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Melissa S Nov 2014
She has her own star
Down on the boulevard
Where they all line up to see her
Welcome to her life
Welcome to her world
Her life did not go as planned
She thought the whole world was in her hands
She craves intimacy in the worst way
But has to settle for whatever the fellows are paying for that day
She parades around on her concrete stars perfumed and sprayed
Hopeful that someone will find her desirable rather than doubtful
Wears tons of makeup
Smokes two packs a day
She thinks the sooner she leaves this world the better
She had a plan she had a path
Before that monster stole her soul and caused her wrath
Now alcohol and drugs help numb her pain
Nothing but a ghost girl remains
The other girl shed herself just a pile of skin left on the floor
This new person is all anyone will see anymore
She does have a good heart
but rarely uses it
too many people have let her down
No one ever tries to see the person that she is
they never stop to hear her story
They say it's hard work to look that easy
Some may even call her ******
But not me
Cerro Aconcagua sat on his Feet
Watching his children browse his Bones below
Either for Sport or for Samples replete
As they enjoyed the Splendour of his Brow
And how you hugged the Wind which sprayed your Frost
Then took your Role as a Giant-of-Salt
This the Rockies felt the best you can boast
Though in that Line conscience comes to halt
For what they discovered, an Inca wrapped
Possibly a Victim of Sacrifice
Flesh still worn; Of Fibres long-live sapped
For the Sky-God's Hunger he did suffice.
The only Wonder as far as I see
How Sturdy are you yet Motherly be.
Harriet Cleve Aug 2018
...the threshold of a borrowed day stood before him mocking his manhood. He had refused to die when the levers of death were unleashed.A scorched black skull betrayed the ineptitude of mechanics. Yes, he had tremored and shook violently when the surge of electricity flowed throughout his flesh and veins. The vividness of the images projected from his memory onto his brains widescreen
horrified the very mind which had committed the atrocity of ******.

It was his hand he saw brandishing the footstool and crashing it into the terrified head of his neighbour. The frenzied last minute pathetic attempt of his victim to defend the most vicious injury inflicted with severe hostility. He heard once again the anguished brief scream screeching in the last desperate utterance of his victim. The pulped brain tissue seemed to spatter in microseconds and with it every thought and memory once possessed by this desecrated being
sprayed his face and accused him of wanton cruelty.

The eyes too accused him and stared with bitter intensity until their life force blinkered out and suddenly it was dark.

One brief instant caused him to bite on his tongue and split it in two as the electricity claimed justice shaking his conscience with bitter recrimination, defying him to live and yet live he did.

An unexpected power cut severed the link between life and death.
He was only aware of the eyes of the living in the death cell looking on incredulously at this unwanted twist of fate. The smell of burning flesh was like a taste of the fires of hell and damnation.
He knew too he had survived and took a callous satisfaction in his phyric victory,

As they warden unstrapped the clamps from his wrists and legs he felt a tangible relief. Fate had intervened and taken his side.

Suddenly through the door came a family member of his victim brandishing a wooden footstool as if he had suspected justice would take an absence of leave. Holding it high above his arms he swung it down on the head of the murderer and smashed his brains to a pulp.
A ****** had claimed a murderer and in that moment of terror the air was permeated with the fragrance of rough justice.

Silence settled on the scene and the tragic realisation that violence lay within the grasp of every man who chose to act on mindless impulse.

The power suddenly returned and an arc of electricity flashed in the air. It came too late for all who had come to see righteousness

Tomorrow another man would await the threshold of a borrowed
Outside Words Sep 2018
I was awoken from a dreamless sleep
     By a boy with short brown hair,
     Who, with an urgent stare,
Told me to head to the showers!

As my eyes creaked open to recognize,
     The orange glow of this unfamiliar room’s lighting,
     In front of me, in handwritten writing,
A page on the wall showed three in the morning.

