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Kara Jean Jun 2016
She is obscene, ******* inbetween
I shouldn't haven't to explain what that means  
Only a handleful don't find her scary and overwelming
Ok so I'm letting the angry apple flavoring do all the writing
Who is really listening, honestly  
This psychotic chick will always be the one and only
Sorry if you were expecting me to sing
I suppose this was not enough
Oh well I'll keep sipping while you're guesstimating the measures you should be taking
Here's a secret, I mentally teeter totter unstably
So does the rest of poetfreak
Let's start a toast and forward the drinking
Logan Robertson Dec 2018
As the moon and stars teeter
Totter  became deeply sweeter

Logan Robertson

Those Story Book Memories (10 words)

A cliff hanger held the air
On that maiden voyage
Joanna May 16
Clockworks, snowflakes, teeter-totters too; cannot sleep; no rest yet there is so much to do.

Mud puddles, rainstorms how fresh the air seems. Baby lambs and little goats. We’ve got to hold on to our dreams.

Starfish, rainbows over a coral sea below, thunderbolts and lightning, gray clouds and heavy hearts grow.

Run here run there, what to do next?  Go to war or stay at peace, who knows best?

Sunsets, seashells, a walk on the beach, suddenly nothing and no one seem out of reach.
To read more of my writings go to:
v V v Mar 2016

Everything meets
in the middle,

all that is
and was
and done
or said


So they say while
the fulcrum creaks
and the lever sags.

     That’s where
     lost there way.

Take two magnets and
try to push them together
to meet at center, instead
they slide from side to side
and go around, no force
can bring them together.

     I say everything
     that goes around
     comes back this way,

the wrong way,
to haunt or remind us
but never to the middle,
never offering peace.

Maybe that's why
some say suicide
is a valid option,
as if to trick
the sacred balance,
sneak up on
magnetic rejection
and force your way
to center.

     Sometimes I dwell
     on the mystery of
     Golden Gate.

Such a sacred place,
the breeze, the sun,
her hypnotic beauty
and the fact that
no one jumps at


Nero:    "Jax, do you believe in Karma?"
Jax:       "Not today"
     But I believe.
     I believe because
     I have lived it.

     My Karma is Grace
     and I can’t tell you
     how many times she
     has found me,

always where I didn’t go willingly,
dragged by a massive darkness
and held up high while the weight
of death sat across the divide
on the other end of the teeter-totter.
Ronza Jairy Apr 2017
I was born to the stars of Gemini
the twins
the teeter-totter of mixed emotions
                                a fork
in the road
because we want everything while,
we don't know what we want
a dish of yes with a side of no
to be an artist
to say yes to every job offering
to go to the party
to hide under our sheets and dream a little dream of certainty
curiousity is what we bleed
spilt personalities beyond belief
I like to say I'm four people in one
minus the insanity
but the truth is I don't feel right
stuck between I can't and I might
leave you
mariamme Jan 3
"she's so tasty ain't she"
hearts full of jellied dreams
know i have the melted madness
i'm dripping quick please collect me
one look and you're lost in lust
it's fun to teeter on the edge
hanging out in borrowed cars
hanging by my fingertips
candied daydreams of demon boys
teeth bigger than your eyes when i
strip naked for you
take a bite and see if i bleed
is it crimson cherries or am i cold
icy frozen,
i want the icing on the cake
we're helter skelter
running thru each other's hearts
get the blood moving baby
til the sunshine does the trick
winter wonderlands must be paradise
for a hot blooded boy like you
i'm melting like chocolate
come have a taste <3
for a friend, a lil nsfw sorry
03 jan 2019
Nina Kay Feb 2
I buried you in my heart
Beneath layers of anger and sadness
Longing and pining
Under broken plates of not good enough
Stomped to rubble by the spiky heels of hate
I buried you but here you are alive and well
And I know I should run from you but
all I wanna do is run my fingers through your hair
Brush my lips across your lips
and teeter there just for a moment
before I plunge head first into your darkness
Without you, light is artificial anyway.
I'd rather feel the pain of knowing you than nothing in your absence.
I'll dance for you.
I'll cook and clean, wear **** lingerie.
Be Whoever it is that you want me to be.
Any time. Any place.
Just love me please.
However flawed,
just stay this time, and love me
Autumn Mar 11
This one’s for the grass eaters:
the ones who teeter on the edge of
reality. For the ones who are hyper-
aware of their consciousness. It’s for
the ones who jump on the creaky wooden
floor to witness the annoyance of those
around them. It’s for the smile you let go after
someone catches you trying to ignore
them. It’s for the Ibuprofen that tears the lining of my
esophagus. It’s for rushing to get to church
so God knows you aren’t late. It’s for the baby
cactus that you are in denial of over-watering---
It’s for that handful of grass I just want to
throw in my mouth.
Khoi-San Nov 2018
One for the road
A teeter totter to go
a raw hide coffin
In cowboy boots
Think before you drink and drive
Jayne E Jun 4
When the hands of time
get lost in the rhyme
when they pull you back back
and space does crack crack
it's torment in a truckloads ride
with fraught mind nowhere to hide

