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"runneth" poems
skin so dark, glowing so light melanin within you intrigues my fire I look upon your chocolate blessing me with grace I use my tongue to runneth down your smooth brown face .
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Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
burnt brass
Hello everyone,   I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!   I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?   The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback. Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world   Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!   Wish me luck! Big, Biggest Love,         Jeff Gaines
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Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 7:23 AM UTC
My Cup Runneth Over
Hello everyone,   I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!   I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?   The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback. Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world   Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!   Wish me luck! Big, Biggest Love,         Jeff Gaines
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10
I watch her climb of top As she mounts me I slowly fill her up she rides me I love the way she bucks My explosion starts to erupt Her body quakin An eruption exploding my hot lava seeping in as it over runneth her cup
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Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 2:59 PM UTC
Lava
If it weren't for the consistent badgering of radical america your roots your nourishment would enrich the very soil our ancestors turned, but pests and pesticides alike have yet to be relinquished, "autumn" has consumed us as smiles fall-- the hazmat suits leave us bare to the weathered reality, except you, umbrellas and storm sheltered words nurture loved ones -- you are worth the wait, with conflict resolve you take off your helmet and gear we are not prepared for such violence -- shielded eyes from falsified truths you bloom and blush, you are beautiful, a perfect storm your wrath the 5th element -- uncontrollable you are free as "winter" resides on your shoulder, she is awakened and unapologetic, a God among us, frightfully we are safe we have waited for your wine to runneth and pop goes the cork, as the war begins your throne you sit with confidence.
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Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
(daughter of Egyptian Goddess Sekhmet) the un-Suppression of the Black Woman pt.2
Breeze bellows, leaves echo in quivering psithurism, dithering like unbroken smoke, this approaching omen goads. Dozing crows slumbering in rows, droves of locusts' silenced drone, almost comatose in repose; nighttime overtones choir of toads' raspy croaks answered by alto of crickets' orchestral strokes. Gust encroaches; robed boughs cloven open, bring into scope and focus me juxtaposed, suspended apropos. Although motionless and petrified in stone, provoked by zephyr coaxing to and fro; swaying pendulous and no longer frozen, locus gently thrown. Death rattle moan evoked from throat, reflex can't say no to rigor rigidly posed, final sigh in silence, awoken vocal, expelled and disposed. Smote by morose emotion, gun loaded then exploded by neurosis, now bloated necrosis decomposes into gross ochre. This trophy and this ode both an opus to my inability to cope; romanced i proposed, eloped and betrothed to my own inappropriate composure. Pocket full of posies plucked when luck bestowed and tears in a cup, a toast; crying copiously, tempest runneth overflowed, eyes swollen and soaked. Dipped my toes in the coast of this ocean's amorphous folds, gripped by undertow holding control of my soul; swiftly shipwrecked in shallow shoal, an old atoll. On sandy floor, water burrows roads; digging, carving, roams through unmarrowed silica and sandstone eroding into a cove. A host for opal geode trove, enclosing a technicolor rose, from the depths a glowing mosaic shone Unopened lotus floats on foam of lapping waves, a boat; prone to no grandiose notion or motive, adrift as wind stokes. I suppose this only shows the total corrosion into which I dove, the only foes to oppose are those of burdens, so only weightless can I atone- I must let go.
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Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
Note to Self (Part 2)
Breeze bellows, leaves echo in quivering psithurism, dithering like unbroken smoke, this approaching omen goads. Dozing crows slumbering in rows, droves of locusts' silenced drone, almost comatose in repose; nighttime overtones choir of toads' raspy croaks answered by alto of crickets' orchestral strokes. Gust encroaches; robed boughs cloven open, bring into scope and focus me juxtaposed, suspended apropos. Although motionless and petrified in stone, provoked by zephyr coaxing to and fro; swaying pendulous and no longer frozen, locus gently thrown. Death rattle moan evoked from throat, reflex can't say no to rigor rigidly posed, final sigh in silence, awoken vocal, expelled and disposed. Smote by morose emotion, gun loaded then exploded by neurosis, now bloated necrosis decomposes into gross ochre. This trophy and this ode both an opus to my inability to cope; romanced i proposed, eloped and betrothed to my own inappropriate composure. Pocket full of posies plucked when luck bestowed and tears in a cup, a toast; crying copiously, tempest runneth overflowed, eyes swollen and soaked. Dipped my toes in the coast of this ocean's amorphous folds, gripped by undertow holding control of my soul; swiftly shipwrecked in shallow shoal, an old atoll. On sandy floor, water burrows roads; digging, carving, roams through unmarrowed silica and sandstone eroding into a cove. A host for opal geode trove, enclosing a technicolor rose, from the depths a glowing mosaic shone Unopened lotus floats on foam of lapping waves, a boat; prone to no grandiose notion or motive, adrift as wind stokes. I suppose this only shows the total corrosion into which I dove, the only foes to oppose are those of burdens, so only weightless can I atone- I must let go.