When I glanced around a room of shared bunks,
     I saw all sorts of people and things,
     Running around with things to bring
To these showers I had yet to see.

In a winding line down a high ceiling’d hall,
     I stood with so many,
     Who like me, hadn’t any
Idea what was going on.

With a whirlwind flurry of commotion
     Steam crawled from the showers and water sprayed,
     As we were told in a big disarray,
To wash off the place from whence we came.

In a neat little stack, I was handed my clothes
     A tunic, with a sash
     And a captivating mask
To “celebrate our exciting return home.”

Down dark rustic stairways, I watched like a child
     The vibrant light and affinity,
     Radiating with enchanting divinity,
From the otherworldly people and creatures below.

Through that noisy, jolly crowd,
     We were led as a group
     And the boy said with a whoop
That we were all to stand up and dance.

His eyes glinting with excitement,
     The brown haired boy explained
     That our spirits would be ordained
Through a celebration of our inner light.

Onto the stage I was led
     As I stood with my class,
     Nervous amongst the mass
Of silent, numerous spirits before us.

As the boy hit the music
     I felt something from deep inside
     Rush out like a tide
And through tears of joy, I danced.

It was at that gleeful moment
     That my friends and I,
     Realizing we'd died,
Knew we'd returned to the forest.
© Outside Words
There is a fungus growing
On my feet between my toes
I think they call it toe cheese
Admittedly, it’s gross

My hope is that it goes away
Or at least draws to a close
I sprayed it with some medicine
At the root of where it grows

Suggestions are all welcomed
As I weigh the cons and pros
The time I spent in treatment
Wasn’t what I chose

If I could hide it I would do so
Like the boogers in my nose
But there’s really nothing that can compare
To the fungus between my toes

There’s itching and discomfort
It’s will, it has imposed
Maybe I’ll just wait it out
Or until something explodes

I realize that this topic,
Is silly and obscure
I just wish that it would go away
I wish they’d find the cure!!
A light and funny poem that I thoroughly enjoyed writing.
Logan Robertson Nov 2018
Another volcano erupts
Masked as a mass shooting
Thousand Oaks is disrupts
By a gunman executing

Twelve innocent lives taken
Bloodshed rocked the mountain
Tremors of tears  are foresaken
As the sadness mounts in

In the afterglow of the sorry night
A hero officer is lauded
For responding with all his might
His ultimate sacrifice duly applauded

As many of the bar patrons ran in fear
While smokebombs and bullets sprayed the air
The evil gunmen with his calculated stare
Left the victims without a prayer

In the aftermath sits cratered questions
With depths far reaching as to why
Many innocents lives lost, echo
Their indelible voices still cry

For we're resigned to sitting  in all  normacy
With no foresight on stopping the flow
As another mass shooter festers in dormacy
And this is so sickening to watch it blow

Logan Robertson
Pray for the victims, survivors and those affected by the Thousand Oaks shooting. Pray for us all.
Francie Lynch Dec 2018
We're nearing as we ready
The home with green and red;
A deflated Santa on my neighbour's lawn,
Canned snow sprayed in window corners,
Polyethylene on a white Christmas tree,
Gingerbread people drinking hot ***,
Mistletoe hanging from sticks and jambs,
And an apron round the stem.
I decorate, make my fruit cake,
Set out the children's books,
The ones I've read so often:
Rudolph and Old St. Nick,
They look foolish on my table.
Displayed in  their fixed place.
They're not like my Christmas bling,
The blinking lights, false stars at night,
Twas the Night Before Christmas
Is the real thing.
At midnight we'll hear choirs sing,
Joy to the World, Peace on Earth,
For one night I'll believe again.

Stay good night.
I see my words rise on my breath,
Being swept up to your stars.

Stay good people.
Who missed this year.
Who came last,
Who comes next.
I surely miss you all.

Such heavy memories
Of snow-laden branches,
Castles in globes,
Ballerinas in boxes.

