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Tay Mar 2015
The failing use of my right arm,
Isn't actually the failing use of my right arm.
It's just a way of keeping time.
And time is ticking.

He says he loves me.
He swears on his life that he loves me.

But love, I've come to understand,
Isn't warm like I'm told.
Love is a trap.
A greedy monster preying on my hope
And feasting on my unanswered prayers.
It's take and don't think to give back.
It's pushing until I have nothing left.
Nothing left of even my own.
Love is never looking in the mirror again,
Because you're disgusted with what he has made you into.

Long sleeves and high collars,
No plans on a Friday night,
Warning looks and cold eyes,
Bruised ribs and shattered breaths
Hands above my head and legs pinned under him.
But, still, he swears he loves me.

The failing use of my heart,
Isn't actually the failing use of my heart.
It's just a way of keeping time.
*And my time is up.
Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

She looks -a still,
                  Young looks can ****.

Oh it breaks my heart…
                     It won’t be mine,

Bottled-up it gets better,
                Just give it some time.

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Beauty stop, you stand still,
                              Young looks can ****.

I gave my heart and wasted my time,
Let my love out, let go-o-o-o-o…
Woman on woman -my Woe!

Sweet Liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Here with a feeble mind,
                                 Now drinking all the time!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Plump lips, her curly hair-r-r-s,
                                 Never a boyfriend, -she swears!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

That body, does it shine?
                                       I’m drinking all the time!

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,

Sweet liquor only ages,
                      Sweet liquor only ages,
An Old Timey Timey about man drowning his sorrows in liquor over the loss of his woman to another woman. He becomes elated at the notion that over time liquor gets better while females appearance deteriorates over time so he is in glee thinking she lost him and without those looks one day she'll never get another man which is ironic to place that assumption upon a woman who is not attracted to men.
Logan Robertson May 2017
Lost Love

He remembers that day
many sad years ago
it was sunny out,
but soon a storm raged.

He returned home early
from work,
to rest and nurse a cold.
to see his gorgeous wife
fix him a delicious soup
and give loving care,
a remedy not.
He caught a surprise.

Was it then a hallucination?
To see her ex's car
in front of their house,
fanning the flames in his heart?
Or to imagine the house shaking,
or to hear love noises howling
from the rafters of contempt,
as her fireplace warmed tempest.
He sure hoped then... it had been a misfire
it wasn't.

He slowly opened the front door,
walking decrepit and sad,
like he was in hospice care.
He could see the final script
playing out,
more so the tragic ending
the trail of clothes,
her ex-boyfriend's scent,
and approaching closer
the devil speaking louder.

He opened the bedroom door
to their parts caught in honey jars
and scarlet red on his tainted wife
over bed sheets of shame.
Their eyes catch,
both flush, and tearful,
as breathing stopped,
his melancholy eyes asking why?
What about the future  lily pods,
our family, house, kids
... and you sell out.
What about being fresh
out of college with our dreams,
passion and
What about the bonds,
pinky swears, pricking of blood
marital vows.
Her eyes had no answers.
She cried, loudest
as her ex-boyfriend bolted
not before passing the mill.

He closed her door for good
that mournful day,
dismissing darkness,
opening his wrath for her
in his mind, yet
what words or light can be exchanged?

Uprooted and lost, he walked
scarred over and over
by her promise and lost love.

That was thirty years ago
and he still walks with her
ghosts, and it still pains.

Jaycee Jan 2015
As she walks through the doors,
So confused and afraid.
She takes a deep breath,
and reminds herself,
Just what to say.

She knows that she can make it,
right through the day.
But she's still afraid,
That they'll see her..

And she knows that they hate her.

Once she gets up the stairs,
She swears her heart is screaming.
She can feel her lungs pulsating,
She's thinking about running out.

But she knows they'd all see her,
So she keeps on walking along.
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
On a beat back street
In a dirt cheap
Glasgow room,
Where the sunlight glow
Fights through an unwilling window
Of stained-glass stained
With *****, beer and the cheapest wine
Like a film to dim the shine
Into a glimmering East-end gloom.