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95
Cups runneth over and over & over from absinthe to zinfandel. Men & women parade the streets with whimsical abandoned swaying bodies smiling, like they just got laid-- or are about to. ******* bathrooms roar while marijuana balconies cackle-- even the folks staying in have their music turned up so nobody can hear them ******* Barefoot indulgence and tropical dresses flowing in the midnight air-- even the cops don't care, this is business. Every whoop and hollar is a dollar in their pocket. Each vehicle blaires a different song chaos to the ears becomes rhythm for the body- shots don't need to be in glasses, grinding is the traditional greeting. The young come for the atmosphere, the older for the work release... everyone is reckless on the weekend, all the bars runneth over and over & over. A ritualistic hedonism leads to a collective sleep that slowly, slowly overtakes us all as we slowly fade, for a few hours until Cups runneth over again and over & over from absinthe to zinfandel.
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Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 7:16 AM UTC
I Refer to my Neighborhood as the Belly of Dionysus
In one's life, A Happy Place, which we often recall...must have existed ....t'was where we felt at peace...and contented None can  break the serenity Of home...or church, or maybe a shady tree ...its proximity...offering safety, ....no worries, no fears that blur our eyes........ ...like that easy morning...with blue animated skies ........the smell of rice, ready for reaping, filled the air ....it felt nice, to sit by the creek...wind, messing hair ..........while throwing stones, on the water flowing .......having fun...watching people harvesting One day, those rice fields ..............had no more rice to yield ....just wide open spaces left, where young boys ...surrendered to the winds, their artfully designed toys ...colorful, Japanese paper...smooth, with sheen ...framed by several bamboo sticks...long and thin ...big, colorful birds and butterflies, flying high Naive, impermanent kites..... soaring to the skies We can never be sure....some  kites fly straight away, ............while a few others....stray ...fading songbirds, losing their way........broken dreams, Heading....towards distant, forgotten realms .......they're like words that couldn't rhyme ............like discordant tunes of a broken chime... In our minds, that Happy Place with kites......resides Sometimes, it stays behind, refusing light...it  hides ......for some reasons, it goes further down...deep inside Oftentimes, it inspires...and becomes our source of pride... ::::::::::::: Life, after all, is a potpourri of lengthy, and ephemeral strides, :::::::::::::: Proving further, black and white are two of life's many colors Light, or dark shade shouldn't  matter..... Because, in many ways...our cups always runneth over. ::::::::::::::: Sally Copyright October 5, 2016 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
KITES
In one's life, A Happy Place, which we often recall...must have existed ....t'was where we felt at peace...and contented None can  break the serenity Of home...or church, or maybe a shady tree ...its proximity...offering safety, ....no worries, no fears that blur our eyes........ ...like that easy morning...with blue animated skies ........the smell of rice, ready for reaping, filled the air ....it felt nice, to sit by the creek...wind, messing hair ..........while throwing stones, on the water flowing .......having fun...watching people harvesting One day, those rice fields ..............had no more rice to yield ....just wide open spaces left, where young boys ...surrendered to the winds, their artfully designed toys ...colorful, Japanese paper...smooth, with sheen ...framed by several bamboo sticks...long and thin ...big, colorful birds and butterflies, flying high Naive, impermanent kites..... soaring to the skies We can never be sure....some  kites fly straight away, ............while a few others....stray ...fading songbirds, losing their way........broken dreams, Heading....towards distant, forgotten realms .......they're like words that couldn't rhyme ............like discordant tunes of a broken chime... In our minds, that Happy Place with kites......resides Sometimes, it stays behind, refusing light...it  hides ......for some reasons, it goes further down...deep inside Oftentimes, it inspires...and becomes our source of pride... ::::::::::::: Life, after all, is a potpourri of lengthy, and ephemeral strides, :::::::::::::: Proving further, black and white are two of life's many colors Light, or dark shade shouldn't  matter..... Because, in many ways...our cups always runneth over. ::::::::::::::: Sally Copyright October 5, 2016 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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40