My new memories
Will never last as long
As the ones I've carried all along.
An absence reversed
Fuming lush greenery seemingly
Between the frothing
Soup and lather twinkling
"Tradition may act dishonestly"
All and sundry
Trails along merrily
For traditionally
All is how it should be
Belonging to one and only.

A trade between the thin lines
A baking sheet made sprayed messy
Artists in threes
Shakers of mountains for invisible ease
The truth is simply
Things done traditionally
All-in consuming historically.

Is fresh
Hidden in the fabric's sleeve
A gaping passage of air and breeze
Racing electricity
Breathtaking silk from worms
And worms eaten by birds
Sewing the dresses of Empress the third.
Her plea worth salt and sugar
Like the skater's
Minted odour
Distances the valleys low dipped to the everlasted rivers
Where a time arrives for eternal celebration.
The embellishments of
Unwavered tradition.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
What is your tradition?
Bobby Copeland Oct 2018
They were always coming in late,
Being young.  I used to do it too.
That night I'd fallen asleep,  not
Waiting up just watching reruns
Of a stupid show from nineteen
Sixty-eight & he said downtown
Is burning.  One side of the court
Square, it turned out, which is about
All there is of downtown any
More & she went to bed,
Her mother already sleeping,
Then he and I walked up the street
Three blocks and watched the buildings burn.

Firemen sprayed water & cops watched
And we watched the cops and the fire
And the firemen, and of course they
Had been fighting again, not much
To say about it.  I'd covered
That ground before, enough to know
It was like the fire and wouldn't
Get better, so we didn't talk.
Two in the morning, town mostly
Asleep and this amazing show
Inadvertently in my backyard
And their lives changing, separately.
Johnny walker Nov 2018
When found by Helens
love I'd lived a life all
alone, as If I was already
When she gave me her
love bought back the life
In me, that I'd lost a long
time ago
For the first In my life I
started to live, something
I never had known
Helen, please don't leave
my darling, every night I
cry In pillow, sprayed
with your
To try to Imagine you still
there laid In my arms
wrapped the warmth of
your body
Helen, when she gave her love, breathed
Life back Into me
Francie Lynch Jul 2018
There was a funeral in St. Thomas d'Aquin,
And it wasn't in the Latin tongue,
Not English, Italian, not even Norse.
It was unctioned in French, of course.
But it may as well've been Greek.
I sat reserved in my seat,
As many a French rose up to speak.
But the incense was the same,
And the holy water sprayed on my glasses,
And I sat as people knelt
And blessed themselves,
And joined in on the refrain,
I knew it by its name: Le chemin. La verite. La vie.
It's a form of glossolalia,
And it's coming for us daily.
The mourners were onto something more,
Than words, gestures and litanies,
Something greater than any of these,
Yet the translation was lost on me.
The way, the truth, the life.
Glossolalia: Speaking in tongues
Last night was first time In while that I managed to sleep all night before going
to bed I'd sprayed my pillow with my wife's favourite perfume

It felt as If she was still with me Estee ladder youth dew she loved that
Perfume every Christmas that's all she asked a nice gift set

I guess when I run out I shall buy some more then to sleep at night I'll go with perfume filling the air sweet thoughts of my darling as I fall gently to sleep
Helens favourite perfume Estee Laurder youth drew
I spray my pillow at night
Johnny walker Nov 2018
One little luxury I will
afford myself this year
my wife Helen's once
favorite perfume
Estee Lauder Youth Dew
so at Christmas which  I
can no longer do
But can
shut myself In dreams
with my head on my pillow
sleep Christmas away with
the smell of Helen's beautiful
perfume sprayed all over
my pillow
Since Helen's passed last Christmas
can't do Christmas any more
Mary Gay Kearns Dec 2018
Lime green light
Shines softly through the breaks
As each bush stalks into day
Walking the wilderness road
Distilled morning moves the sun
Under a diagonal sprayed sky.

