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"terrapins" poems
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices. My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently. A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness. A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance. Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees. A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness. Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily. Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor. Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances. A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks. A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.) A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers. A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive. A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs. An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal. A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats. A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry. Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness. A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly. Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
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Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
Awesome Alliterations
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices. My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently. A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness. A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance. Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees. A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness. Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily. Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor. Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances. A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks. A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.) A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers. A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive. A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs. An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal. A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats. A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry. Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness. A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly. Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
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Arapaho Bride, Chieftains Dearest. Early Fortnight,  Gros Ventre Headdress.   Indian Jubilee, Kindred Lavishment. Mornings Noontide Oluksak Pulls Quiet River Streams, Terrapins.   Unabated Vas deferens Wedding Xyris Young-begetting, Zea mays rugosa.
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Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
A Native Marriage to Z
In a grain of sand where timelessness and all time would stand linked in a semi permanent embrace for we would be not of an age, to watch as grains build up the Cities, where our children's children would face another mountain that crumbles away to be washed out to sea and one more day we, cannot comprehend another grain that would end in an ocean of sand by the shore is this what it's for? the eternal rebuild the world to be filled with the scents of the past that have passed through the sea and then built up again so we can see and be the futility of what is not timeless where time means no less than the time that we take to make offerings to urchins and... ..I perch on my post outside the temple of another most holy one and watch as citadels rise and watch again as in a blink of a terrapins eye they are gone and where do I belong in the ocean,the sea or on land? in one of a three and in all, I am but a grain of sand timeless and not, broken to rot away in one more day but not the same as the last that has past and passed the point of a no return to burn in a desert or to become and be made into an obelisk a risk assessors nightmare where at each turn of his hand it turns back into sand and again to the sea to the mountain, to me and in time it will be a place where all children play. Not in our day we stand as we stand or we sit on the sand and are all washed away in granular form, born and reborn as the tides take their time and one day one day it will come that the sign on the beach reads 'Minefield danger to life and limb entry forbidden do not enter in' but what is seen is not hidden away and the grains have a way of ignoring what's written smitten with time another sign reads 'ignore what you read it's only put out to feed your dreams' and everything seems as it should in the timelessness that isn't, isn't it all so very good?
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Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
Castles
In a grain of sand where timelessness and all time would stand linked in a semi permanent embrace for we would be not of an age, to watch as grains build up the Cities, where our children's children would face another mountain that crumbles away to be washed out to sea and one more day we, cannot comprehend another grain that would end in an ocean of sand by the shore is this what it's for? the eternal rebuild the world to be filled with the scents of the past that have passed through the sea and then built up again so we can see and be the futility of what is not timeless where time means no less than the time that we take to make offerings to urchins and... ..I perch on my post outside the temple of another most holy one and watch as citadels rise and watch again as in a blink of a terrapins eye they are gone and where do I belong in the ocean,the sea or on land? in one of a three and in all, I am but a grain of sand timeless and not, broken to rot away in one more day but not the same as the last that has past and passed the point of a no return to burn in a desert or to become and be made into an obelisk a risk assessors nightmare where at each turn of his hand it turns back into sand and again to the sea to the mountain, to me and in time it will be a place where all children play. Not in our day we stand as we stand or we sit on the sand and are all washed away in granular form, born and reborn as the tides take their time and one day one day it will come that the sign on the beach reads 'Minefield danger to life and limb entry forbidden do not enter in' but what is seen is not hidden away and the grains have a way of ignoring what's written smitten with time another sign reads 'ignore what you read it's only put out to feed your dreams' and everything seems as it should in the timelessness that isn't, isn't it all so very good?