At 2 a.m.
With sweaty hands and soaring head,
It hadn’t happened,

At 6 a.m.
With desert hands and pounding head,
We think it happened,

Sally swears that Harry kissed Mary,
Who had been leading on Larry,
Who was torn between Mary and his girlfriend,
Opinions flew in a flurry
And tensions built in a hurry
“It’s such a worry” she said.
“Such a scandal and worry;
You go through life
And life goes through you.
Don’t you think?
What do you think?”

I think we are all slouching
With both feet in the grave,
Too rotten for the worms.

At 10 a.m.
With empty hands and nothing head,
It happened.

We step through the hole in the door,
Staggering beneath a sickening sun
As it sheds its yellow skin
Over a canvas of modest graffiti
And a bin spilled over
By a beggar from Tahiti.
A man asks his lover where they’re going
And with both hands
On her phone, she said
“You can fill me,
But you’ll never complete me.
One day you will leave me…
Or maybe even delete me.”

Round the corner,
With both windows broken,
The first bar we find is already open.
We raise our glasses -
A drink to start the day
Or continue the one we started
The day before yesterday.

2 a.m.

What hands and what head?
It never happened.
We are one day older
And nothing will ever happen.
flowerfeastie Jul 2018
pavement cracks under his feet
when he walks.
smoke falls from his hair
when he moves.
his hands are made of stone
his veins are dripping mud
his eyes are black and blown.

he's a walking black hole
******* all the light of the world in
breathing in warmth and fire
breathing out dust and ashes.

he's still young in the crinkles by his smiling eyes
in the high pitch of his screams
in the smallest curls of his hair.

he's aged in the purple under his eyes
in the tilt of his disappointed mouth
in the rough tips of his fingers
in the weight of his stone-carved bones.

he is many things
and looks like so many more
he is big
and he is beautiful
and the earth cracks under
his feet
and the flowers die in his wake.

and still
he swears he's bathed in darkness
but still made of sun.
this is literally about the person you're thinking this is about.
Jenny Gordon Dec 2018
"...minutes hasten to their close"


Ah me! rain's subtle voice upon the tale
Of fallen leaves where dusk, late perished thence,
'Most haunts our passage with a deeper sense
I push aside, to hearken in betrayl
To those delicious footfalls like t'avail,
Small conversation lost to keen suspense
As lo, more fragile notes half trip from hence
So near, and yet in ghostly fashion'd hail.
As if my soul yields to feigned sense as twere,
Which swears tis but the wind whose passing through
'Non teases longings, how the windshield fer
All that shows tiny droplets clustring to
Effect; what is't that I'm allowed in poor
'Scuse to hear what I've yearned for?  Is it...You?

*NOTE:  that final individual addressed is:  the LORD.
Though I failed to jot it down in one of these damning diary pages known as sonnets, reading the Bible finally when I'd a chance did restore my soul, even as the Scriptures declare He does.
CryBaby Di Jul 2018
"The most delicate flower somehow held all of the power.
The **** inside her big brown eyes never lies.
I'll never forget the look in those eyes when I first seen the scars on her inner thighs.
Every time she adds another scar,
its like a piece of me dies.
She swears that I'm not the one.
but I always am the one who she calls whenever her current lovers turn away and run.
Her new relationships fail and she starts to come undone.
Underdeveloped, out of touch with her own self,
gave her everything she wanted,
but still was never enough.
Incomplete, never fully ripe just like the ******
avocados that she loves so much.
Gave her the moon and the stars,
but she wanted the whole entire galaxy.
Though the whole entire galaxy was in her own eyes,
so it's something she could never see.
The truth is that she is the only one who could turn her own avocados into guacamole."
Bob B Aug 2018
Telephone scams are driving me crazy--
Both on my landline and on my cell!
I'm on the verge of telling every
Pesky caller to go to ****!