There is a mystery here to make
Taken along telegraph lines
Colours carried across space
White wistful clouds
Rise up towards the majestic
Mauveness and morning awakes.

Love Mary ***
Monsanto's roundup
never failed to **** the weeds
Monsanto's roundup
being known for deadly deeds

of late a court case
has hit the headlines
on behalf of a grounds man
who'd sprayed roundup
over rambling vines

he'd ingested the product's
residual mist
whereupon his body became
sick from its whist

other plaintiffs are gearing
up for a trial date
which will mean the suing
of Monsanto won't abate

hefty cash payout
can but damage the company's
profitable reputation
on lawyers presenting
evidence of the **** killer's
lethal saturation

and people in countries
off shore will obtain a chance
in litigation against the corporate entity's
expenditure advance

Monsanto's roundup
never failed to **** the weeds
Monsanto's roundup
being known for deadly deeds
Z May 2018
Let's be real.
There's probably a million reasons as to why she doesn't like you.
Which is probably something you don't wanna hear but let me tell you the some reasons, stupid reasons, as to why she doesn't like you...

It's because she doesn't like the way you cut your pinky toenail.
The 4,126 hair on your head is just too long for her.
Your breathing pattern is off by a millisecond.
Your left eye doesn't pop as much as the right one does.
She doesn't like it when you ***.
When you don't reply within a minute and twenty seconds of her sending the original text.
You didn't have her favorite cologne sprayed in your shirt when she hugs you.
You turn down her netflix and chill to hang out with your friends.
She doesn't like the way that you chew your food.
She doesn't like your haircut.
You don't wear the type of pants that she like to look at when she's walking behind you.
You didn't give her the night of her life after she went out on a date with you.
You don't do this.
You don't look like this.
You don't do that.
You don't do this.

Why the heck are you still reading this?
You need to stop listening and thinking about this nonsense.

No matter what they do or what they say,
you don't owe them anything.
Remember that.
With all this crazy things that you overthink about when it comes to someone that you like,
I know you're maybe thinking,
I need to reply faster,
I gotta go cut the 4,126 hair which is too long.
You don't need to do anything for someone else.
Just think about it,
you're almost torturing yourself
to make somebody else happy, but are you happy?
I don't think so.
What goes on in your head
isn't always necessarily true or right.
If she doesn't like the things that you do,
If she doesn't like the way that you look,
If she doesn't like the friends that you hang out with,
If she doesn't like the person that you are,
then you get over her, right now, get over her.

There's no specific person that you should go out and that you should fall in love with.
That specific person is what you find
in your heart and in your mind,
and as crazy as that sounds,
you have to treat yourself with respect.
You have to treat yourself with the love
that you're gonna be giving out to every girl that you see.
You have to love yourself before you love somebody else.

You should stop thinking
that you have to live up to somebody's standards, just in order to make them happy.
If she doesn't like you, then let it be.
You don't need her.
You don't need anybody.
You have you.

Never change who you are
while falling inlove with somebody,
because in the long run, you just won't be happy.
You are good enough.
You shouldn't let being "perfect",
be the enemy of being good enough.
You're never going to be the perfect person for somebody else, because you are already the perfect you for you.
Some people are going to love you.
Some people are just going to like you,
and some people are just not going to be able to handle you.
You just need to know that the only special person you need to be good enough for is yourself.
Mark Aug 2018
Should grief be drowned in waving thrones of sea
bereft as me; shall boat and venture deep
until that ever spanning moat has me
then salty hearse's cleanse - that I not weep.

If seagulls flock the sky above this scene
then fly them lower here and feast debris
for little worth has lovers' break - that been
as sheathing sinks, the fishes then agree.

No shrine would rise beneath the liquid tomb
the ocean bed shall crest my seams as shells
tho' here no flag nor plankton mark old bloom
concealed in sand, from shores and tiding swells.

The bay entices me, whom sprayed with brine
but I shall wander on; in shards of mine.
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