Love: Affection, Admiration, Lust, Adoration... There are at least 65 different definitions of the word. Feelings that inspire books of poetry or expressions of love unheard. How is it measured? Perhaps with a caliper   to measure its depth and breadth. Or with a sound meter To measure the volume and decibel or the whispering of a breath. Could you measure it in pints or cups or ounces in a measuring cup? "My cup runneth over" Can it be measured with a thermometer? "I'm burning up." How heavy is true love - can it be weighed on the scales? Can you measure love with a compass - to what degree does love prevail? Can a speedometer track the speed by which one falls in love? Or an odometer measure the distance at which love can still be felt? Can you use a syringe to limit your doses of love before it's lethal? Can you attach a heart monitor and check how a lover's heart beats faster or the health of their love - strong or weak? Can the rhythm & harmony be counted out on a metronome Can a polygraph test prove it is true? Can the magnitude of love be measured using a microscope, binoculars or a telescope - maybe Hubble.  How does one know how to bring it into "focus"? How mysterious that love is so indistinguishable, so immeasurable, so evasive & yet SO BIG! Yet no one - except for God - knows the true measure of Love & its ability to heal, to hurt.
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Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
How Can Love Be Measured?
Oo, have I got a song for you. While you whittle away time learning to play instruments I've run the gun and figured how to inject my spirit in it. Has it been for you as easy to forget as it has been for me to leave the love where it belongs and move on with healthy hope, pelvis at the rope, grinding life into a pulp with each push and pull. The cold in memory for you serves as my instigation to remember you for warmth. Life is just kitchen like it was before Conversation runneth over, Our glasses overfull with celebration Why don't you come to my door?
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Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
ClamJam: "Track 2" (aka "Kitchen")
Tribal maternal's terrace ***** by carnivorous shipmen Earth over ran By Marxist's and ditty wit's!!! Hold thine lingo Release thy spit Oh vertebrate of underworld grief... Tend to thine flock Cut thine beef, As in the cattle thou hath becometh... For the serum doth runneth Wherein thine swords becameth thy first choice.... Where is thy voice? God of technology Made science thy hobby Made gentlewoman thy footstool...... As thou hath runneth a muck And made thy queen thy second elect!!!! For I just bet That thineself shalt lose to all thy debts....
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Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
Tribal maternal
Dear John, There are things about my life, that are not understood, not by me, not by anyone. It's the emergency room on a tsumani night, It's the silent room after surgery failed, It's the silence in the dark after everyone has gone to bed. It is not the calm after the storm, It is the wreckage in the aftermath, It is the middle of the tornado. I am the bandit on the highway of love, I am the runaway bride from hell, I am the scared, the fear, the innocent child. Dear John, I am the carer in the giver, and I want to give you all i can give, I want to give you all that life can give, But i need to give myself air to breathe, like a fine red wine, that i would down like it was moonshine. Dear John, I am the old oak tree faltering in the breeze, I am the wheat sheaf, tall and ready to be cut down, I am the end of the beginning. But i feel you and it feels me, and i am so involved but so distant, I am blue and i am black, but yet i am bright and i am shiny. Dear John, Please be the ***** socks on my bedroom floor, Please be the voice that tells me to stop using the hot water, Please be the cup that doth runneth over. This and that, this and that, this and that. Dear John, be the moisturizer on my skin, be the sublime and the settled, be the heaven and show me the light there. I wish i could peel off my skin, and let you all in, and see the beauty beneath and my wonderous treasures within. Dear John, don't give up, I am here, though i am not.
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Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
Dear John letter....