The IRS is after me.
Oh, the message sounds so dire.
The person says I'd better respond
Or I will be in big trouble. Liar!

Or a recording tells me that my
Router has been hacked, and so
If I don't call them right away,
They'll shut my router down. Oh, no!

A caller claims he's from HP
And says that they know for sure
That my computer has a virus.
I want to say he's full of manure.

Another swears he's calling from
The FBI, demanding money
Because I'm being investigated.
I must pay, or else! Funny!

Because you've managed to make our lives
So miserable, scammers, I swear:
There has to be a special place
In **** for you. You'd better beware!

-by Bob B (8-23-18)
there now is a graduate from Yale
who lies boldly
               getting red and then pale
when asked about girls
and high school beer swirls
he swears he never drank too much ale
Apropos Brett Kavenaughs very unconvincing statement before the Senate Judiciary Committee.
Tommy Randell Aug 2018
For the penniless man
Who begs a coin - No grub today
You're lazy

For the tourettes man
Who swears today - No patience here
You're crazy

For the homeless man
Who asks for a bed - Find another town
You're an eyesore

For the foreign man
Who seeks to work - Move on, move on
To another shore

For the LGBTs
Who look for acceptance - No! No! No!
You're not invited!

All you pariahs and freaks
Get with the message - This is Eden and
You are the blighted

All you so called Messiahs and creeps
How else can we express it?
There is a castle of priviledge here
And we don't want you inside it.
yosemite Oct 2018
i wrote for her
poems that will never see the light of day
they hide in my field notes

she's with someone
but they don't talk so i thought
i had a chance

but every time i see her
she talks of him
it's never good things

he's so boring
  he can't hold a conversation
    he's not into what i'm into
      he really is dumb
        he makes me cry
        i love him

but she thinks i'm funny
  and she'll laugh with me
    and lay with me
      and drink with me
        and talk with me
          and whisper to my ear
            and kiss my cheek
            but it's just because she's drunk she swears
            she apologizes

but i think we'll just be friends
which kinda *****
Brody Blue Oct 2018
Around the clock
     By lot we rot
To rags and boneless
As the hour and
     The second hand
Seem both locked-up in
We lost our mules
     To Arkansas,
In parts we saw 'em
As we both stood
     In silence, blood
Cov'rin' ev'ry
If they'd only had
     The medicine
And met us in
This mess we're in
     Would fester some,
Then just as soon
But now on the edge
     Of the tiresome sea,
Each pledging
     The other to
Pushin' and shovin'
     Our hand in some glove
In one fast move
     Will be
Meanwhile, the tides
     (Poised by Poseidon)
Rise and
Hound dogs bay
     Beyond the bluff;
Bandits watch the
And I look thru
     My lookin' glass;
You, into your
Both only saying
The other wants to
Though ev'ry dime
     Was lent, we spent
Them all to keep us
As autumn rolled
     Past summer's fold;
Now, winter holds the
No matter how
     We stack the deck
The cards cannot be
So the ones at hand:
     Take 'em fast!
Before the river's
     Taking too fast
     Won't make it last;
Watch out!
            Don't crash!
A ******* gets faster
     In the late second-half
     In the eye of the

At midday
     You insinuated,
'neath the noontide
That I'm someone
     Who multiplies,
But will divide by
Who swears he can
     Be counted on, yet
Never counts past
Who cannot tell
     All he's lost
Apart from all he's
Who to and fro
     And back again
Has witnessed ev'ry
From Anchorage, to
     San Juan Hill;
From Bangor, to
Who, facing off with
      History, compiled
On the
A litany of victory
     By trickery,

                 Took on one sun
                       Won by one
                 Rook took from
                        His high-hilled
                 Took ev'ry bird,
                        Turned words into
                 Took the book
                          And shook out
                  Met Set head-on,
                         Left 'im severed and
     ­             Put roots to soil
                         And oiled the  
                  Ran and ran after
                         That sure-footed
                  Stood under the light
                          With the swarm of the