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52
Fisherman's intro, from "The Floral War." FISHERMAN             Well well, what have we here? Some field of view:                                   The turquoise circle of the dazzling sea             Blazes her setting of bright-banded sands,             Where on this first, chill morning of the year,             Our sun arises to peruse his course,             And I, to tease my living from the deeps.             Come, gilded fishes, hither to my net,             You shimmering schools of perch, soft octopi,             White-shingled shad, and jade-scaled terrapins,             Plump, krill-fed dwellers of the pickling brine,             Come now to me. To pray you have no fear             Would shuffle with the truth, as I intend             To angle for your lives, yet spoil me,             For I who come to act unneighbourly             Am poor, and strapped, and only bother you             Compelled by leaky-seamed necessity.             I have my wife’s own hatchery at home,             And you, my friends, must make their maintenance.             So, rush my meshes and forgive my faults.             Whoa there! What vision’s this? Green goddess, say,             What monstrous marvels wander on your face?             This cannot be! I am awake, and sane,             Yet seem to see a wading range of hills,             A chain of dizzy-peaked and scraggy steeps             Whose groundworks bob like buoys in the surf.             Yet now this restless reef flows closer still,             Resolving as spray-freighted citadels,             Wave-buttressed towers romping on the breakers,             Their canvas banners snapping at the breeze,             Whose men wing down from ropes to pace the decks,             And screen their eyes as if to locate me.             I’ll hustle to my chieftains with this news,             And let their cry of ominous novelty             Alert each ear from here to Mexico.             My life thus far was bright and fancy-free.             Oh, why must change then come to quiet me?                        Exit.
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Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
The Floral War 1.1
Fisherman's intro, from "The Floral War." FISHERMAN             Well well, what have we here? Some field of view:                                   The turquoise circle of the dazzling sea             Blazes her setting of bright-banded sands,             Where on this first, chill morning of the year,             Our sun arises to peruse his course,             And I, to tease my living from the deeps.             Come, gilded fishes, hither to my net,             You shimmering schools of perch, soft octopi,             White-shingled shad, and jade-scaled terrapins,             Plump, krill-fed dwellers of the pickling brine,             Come now to me. To pray you have no fear             Would shuffle with the truth, as I intend             To angle for your lives, yet spoil me,             For I who come to act unneighbourly             Am poor, and strapped, and only bother you             Compelled by leaky-seamed necessity.             I have my wife’s own hatchery at home,             And you, my friends, must make their maintenance.             So, rush my meshes and forgive my faults.             Whoa there! What vision’s this? Green goddess, say,             What monstrous marvels wander on your face?             This cannot be! I am awake, and sane,             Yet seem to see a wading range of hills,             A chain of dizzy-peaked and scraggy steeps             Whose groundworks bob like buoys in the surf.             Yet now this restless reef flows closer still,             Resolving as spray-freighted citadels,             Wave-buttressed towers romping on the breakers,             Their canvas banners snapping at the breeze,             Whose men wing down from ropes to pace the decks,             And screen their eyes as if to locate me.             I’ll hustle to my chieftains with this news,             And let their cry of ominous novelty             Alert each ear from here to Mexico.             My life thus far was bright and fancy-free.             Oh, why must change then come to quiet me?                        Exit.
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Lawrence Hall [email protected] Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com Logosophiamag.com Hellopoetry.com Fellowshipandfairydust.com A Field Guide to Fields Watermelons, sunflowers, field corn, sweet corn Sweet potatoes, green peas, butterbeans, squash Cabbages, purplehulls, lettuces in rows And across the fence, red clover in glorious clouds But the most glorious field is in midsummer hay Green-dancing beneath the benevolent sun Crosstracked by beagles, terrapins, foxes, and rabbits And little boys off to the fishing hole Those little paths across farm fields, you know Lead to happy memories of the long-ago
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Jan 20, 2023
Jan 20, 2023 at 10:33 PM UTC
A Field Guide to Fields
How long do we get? How many can we fit inside? I reply like it's the first time Gotta take pride Have my ******* jokes It makes them laugh "Mind you're rowlocks" when you step inside lad's. Watch out for the crocodiles, they escaped from the zoo. Just over the side If you need the loo. Lookout for the terrapins I can tell you think it's a joke But it's true Don't believe me? I'll show a picture to you Where did they come from? During the winter, where do they go? Never answer "I don't know" I've held many positions From the bottom to the top Some good Some bad They kept me a float But never been happier Helping people, inside a boat
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Jul 26, 2024
Jul 26, 2024 at 5:31 PM UTC
Boats for hire