it's the real life boogey man
showing you just how he can
take you down down in one blink
then sleep is here & on the brink
of hell you teeter totter pirouette
the curtains shut the scene is set

back back you hurl back in time
to the darkest days & the darker nights
it's the ice cream truck that never comes
it's the cold blades glint as warm blood runs
it's the sun shining just over there
it's the monster creeping ever near

when the sun won't rise fast enough
his smooth skin hands bring the rough
and the dance won't stop only the clock
frozen in time backwards tock tick tock
it's the sickening taste of copper & dirt
& knife slices are the least of the hurt

when the scars dont heal just remain
it's the constant bleed the lingering pain
of a child's heart broken & left to rot
it's never enough & its an awful lot
see the world dissovle see trust rust
feed the need inside the want the must
try to grasp on tight a filament of hope
or contemplate swinging rough rope

it's these lines bleeding all over the place
searching seeking a familiar warm face
is it giving in or is it reaching out
or just more my sickened pen to spout
even after he's long & cold in earth deep
it's the knowing I am his forever to keep
my stolen child my innocence my hope
the faint scars left in skin of rough hewn rope.

J.C. 05/06/2019.
Ok so apologies for the 'darker' writes recently, its just how it is when past atrocities rear their **** head, and thr monster comes creeping into your dreams/nightmares.
Jayne E May 22
this mourning time is here again
shadowed sun rise pale clouds
signals night end once more undone
finds me breathless and moribund

I told you once, twice thrice and four
to shut it tight behind the door
you kicked it open to defy
the rules all broken so here I lie

glee and wild abandon in your cries
to tie to bind then unbind my sighs
abd blind then unblind my eyes
on edge ledged I teeter moribund

was it good I yield it was understood
but still deceit lies underfoot
pinned at the knees the heart fecund
yet souls entwined do find me moribund

you danced in from the leftist side
all your defiance I did abide
whence in my arms you at last did cry
and felt myself moribund

step back once, twice thrice and four
now remember said shut that door
if kicked again it breaks no bend
and death replaces moribund.

J.C. 19/03/2019.
Pagan Paul Jan 18
Jerrica had found Lost.
The treasure buried above ground.
The memory foam with dementia.
The quill with no nib …
she thought about feather pens.
Catching herself from falling
the swoon had caught her cold.
This **** ****** sword
was proving to be elusive
and now she was under sustained attack.
From a personal fetish.
It just wouldn't leave her alone,
creeping into her mind unbidden.
She needed to scratch an itch,
if only she knew what that itch was.

Trolls are magickally bound to their bridge.
Leaving it is usually fatal.
But Gyb had bones to gnaw,
and once he had his teeth employed
his mind was a captive onlooker.
A crazy plan formed in his head,
possibly avoiding the brain.
He took mud and formed a figure,
then some of his hair clippings
moulded into the head.
Then he took a leap of disbelief!
He looked into the river and … Click!
Snapped his fingers and fixed the image.
He cut it out of the meniscus
and attached it to the doll familiar.