And you ain't wrong:
      Life is long;
But time is swift,
      Adrift and
But you'll get burned
       If you don't learn
Advice is better
     Taking too fast
     Won't make it last;
       It's written in
A ******* gets faster
     In the late second-half;
'tleast, that's what
      The last one
Timothy Kenda Aug 2018
******* will you all stop with your pseudo-intellectual ******* please
You're killing me
So busy trying to fit fancy vocabulary
Into the structure where your heart should be!
There's no heart I see, and ******* with the argument
That swears are not intelligent
At least they invoke some sort of feelings
Instead of 18 stanzas of irrelevance
Your aristocratic airs are pathetic and irreverent
Come back down to earth now, you drink coffee like the rest of us
Another armchair poet pizza stained can stand among the best of us
I want to feel the pain you try desperately to convey
Not spend 20 minutes looking up definitions in a dictionary
I want to know who you love and why
Describe the scene around you at the moment that your friend died
Stop it with your intellectual *******, please
Simply describe to me how your heart did bleed
Upon the lack of the presence of your lovers touch
You try too hard and harp too much
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
'Oh, when will you return, my love?' wondered Kourê,
   as she lays on the daybed, in the cradle of                        
          Spring's clime; how the nights and days make                        
her so weary, as the yellowed flames sway idle              
So many flowers sent,                                            
each rich with memory.      
Violets coiling around the triumphal arch;              
His smile after their first kiss under
the flushing dawn.
Starlings who sing ever so sweet;                              
the song of him preaching of her being
                       a bright glory before others.
Crystal chandeliar that hangs from the ceiling;
                            Her on a small bench, his hands massaging
                              warm oils between her fae-sculpted
      feet and toes.
The roses; a rouge kiss in the light of the shade
          The harp; a white daybed draped
                            with a scarlet sheet.
She yearns for a hug from him, bathing ****
          in light, as their hearts beat in sync
                              and reach the sky.
All she wants is a sweet rest, his hand on her
fine head;                                                
            stroking, sighing, eyes shining,              
                  water that trembles between fingers,
happiness linger!
A feather drifts earnest, the glittering of stars,
And now she cools, recalling their sweet        
goodbye as he rides his mare,
            snow cloak shines eternally.
'Yours is a beauty that will never wilt,' he cooes,
placing a rose in her hair.                  
A rose.                      
A rose...        
Her eyes falls on the white rose in the vase,
              lonesome, thornless proud...                  
We marvel its beauty, its earthbound performance                       
 She holds the rose in her hand, staring at its                    
its crowning glory; petalled virtue
By her ivory velveteen fingers                                          
long finger,
               slim thumb-
She plucks petal by petal by petal by petal
as she looks to the day-sky
                      with a dreaming mind
And when the crown is gone,                            
                       her face is touched by a frown                        
                and the ***** stem,
                                    marred by her sensitivity-
                                            ***** of its own beauty-
                                                    for her hand's sake,
her yearning for her lionesque lover,              
                                         and aurorian prayers?          
The stem falls, ***** and bald on the ground
    as she closes her eyes, saddened...
She cannot bear the sight of snow-kissed            
flowered bays without the sun,
                   her hymn-
                                  her shield-
Know the true secret behind the red, red rose  
As none know of its venomous mantle    
this Rose lingered in the vase only to be
Taken advantage of only to
                            be dumped-
A laughing stock as another more beautiful
                            flower will take its place
Boiling with vengeance, the stem is hale,
jade with envy-
                                               barbed with thorns, a poisoned desire
                      to shield its body,
Its pride, its crown stolen-
                                     From snow to blood-
                                                    its pain turned crimson,
No longer will tears of dew fall!
'It matters not,' Kourê thinks, 'another rose will bud.'
For they, like many perennials and sentient life,
                          are conscious of its limited beauty!
'Mine own beauty and his will last forever.'
From the light beyond,
she sees him.
                                       Her sun that rides the mare!
She runs into his embrace- a pair of happy doves
Her fingers in his gold curls
as he bends the knee,
The air lovingly cold at this display!                  
Ever so content!
                                          Blessings upon the lily in the snow!
Upon her hands, the blood of a rose,
that swears vengeance upon her
for it will be the catalyst!
Blood for blood!
                                  The rose will rise and curse
them with pain ten-fold...
Final part of the free-verse!
Hope you enjoyed it!
I came up with a little sad myth behind why the rose has thorns. Why the white roses are truly red. What did you think? I have roses in my garden but I don't pick the petals, they're too pretty!
What did you think of Kourê? Do let me know!
Love you guys! Thanks so much!
Lyn ***'
Stu Harley Sep 2018
jet black
marble eyes
black olive
silhouette of
evil  crow
realm of Gollum
me swears by it
dania Oct 2018
heavy paper won't float in the wind
or drown in the water
or give me papercuts like
thin paper does