The Lord is my Shepherd      PERFECT PROTECTION I shall not want     PERFECT SATISFACTION He maketh me to lie down     PERFECT REST In green pastures     PERFECT NOURISHMENT He leadeth me     PERFECT GUIDANCE Beside the still waters     PERFECT PEACE He restoreth my soul     PERFECT RESTORATION He leadeth me in the paths of                                                 righteousness, for His name's sake                                                     PERFECT WALK Yea, though I walk through the valley of the                                                    shadow of death, I will fear no evil,     PERFECT CONFIDENCE For Thou art with me             PERFECT COMPANIONSHIP            Thy rod               PERFECT DISCIPLINE           And Thy staff   PERFECT SUPPORT          They comfort me    PERFECT CONSOLATION         Thou preparest a table before me    PERFECT FELLOWSHIP        In the presence of mine enemies    PERFECT TRIUMPH       Thou anointest my head with oil   PERFECT STRENGTH       My cup runneth over PERFECT JOY       Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life                                                  PERFECT   LOVE And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.                  PERFECT HABITATION
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Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
What Our Good Shepherd Provides, from Psalm 23
The Lord is my Shepherd      PERFECT PROTECTION I shall not want     PERFECT SATISFACTION He maketh me to lie down     PERFECT REST In green pastures     PERFECT NOURISHMENT He leadeth me     PERFECT GUIDANCE Beside the still waters     PERFECT PEACE He restoreth my soul     PERFECT RESTORATION He leadeth me in the paths of                                                 righteousness, for His name's sake                                                     PERFECT WALK Yea, though I walk through the valley of the                                                    shadow of death, I will fear no evil,     PERFECT CONFIDENCE For Thou art with me             PERFECT COMPANIONSHIP            Thy rod               PERFECT DISCIPLINE           And Thy staff   PERFECT SUPPORT          They comfort me    PERFECT CONSOLATION         Thou preparest a table before me    PERFECT FELLOWSHIP        In the presence of mine enemies    PERFECT TRIUMPH       Thou anointest my head with oil   PERFECT STRENGTH       My cup runneth over PERFECT JOY       Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life                                                  PERFECT   LOVE And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.                  PERFECT HABITATION
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My cup runneth over I’m dancing each day with delight Calm, carefree in clover Celebrate a cool summer night The beauty of each day Silently sings my soul be still The wisdom and the way Freely fashions my cup to fill Shadows do not scare me Goodness and mercy will follow The valley now will be Where evil is weak and hollow Monumental mountains, Sacred seas - I am just a rover Free forgiveness fountains Ensure my cup runneth over
0
Jul 14, 2022
Jul 14, 2022 at 1:57 PM UTC
My Cup Runneth Over
Neck-deep in the business of business, only his head remains sleepless in the dark of early mornings to enlighten those who sleep in, and spotlight his peers who delight him. His capital investment is love and empathy; he replenishes the funds spent on an island of shelter, the helter-skelter of Monday-Friday a Distressway away. North Country chair on the dock over beckoning waves sounding their Circe song, drawing him to the bedrock of peace with himself and others. Generous with his words his head runneth over and verses cascade down, filling one from another like a mountain of flutes poured from a veritable jeroboam of the muse's vintage. Only love shows as he writes doing the poetic hokey-pokey, left foot in, left foot out. He has turned my world around... and that's what it's all about.