“Did Achilles have damp ankles
or was he well heeled?”
Morfine had asked Choklut.
“Neither. He was the one who sneezed
and opened the Fête of the Suitors”.
“No. I think he was called Telemarketing,
he sneezed and they drew the tombola raffle”.
“Wasn't there a Goddess involved as well?”.
“Um … Yes, maybe the Goddess of Tissues?”.
“Snivel? No, she is more tears than snot.
I think its the one who turned her husband
into a swan, and made him ****** her handmaiden”.
“Oooo Nasty!”
“No, Nasty fell in love with his own profile,
and called things off with his nymph,
the reverberations can still be heard today”.
There was a brief pause … then,
“What are we doing Choklut?
We found a magickal sword and …
talking of which, where is it?”.
“I don't know. You had it last”.
Just then a serving girl gave them a note.
It said. Tomatoes, Peppers, Onions, Eggs …
“Not that side you dyk” she said.
Morfine turned the note over and read.
“Quick, no time to lose.
Someone saw the sword in the river.
We have to get to stanza 8
before it goes over the waterfall!”.
“Oh” said Choklut “I've never seen a stanza belly flop”.

It was true.
Contrary to the laws of physics.
Kelm saw the sword floating down river.
It looked like any other sword.
So he let it be, dismissed it.
He couldn't swim anyway.
He mused on the irony of that.
Nobody learnt to swim and yet drowning
was an undignified death for a barbarian.
If he could swim
he could find the fishes hiding places.

Jerrica had also been musing.
With a Poet.
That was during the last 3 stanza's.
But now …
she saw a sword floating in the river.
Something didn't quite fit.
Something was not in the right place.
She placed the Poet back in her breast pocket.
'If only he wasn't just 4 inches high' she thought
'he is rather handsome and intelligent'.
Bingo! She had it. But she didn't want it.
Armydiseases Principle of Liquid Dispersement!
It states!
Introduce a solid object into a body of liquid,
then the corresponding volume of liquid is dispersed
back to the nearest solid.
So, right now there is a very small flood
in the shape of a very small sword
ravishing the local area.
She decided, quite rightly as it turns out,
that she was feeding herself a red herring.

Slim stood on the bridge
staring at the churning water below.
How did it happen?
A stanza all of his own,
ruined by the intrusion of morons.
“Morfine and Choklut” he bellowed
“I'm going to eviscerate you”.
The wind carried a few of the words away,
but that was the gist of it.
“Hello” a voice said.
Slim had an accident, and jumped out of his skin.
And plunged into the cold water.
A strong arm pulled him out,
and he was face to face with a troll.
“My name is Gyb. I hate Morf Chok also”.
Nothing had prepared Slim for meeting a troll.
Not even the etti-queue-etti lessons at school.
'Would you care for afternoon tea?'
seemed rather inappropriate.
Gyb broke the awkward silence.
“Look! Sword floating”.
Slim didn't look.
Convinced the troll would eat him.
Thats their way. Distract and devour.
But he couldn't help it, he snuck a look.
And the sword slid on by gently bobbing,
tiny little runes glinting in the sun.

For its part the sword was serenity itself.
Chilled out to the max.
Resting on the water. Relaxing and reclining.
Life was good for the sword.
It had just passed a boy fishing,
poking his rod down a fish hole.
It had passed a young woman,
who looked confused and flustered.
It slid under a stone bridge.
A troll with a doll,
and a man with questionable odour.
And then he heard the roaring.
He sent out his senses,
no mean feat for a sword,
and 'felt' its surroundings.
Its image eye caught sight of the future.
It was an effing great waterfall.
And the future was the way he was heading.
For now.

Narrative Interlude

At this point in the story the author, Pagan Paul, is compelled
to inform the reader/listener of a complaint received
from Messrs Morfine and Choklut.
The substance of which amounts to the following:
That the said author is willfully under using their talent
as supporting cast and denying them access to many stanza's.
Furthermore they are threatening to expose the authors
'irregularities' in his relationship with Princess (name redacted).
The author, Pagan Paul, responds thus:
I should like to remind Messrs Morfine and Choklut
that, with astroke of my quill, I can eradicate them.
Drop them from the story all together.
And with reference to Princess (name redacted) -
'Its my Poem and I'll irregularit if I want to'.
Dear reader/listener prepare yourself for stanza 9.
It has a waterfall in it.
Maybe Morfine and Choklut will appear, maybe not.
They are the ones over a barrel.