i have never put my trust in a thing as much as i did my moleskin. her heavy paper called me to come clean and divulge within.

heavy paper looks me in the eye and swears to listen
heavy paper's blankness glistens

and won't i hurt her less tonight? give her less truth? give her less feeling? more imagination too?

heaviness, she's more like sturdiness, she doesn't crumple under my weight
she doesn't mind at all
that i don't know how to start a blank slate

she keeps me in her. my stories, my fears, my secrets.
i owe her all my gratitude.

but sometimes
the more she knows the more i remember the more
i need to tear her up to forget
LWZ Jan 5
Intentions strung upon my own
Waiting for the flowers to grow.
I dig and dig and dig and dig.
Not much time for thee to waste.
The roots they yowl beneath thy feet,
dragging surely more than any plain old dirt.
No, nothing ordinary about it.
Stones, bones, eerie tones.
Not the kind that ***** you.
Not the kind that **** you.
The kind that swears to never let you go.
The kind that invades your brain to morph you.
That will insidiously destroy you.
All the while you cry and plea.
Please don’t try to leave.
Sav Jan 20
When spring comes around
I touch the flowers and they turn brown.

And that reminded me of the summer
my sister almost drowned.

Had I not been there to pull her
body from the water, it would have
got her.

Nostalgia drips like sweet lips and sunny
window sills.

Back when time would stand still and
promises were never broken.

Pinky swears and thumb wars,
basketball on the street in bare feet.

Popsicles and bubblegum.

I touch the plants after it rains,
and it feels the same as something
I've felt before.

Pictures of girls taped to closet doors.

Thank god I finally opened it.

Snowflakes feel like gentle cold kisses
like the calm after
Christmas but the excitement of
what's to come.
I really did save my sister from drowning.
Truth is the bread of sadness;
he has his wife, who is in a free
bed and he is happy to be surprised
by me, it opens. It's not easy
to lose cake while you go.
The curve can take a long time
to see the thoracic battles
and provide the government
that prevents it, that is they
avoid the fall of faith.
And the fall the gentleman
has changed, there is a fight
against good, love, with healthy
feet and the friends who choose
your ******* remain calm
and add cars, not everyone
has the power factors, only the sun
is worth that only the sun it's worth
it if it HURTS and is ready to wait
for speculation that does not satisfy
him: "The power of peace that the
addict gradually swears to say
he loves the name and the seasons
to be dark. For fear of friends,
of sweetness, doubt, strong guilt;
I mean I choose more memory,
I must understand the dream -
most of the secret life according
to which soldiers are chosen
in a healthy way during the year,
can claim that half of the sun falls,
the star of the leaf, the patient,
then the victory of this forced
salt solution CTA must be completed
with the pain of the school,
many eyes of prisoners, simple
human bread, gray brain fire
and a little earlier, The patient
returned to the light of the resistance,
which was stronger
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