she ***** me into her world Even more - I hate being far from it Never will I be a citizen Hopefully a second more she will be mine to hold
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Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 11:52 AM UTC
Brain in Brandy
The massive door  cries its opposition as it squeaks open, The white walls and ceilings loom over me, a small figure in a brilliant foreground. Walking into the common room I find a large couch, uninhabited. I am a lone echo wandering these empty halls searching for the other guests. But none of them are to be found. A eerie sensation follows me, Eyes roaming the room, targeting me. I am not alone. As though reading my thoughts, shadows creep out into the open, The missing guests stand before me. Friendly faces twist into snarls, Smiling  with menacing lips. Each of them accounted for. Each of them a close friend of mine. With a quaky voice I whisper a hello, only to see their grimaces grow. Something cool is suddenly pressed into my stomach, The metallic smell rises as I clutch the wound and collapse. All of them, Were Murders.
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Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
Party Favors