Minutes after the sword floated by
something else caught her eye.
To boys on a barrel, in the water.
Boys barreling along or a barrel buoying along?
Choklut noticed her by the bank.
'funny place to have a cash machine' he thought.
Doing his best to impress and look brave.
Morfine waved and nearly fell off.
Suddenly the barrel lid opened
and Slim poked his head out like a tortoise.
“What the …?” said Choklut.
“Just repaying a debt boys” he said.
“But you owe us nothing” Morfine replied.
“Oh but I do” snarled Slim
“I owe you one times intrusion into your own stanza”.
He ducked back inside, and slammed the lid.
“Of all the fatherless ...”
“I blame the author” said Choklut.
“Yeah well, he is the one who's gonna be sorry,
we've just muscled in on stanza 8,
and relegated that waterfall to stanza 9” Morfine chimed.
“Morfine. Morfine! I hear the waterfall coming”.
“No! Not now. He has to leave it until 9 now,
we are about to cross the finish line on 8”.
The waterfall loomed.

Actually the waterfall knew nothing of weaving.
It just stayed where it was, pouring.
Spectacular, it was a very pretty waterfall.
It must be. It attracted tourists.
And it had fun!
It loved watching detritus tumble,
teeter on the brink. And fall.
Especially tourists.
It was over 300 paces high,
less than 40 paces wide,
its descent magnificent liquid ballet,
sparkling droplets shining like jewels,
forever transcending light refraction,
and plunging, plunging, plunging,
into a gorgeous azure puddle.
About ankle deep.

© Pagan Paul (17/01/19)
3rd poem in my Strange World collection.

Part 3 out soon :)
Francie Lynch Aug 13
What's ours yesterday,
Is gone today;
What's here today,
Will be gone tomorrow.
That how it goes
For joy and sorrow.
Balanced on a teeter-totter,
These highs and lows
Of our see-saw charter.
Winn May 20
I'm all right,  yeh?
Fulcrum point...  the four-way teeter-totter...
Circus balance act...

I am that center pivot-point
locked on the beams.
I bear the weight of those around,  it seems.

Bipedal tripod,
my cracks reduced to splinters...
Unending war
and I am at the center...
but I'm all right,  yeh?

Sloop the shoulders;
crack the back again...
Lesson learned:
to **** it up-  and in.

Muted life
will not offend a friend...

I'm all right.
stopdoopy Aug 2018
Wishy Washy.


Between high and low,

Hot and cold.

Am I delicate like the load of whites? do I need to refresh my color with a strong drink- bleach?

Or am I tough and resistant like denim? toss me in for an hour, shove soap down my throat, and I'll come out like new?

Maybe I'm a mixed load, balancing between the two; teeter-tottering from feeling to feeling.
The day I wrote this I had dreamt of someone who used to be very dear to me who I am having to forget, to better myself. She hurt me bad and I'd been having the same dream of us repairing our relationship for a few months now, and I've felt like a washing machine with my guts twisting and pulling with my emotions going from one end of the spectrum to the next; low in morning, high in the middle of the day, unknown at night. I've had amazing friends, Trixie, Luigi, Houk, Rin, Cait-Cait, and many others who've helped me through these past months who I can't thank enough for their continued support. Whenever I have these dreams and feel this way it feels like a step backwards and I end up feeling guilty for no reason just because I have them, and so I'm hoping that by writing this out it's a step in the right direction. Feeling like this is normal after you've spent some great times with someone you've cared about- weather it's months or years, it hurts and it's okay. I know time will heal these wounds eventually, so for now here's a Band-Aid.

Dedicated to everyone who's been hurt and felt this way or similar, and to my amazing friends;  I hope we all find what we need and can better ourselves, and be happy.
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