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Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
an island of shelter (to Nat)
Fallen from grace, that is the current state of man Held down by the shackles of sin to the prison of death Seeming destined for a sentence of eternal damnation Yet it was seen fit by You, oh righteous one, to break our shackles and tear the prison asunder by the means of a man Setting before the rest of us a path that we can follow Had you not sent us a man, we would have made the decision of extreme rationale, that a higher being could not be immitated and we would have made peace with our eternal cells Yet it was a man You sent, in Your infinite wisdom, for You are righteous Deliver me, oh redeemer, deliver me from the confines of death Annoint my head with Your oil so that my cup runneth over Fill me with Your Holy Spirit, Almighty One Lead me to Your treasure chest For it is a bountiful one Filled to brimming with Your knowledge, Your understanding, Your wisdom, and Your grace; Your mercy and lovingkindness Give me not the key, but withhold nothing that Your servant asks of You in faith When I seek, I find. When I ask, I am given. When I knock, the door is opened. Deny me my own ways and instruct me in Yours Break my heart of stone and give me one of flesh Redeem me
0
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
Redeem Me
i wish you could see him how i see him in the early morning without my glasses blurred around the edges buttoning his shirt with eyes half-open or with one hand on the steering wheel focused mostly on the red light but also on the garden caught between the synapses in his mind i wish you could see him how i see him storm clouds tumbling in his eyes also rolling overhead and the mercury falls ten degrees and the skies break and he pours out and my cup runneth over i wish you could see him how i see him at once a child lost in the grocery store and a king on horseback charging into battle at once a boulder with moss on the north side and a wet, ****** heart i wish you could see him how i see him
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May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
a portrait
Oh, glistening Prince: We are all so happy you have come (though we may not realize it). We thank you for your million presents (though we have not opened them). We know you seek to help us (though we may not want it). Happy fault and blessed Barrenness, embed a single snowflake in our hearts. That we might always hold a dear token of the transformative power of anguish and death. Because you alway testify that with new life: "My cup runneth over".
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Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
Ode to January
Inspired by Tonya Riddle, Wife, Mother, Sister, Nurse, Poet, Gardener, and a friend <> The littlest things you all say, the lightly remarked, or weighty beloved ones, 100% guarantee a smile or a tear, no difference, but all press me to grab the nearest papyrus, to ink that notion, an untimely timely near midnight revelation, requiring a scribing to permanent-seal that moment’s custom potion, via magnification. It ain’t easy, kinda of reverse curse from the many wintry months of the ‘tion’s absence: motivation, inspiration, perspiration go on a round-the-world cruise and when they don’t  invite you along, in-truth, semi-secretly, poetry is kinda de-relevationed (less urgent) For I have seen a picture, a memorial garden bounteous, Jordan’s Garden, so late night, kind words exchanged in reciprocation, as we both stagger gently into sleep and a new twenty-four, and here, and I hear, the realization thoughts inescapable, demanding: creation, visitation, & ****** a instantion ripening and Fruition. A lovely word this one, for it’s strawberry season on the north fork of the isle, accompanied by imported Carolina peaches, and when the roadside farm stands offer them for sale, included is a a couple of paper towel slices, for the fruition juices runneth over (stain stick not included) So just before midnight, the electrons and (t)ions inform that tonight, a calming of words, revelations of affection, salve the grieving heart that runneth over which surely was my intention, as well as a celebration of commemoration, and in calming you friend, my eyes wet, not realizing, that I’ve written a smile upon my lips, a precursoration to a rarity, a well and good night’s sleepy and hallowed restoration. 7:47 AM Mon Jun 26
0
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 5:52 PM UTC
The ‘Tion’s: Sleep deep, with mighty calm
Inspired by Tonya Riddle, Wife, Mother, Sister, Nurse, Poet, Gardener, and a friend <> The littlest things you all say, the lightly remarked, or weighty beloved ones, 100% guarantee a smile or a tear, no difference, but all press me to grab the nearest papyrus, to ink that notion, an untimely timely near midnight revelation, requiring a scribing to permanent-seal that moment’s custom potion, via magnification. It ain’t easy, kinda of reverse curse from the many wintry months of the ‘tion’s absence: motivation, inspiration, perspiration go on a round-the-world cruise and when they don’t  invite you along, in-truth, semi-secretly, poetry is kinda de-relevationed (less urgent) For I have seen a picture, a memorial garden bounteous, Jordan’s Garden, so late night, kind words exchanged in reciprocation, as we both stagger gently into sleep and a new twenty-four, and here, and I hear, the realization thoughts inescapable, demanding: creation, visitation, & ****** a instantion ripening and Fruition. A lovely word this one, for it’s strawberry season on the north fork of the isle, accompanied by imported Carolina peaches, and when the roadside farm stands offer them for sale, included is a a couple of paper towel slices, for the fruition juices runneth over (stain stick not included) So just before midnight, the electrons and (t)ions inform that tonight, a calming of words, revelations of affection, salve the grieving heart that runneth over which surely was my intention, as well as a celebration of commemoration, and in calming you friend, my eyes wet, not realizing, that I’ve written a smile upon my lips, a precursoration to a rarity, a well and good night’s sleepy and hallowed restoration. 7:47 AM Mon Jun 26
