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Brian Foote Jan 2017
Oak Tree
My old friend,
Strength and beauty matched,
Sing a song tonight,
For,
    tomorrow,
You'll be axed.

    -b-
pk tunuri Mar 18
Spa D is on fire
Administration is a liar
Student body has a desire
Let's fulfill our needs before we expire

You think your threats can stop us
I'm sure we didn't want to make a fuss

What makes you be at a nonplus
Let us know when you are ready to discuss

For how long will you bluff?
Don't you think it's enough?

We've suffered enough over the years
We have overcome all our fears

Don't light up the fire with our tears
You better stop playing with our careers

All that we ask for is some trust
But you left us all in utter disgust

Spa D is on fire
Administration is a liar
Student body has a desire
Let's fulfill our needs before we expire
A poem on COLLEGE STRIKE
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Once, the summer sun will rise in London
Like the half of the Ge meets the other half.
Like a magic by the Lamp of Aladdin
The love flame hidden in the chest lits out!

Like a blooming rose in a glowing beam of light,
Like a smiling face speaks a gentle word,
Like a beautiful sunrise colour in the first light!

The summer in London will pop and sizzle
We will see a threshold in our land.
The rose for a while is tucked away
Off the winter and is given to the sun
Winter is not forever spring is on the corner
Come back in the sun with the early bird
Before Cinderella takes on the primrose path.

Keeping an eye on a thriller is in the winter’s field
Oozy ozone misty land gets a gingerly seasoning
What on earth will it strike, will it dish out?
Ah, the sun will pop out like a river breeze.

Like a southern song singing on a dream scene.
a smooth fairy dance facing the Moon
a thrill of exposing Stonehenge once and for all
a melodious raindrop in the serene pond
a butterfly dance on the rose
a turned on tall tale of the blue peacock
Like a pure belief in heaven without a pinch of salt!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
CK Baker Jan 19
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants (and frontmen)
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanied
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth
snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
fish traps
and beaneries
dot the busy causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
CK Baker May 2017
like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore

reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weight
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)

bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!


duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields

meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar ***** wedged on the white wash dock)

baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift
Cné Apr 30

Many days without a muse.
Whatever shall I do?
Too long away from poetry
and sans a point of view

The moon has been so beautiful.
But words just would not come.
The sunrise has been glorious
the sunsets strike me numb.

Romance is in the air tonight.
Perhaps a muse will see...
And strike a chord that gives
a voice to verses now in me.

I close my eyes and see much more
than sight can ever see.
Colors swirl behind my lids
and rainbows, vividly.

Butterflies and hummingbirds
a ship of clouds glides by
Howling wolves in the wilderness
a pink and azure sky

And so, I find I need no sight
to find my inspiration.
The mind is far more "visual"
and gives its own sensation.

Just writing....
Why in Baste Eyes my Form checks expect
Yet cast my Security for his Expense
Which, I suppose, that Report I prefect
Was a File un-welcomed for my Good Sense
Though, I assure, was all to contribute
For his Sweets added to his Nationed Chest
That, to chillax, take Tidbits absolute
And brisk the New Day for his Talent's Best
Now this, resolved to wax Slime and Conflict
Thus put my Loyalty to Terms reset
More fruitful, more pruned, from Pride's Tome inflict
Then this Orrery - strike Rocks to Sky's bet.
In turn perhaps recover from this Fling
On Muted Clouds do those Falcons still Sing.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
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