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Mark Armstrong Jun 2018
Mother Nature is a nihilist sitting with friends
Around a poker table in the dew drop inn
Playing Nasty Canasta and the loser draws a limb
On a voodoo hangman, the cut of her kin

The high-wire committee say she’s way out of line
So they’ve sent in a crack-team of their most earnest faces
To blow 40 shades of blue, red and lime
From the very corridors our Mother paces

She croaks through the smoke “the first sons a novelty
The rest are just relics of muscles unclenched
Too smart for their own good and that doesn’t bother-me
But the reaper is hungry and hustling for rent”

Lackeys line the lawn, flunkies on fleek
To cover the crack of her chunky cheeks
“To stake lives may well seem immoral and bleak
But to play for cash prize seems horribly cheap
For a Lady of her esteem”

But the crowd spoke, she hung up the wardens trunchbull
Left the skeleton key within reach of the cells
“They’ve aired their opinions and I’ve had a ****-full
Let the hungry ******* impeach themselves
I’m sitting this one out”

“And I’ll  hide, while my dead snake wriggle persists,
On Elba with hairy pits, freckled wrists,
Openly practicing romanticists
And other hapless things that can’t exist
In these times”

Every second Sunday, the search resumes-led
By a dawn-chorus of confetti festooned-plebs
She can dance the devils limbo cos she’ll not be presumed-dead
While we’ve Holy Grail Package Holi-vows to renew-said
The green eyed usher on the door

The newsstand screams “Mother Nature was a fascist
Sher natural selection was the **** manifesto”
And they’re pedalling placebo to the shell-shocked masses
While the editor shoehorns a scotch into his amaretto

Yeah the world has been orphaned and the orphans smothered
But go easy on her sordid soul cos that’s  our mother, after all
Not to be read as any kind of statement but as a batshit bedtime story for overgrown kids
Joshua R Wood Oct 2018
I sit alone with Poe in hand
Dreaming of a distant land
Where merry hearts may make me mad
Unable to share in tidings glad
For my heart is a fool's resource
Blundering ahead without remorse
Unable to blink or alter course
Drawn forward by an insidious force
Some call it love and fate
And in these tones I've learned to hate
My own emotions adhere like a pox
By my own mind I'm incessantly mocked
She will never be and you never were
No matter how powerful emotions stir
Your music falls short
Your form too bleak
Her heart reports
When another man speaks
In time you'll be silenced
So flee far away
And forever regret
Every moment of each day
Her voice strikes your ears
Her form, piercing heart
What you long for, dear fool
You will never be a part
You'll forever be apart
And your heart from the start
In its dying form of art
Romanticists are fools
Adorned with fewer jewels
At least the jester, for his while
Can summon up a smile
The romantic and his pen
Will bleed again and again
****** paper with their prose
As their inner angst grows
And their soul, yes it knows
All the walls and the "no's"
Never to be free
Never will she be
Never will she see
Never is for me
Yet I am many things marvelous
A shining, beautiful treasure
My task ahead is arduous
But I'm a renaissance man of measure
For your pleasure
A dancing fool
Who is almost not good enough
Or barred by premonition's view
Though a diamond in the rough
I just know
I must go
Perhaps to show
To deal the blow
That breaks us mortal men
To repeat this pattern
Again and Again
And Again
And
Again
Pyrrha Jul 2019
I think that rain is beautiful

In the rain people fall in love
People find sadness
People find hope
People get lost
And people find themselves

In the rain lovers share umbrellas
Writers find inspiration
Readers find mystery
Children make memories
And romanticists find destiny

Besides, without the rain
How could our beautiful flowers
possibly grow?

Yes, I think that rain is truly beautiful

— The End —