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Flavia Nov 2013
Once upon a day or night -- Wait, it was day, there was a light
a light, which shone upon a moonlit drive so dark and drear.
At keeping track, I'm sadly slacking. Forgive my memory, it is lacking
memoirs of this day of days I could not -- would not -- hear.
But now alas, alan, alack, something gruesome did attack, my dear.
Something's **** head did rear.

Indistinctly, I remember, was it June? July? November?
Moments burn together as I recollect the fear.
And though he knows it gets to me, he will never set it free,
the truth of all the memories I used to hold so dear.
The truth you chose to hide from me for days, turned months, turned year.
But no, I will not shed one tear.

He held my hard heart high in flutter. Stomachs full of bread and butter.
Our love could not be jaded, for he traded tea from beer.
And though we were the oddest pair, I thought by now he would not care
how people chose to say their puns of nuns and hateful jeer.
Of wolves and sheep, of awkward sleep, of hunters hunting deer.
I thought we had our life in gear.

Sadly, though, I was mistaken. Blast, that awful wretch has taken
my whole soul and everything I previously thought mere.
He broke it off, and with a cough confessed, a darkest truth repressed
of everything, how twas a lie, and that the end was near.
And with four words, a looking glass of sorts he handed me to peer.
These the blue-eyed snake hath spoke: "Honey, I'm a queer."
Dated a guy who turned out to be ***? Here's the poem for you. In the style of "The Raven".
Vierra Aug 2016
I sit here quietly enraged same like the calm front that has hit on the western range of my property. I am a story teller who has no stories and a ear filled with melody for the summer rains. The greens will need trimming and sculpting soon. The pigeons will arrive to the corners of the property to breed and propagate the flock. Sometimes it's full of **** and sometimes it's not. Mostly after the squall procedes over from the lake is the promanant time of the winter cleaning over that portion of the foothills.

Now here where I live, in the adequate and humble living quarters of mine, there is voices that travel on wind breezes that wander through my jealousies. They bring the news like airmail every so often. But mostly news of bills collectors spinning in their office chairs furiously at the amount of **** that is nessecary for this part time profession.

Sometimes during the night my eyes go bad and I often wonder when they will get suitable for work again. I've been slacking a bit on the work and more on the suitability of my mind for processes like building a fireplace. You know, the theory of it all.

Just a small prose of a even smaller man.
Minuscule Ego Jun 2018
A low moan escapes her lips as the ****** hits
She lay basking with a sated feeling
The coverings all wet from perspiration
Believe me, this isn't an infantile conversation
He placed light kisses on her bare shoulders
She felt how intense he was against her thighs
And heard the testosterone's fueled manly claims
That came as a whisper for a magical scene
She’d realize he was not solely hers
So she just cleaved to enjoy the moment
Leaning crabwise, he slide within her fountain
They both cried with anticipation
The highest form of their admiration
Heavens’ gates unfurl
Times seems to halt for a second
There could have been an explosion
But he paused, new position.

He has never been interested in a single relationship
At least not anymore- promiscuity suits him just fine
With her curvy body, pumped breast and his small statue
They tangle together- entrapped within their own tier
Some call him a ****, although they be circus jokes
He be content and blue ***** free- shining bright for all to see
Letting em live their judging lives
And make those mistakes they thought he would make
He has never seen himself going without the white packet scenario
It’s all about self-importance
One that leads easily to pandemonium
But being promiscuous was assuring
The less you give- the less hurt you receive
Life is short, but there’s much to achieve
One cannot be caught slacking
Those hands are clocking
Day and night without cessation
He’s no expert
But I’m sure you admire his aversion
And believe it or not
The better our efforts- the wetter our treasures
A promise that our goals will exceed the ****** pleasures
Seeing that our thoughts recreates the Today
Let me redefine the topic.

He thinks of her as a pineapple
Chipping off her cries to reach the fountain
Till she openly veto yes! in all excitement
As he plunged in the deep of her mountain
Screaming twas some lustful announcement
That mimic a sedative smile, and a softer groaning
Activating him to go wild again tearing her lotus
She cries! He moans: “I’m just teaching a lesson”
His manly locus was indeed a blessing
Its thrusting brought out the louder racing
Making em both bobbed like a drum set
Nobbling feelings begun shaping within his breast
His noble ****** was moving towards the heavens
They were climbing the unobtainable heights
That could make their explosion vast
And leave her screaming his name
Like forever admiring his fame
He’d hoped to have done enough
But will hate to get deeply involved
For promiscuity was the affliction
That diseased him ages ago
And it met him just fine.

For an icon- Wale
“We are not perfect beings; we all evolved from our mistakes to make a better one.”
Amanda Jean Jul 2018
Who am I now
I have been hurting
In the workplace, at home, in my own body
I feel broken
By a God no longer living

I'm with people
I feel alone
Thoughts sparked
Train running
I don't open my mouth
Crash landing in the tunnel
My hands are shaking

Should have let it out
Should have wrote it down
Now I'm choking on my ideas and thoughts
Now I'm drowning in my stubborn loneliness

I'm still with people
I open my mouth
Jumbled words fall out
I ask about them and they ask about me
No stimulation
Just simple small talk
No conversation

They're knocking on my skull asking whats happening
I throw my hands up and tell them I'm trying
They give awkward stares
Sometimes knowing eyes and understanding nods

But I flare and wear and tear myself apart
Grow out all my hair then shave it all off
Search inside every lost memory
Rethink through every philosophy
Reincarnate every fiber in my being
Recreate my everything

I'm soul searching and soul mate flirting

Because this is the middle
These are the moments that matter
This growing experience is just me climbing the ladder
This sick game we live in
These money controlled societies
They don't care about the essence of you
The tears and feeling blue
The messages the world and God send you
Its up to you
You can fight it
But do not forget the people behind you
Your bonds are unbreakable
Your God is unstoppable
My God this world around me
This atmosphere running through me
I can't feel whats around me
My mind has gone crazy
I'm just trying to save me, baby
I am trying
The world has gotten me by the neck
(Lord, help me)
But I am fighting to win my heart back
From these devil memories

I am living the yin yang
I thrash in my sleep
I am back and forth between Mundale and Westfield
Slacking on making my poems into songs
Do not doubt my masculinity just because I am a woman
I am stronger than any of you men
Don't **** with me
Mary McCray May 2
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 27, 2019)

What acceptable audit will you leave
from all your labors and confrontations,
from all the sound and fury
in those moribund board rooms?
The clocks are sluggish with boredom,
the carpets are worn and declining.
What successors will profit from you
past all the centuries and the arteries
evaporating in the light of day,
diminishing and belittled with time;
and all our productive bodies
lie buried, slacking in their tombs?
You are the renter in every office
and own not a penny but the doing.
Prompt: write a Shakespeare remix poem, using one of his sonnet lines, a sonnet word scramble or rewrite one of his ideas. Originating poem: Sonnet IV: plus "10 Shakespeare Quotes Every Entrepreneur Should Read"

Did this one on Apr 27 but it got stuck in draft.

— The End —