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44
FIFA'S World Cup a rises To the US women's cries On France's stage and blue skies Tears fill the winner's eyes Their cup runneth on highs Where passion never dies As the world watched their sunrises Stunning those rays, the US plies Over it's foes, goals and kicks lies Each baking an apple pies For the hunger now of the US' reprise Proud the red, white and blue flies Logan Robertson 7/14/2019
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Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 12:32 AM UTC
Cheers To US Women's Soccer
left cup runneth over/ right cup half empty/ if I add my left cup size to my right cup size what will I get/ DD + D = DDD/I've never been great at math/but this is no/miscalculation/ I am 36 DD confined to a 36 D bra/ (D)Disgorges over the underwire/ D--you flaccid beach ball/I wish I could reinflate you/part my mouth around your nipple/and/ breathe/ no one can tell/unless I wear a tight bodice/then/you are/obnoxiously evident/ I am afraid of introducing you to my future boyfriend/will he still want to undress me/will he still want to make love to me/ will he still want to touch you/ you/ sea urch/in/the palm of my hand/ even I am hesitant to hold you close to me/ you/ strangulated bagpipe/ moulting pompom/ **** what's that spell/ what's that spel/ what's that spe/ what's that sp/ what's that s/ what's that/ what is that/ what/ who are you/ you/ waning gibbous/ my metaphors wane, also/it turns out there are only so many euphemisms that can be assigned to an/ill-proportioned breast/ itsy bitsy titsy/ you make me/ sad/ you/ teardrop defying the laws of gravity/ or/ is it the laws of gravity that defy the teardrop/so that it never falls into/ place/ I've noticed only/beautiful/things/ fall/ shooting stars/ autumn/ my left *****
0
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 5:19 PM UTC
Ode to My Itsy Bitsy Titsy
Today and for a few days now I just had to look at your photos different ones two of them In one you wore a tie and one other from a while back and I felt like a billionaire everywhere. I felt a different kind of wealth A peacefulness about it, in places too mystical to share. A rush of lightening quickened my breath and happiness never felt so real as in looking, at your photo more for it's inner worth though your outercore is mostly holy for me. I love you to tears in every look and best that midnight criptic shadowy one I cried all night long with this one, and in love the most. A verse asleep in memory chip, awakened me, you love me. your love apeace my entrails. Beloved of God divine. ~~~ You maketh me to lie down in green pastures:you leadeth me beside the still waters. You restoreth my soul: You leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for your name's sake. Alhough I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear NO evil: for thou art with me; thy ROD and thy STAFF they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over precioso. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of you my Lord my beloved for ever. ~~~~ By: Karijinbba
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Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 12:52 AM UTC
Thy ROD and thy STAFF.
I think about the future like I am trapped inside of the recurring dream That I have had Every single day leading up to the one In which I meet you. I ask you in sheer vulnerability Honesty floating between our lips Why you love me And your answer, I will never forget Your response carved itself   In the memory, that I am yet to make You take a breath, open your eyes And spill to me the hottest tea of How your love came to be... I pray that my cup runneth over. I slowly sip every word And every verb quenched my thirst I pray that chamomile never goes out of style This is peace. Like honey, slowly it flows And it settles at the bottom Sweetens my soul I wonder if you know. As the last drop settles on the back Of my tongue I am certain, You have infused your love within me Now, I am calm. Time passes by, I get lost into your eyes And I’m brought back to earth As I open mine, The sun shines through the windows Lighting up my room I hold on tight Already missing you. I will impatiently wait To see you again when I sleep One night closer, to the day we meet. You are my forever. Temporarily trapped in my dreams.
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May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 1:08 AM UTC
Sweet Dreams.
Thoughts are scattered Words are lost I rely on your existence keep me at peace My heart heavy My body weightless I only smile within your presence My cup runneth over My stomach full Surely I have a vision to share with you Darling Darling with the sweetest heart By: Leory Santana Dawn
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May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
Darling