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The Red Rain of Kerala wrote this Plague
Un-supported by Evidence and Song
As it wept and bled that once-thirsty Plain
Locals knew their throats will not dry too long
But how could they drink this very strange Guilt
When their Sheets un-furled like the Flags of War
And not until the Google-Heads came in
They realised it was foreign before
Samples were taken in pursuit of Cause
Then page by page those Suspects came to light
Was it Bacteria? Or Lichens-at-Lost
Either way there was some Blood to incite.
When those Findings end, much was to conclude
Which Creation's Purchase falls upon you.
Eleanor Rigby May 2018
You are Tequila shots
In perfect desperado
Your days heavy and long

Your nights, sudden aislado.

I am wine glasses
In bittersweet nocturno
My days short

My nights, eternal inferno.

We always swallowed those notes
Like fire down our throats.

-- Eleanor
emily mikkelsen Apr 2017
between the concrete river
& the park where the bums share a bottle
wrapped in a brown paper sack,

there is a cul-de-sac of plastic houses
holding hands & sharing manicured lawns
wooden cars that don't even make any smoke
drive down gray asphalt streets.

fathers that tell mothers they have jobs
wear down street corners sharing beers with the bums,
like they already are one.

all these paper families rubbing shoulders
until everyone has paper cuts.
going home to dinner around a table full of paper love.

suburbia is flimsy
paper towns shining white
smiling neighbors & shared lawns
paper people slowly falling apart.

couples with their tongues down each other's throats,
midnight in supermarket parking lots
dribbling beer in the backseat
they bought off the bums.  

they say,
I love you, I love you, I love you.
until she leaves for a paper husband
& he leaves for a paper wife.

now they live on two separate cul-de-sacs
with the same cutout love,
as the parents they despised.

& when they have kids one day
they will tell them
never kiss before driving,
never befriend bums,
or guzzle cheap beer in backseats,
or on park swings.
& never settle for a paper husband
or a paper wife.

remembering the love
that was flimsy,
but never paper.

100,000 miles away from where they grew up
& 3,000 miles away from each other
3 kids each & plastic houses
rubbing shoulders & sharing lawns

living in a paper thin suberbia
chafing under their paper love.
inspired by "Paper Towns" by John Green
Sophia Apr 2018
the snow swirled around
like the carousel of her dreams
covered in frost
dusty frost
and all she needed was a hammer
to crack open the frightening lock
but she giggled
and her friend giggled
and the snow swirled ‘round
and they found themselves buried
but they could see more

for what surrounded them was
clear as beaming sunlight
sunlight that shone light on their cheeks
and snow that filled their throats
with pain
under a lactating sunset

and the snow and the snow and the snow
which grew
which perspired
which hardened
which schemed
which never
so that deer tongues--
those sweet animals--
were the only products of fruitless searches
that locked the friends
under the brilliance of a muzzled rainbow
Why is it so hard to breathe
with feet planted on dry land?
What chains itself tight in
our throats?
Can you flee until your limbs
Can you run from the raindrops
before they fall?
Maybe one day the sun will shine
on a candid smile
Maybe on day we won't feel as if we
are tossed about in dark waters
And maybe, one day, we will feel at home
on dry land.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
This earth is such a foreign yet familiar place.
Ash to mouth

divide north and south
east and west,

shout  with class of Scout
let it out with griffin clout

we here we out , hear me out
— rhymes in time without

silent shrines to mime
cleared the crowd

covered eyes and mouth
over body desert shroud

if vengeance is your business
then from swords to plow

en lakesh

an eye for an eye binds
the all to be blind
but you can’t unsee the signs

no thoughts unclouded by loss
out the window I toss
mosaic fragments that cost
health and awesome sauce

Nazareth gutted commandments
by anarchy spelled
disaster after culture
massive ego it swell

up the road ahead a pit depress the juncture
so we spit the dirt divide just to touch the other
from pup to wolf so many bites, a pitted puncture
so much disfunct the fight till all be winded lungs sir

you can run
but  from
gamma ray
you no hide
passed a black hole
wand inside
a body died
but it’s alright
(it’s heaven sight
till Zombie night )

animate dead necromantic black ring
the rhythm of life and death a chronic swing

the pendulum blade cross over cosmic skin
consciousness draw out from within

traced the win which wound round tat to skeleton
a dusty tome bound and crafted man

medicine subtracted by the head that spin
in the sky and its happening, blessen-ings
the miracle is mystery u cant guess it

talking 3 eye see
talking vip
climb high as canopy
walking so
my shadow lands under me.

ten toes touch to the dusty roads
when toads appear throats close

mighta had the Midas touch
still the golden one
was too much to flush

you might live in Laos
you my livid crowd
you might live it now
neva hit my limit how
cause you live in now

when you wake up proud
timid mind plowed
divid-dine fill the cloud
insta crowd wowed
this I vowed
life isn’t life until it’s loved
that is the answer
but so few live it.
Life calls to us to take it and ride as if its our mount,
but there are no more equestrians.

Break the stallion
croob Apr 2018
good people travel together
in tamed wolf packs, tearing throats
for each other's sakes
because a good person will,
when left to his own devices,
carry bad ones on his back until it breaks.
KiraLili Aug 2016
It's rare to find someone you can listen too
Small talk and debate is not for me , I need not defend a point of view or conviction
Neither is answering questions
Talks should flow like a river on summers day
Where all becomes apparent slowly through dialogue
Long days are perfect for this
No one has to argue to be right ,  just listen to the voices of  a mind relaxed
One head in the lap of another  , all cares gone , natural discussion in nature
Opinions are replaced by thoughts
Finally free from the confines of the dailies
Pondering's replace logistical cares
Nothing is heated , no ones words tramples the others
Like the heat waves off the rocks of summer
Words rise shimmering as they do
Warming thoughts rise from chilled wine throats
Sometimes it's poolside at a dinner party
Or sitting over a kitchen island as one cooks
In front of a cabin fire or fire pit
It's easier in the long days of summer
Places heated by the sun
Make it easier to unstop your throat
Loafe with me on the grass—loose the stop from your throat;
Not words, not music or rhyme I want—not custom or lecture, not even the best;
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

Walt Whitman
Skyla May 26
There are girls made of glass
With bones that can shatter
Be careful when you touch
For the shards may just scatter

Their eyes are glassy and broken
Their mouths are sewn shut but their wounds are open
Their skin is a suit that they hate to wear
They claw and they bite and they viciously tear

They silently scream and pull at their hair
Icicles pierce through their throats
But they don’t seem to care
The more they starve the more fragile they become
They live in the darkness of winter, and never see the sun
The light is forgotten and they ache and they and shiver
Their sore spines quake, and their lips violently quiver

They live in puddles of misery, they beg you to touch
The fingers of the sun just burn too much
The fingers of helping hands can never reach quite enough

There are girls made of glass
With bones and hearts that can break
Be careful when you get too close
For death comes closer every breath they take.
You may notice I shadowed your Events
Out of Deep Gesture to your Customed Doors
Yet, stand-out Naked, begs for my Conscience
How such Blokish Skill would be so adored
It still Stings, really, for your Sun exploit
After few of the Truest Rays give space
Though mouths copped, hymns their minted throats avoid
From submitting premature drafts at-face
It is, though constrict, the Best Pill swallowed
As every Medication would redden
But, after process, heal my Will's allowed
And free myself from this Cage submitten.
But why, though Free, these Keys in my Pocket still
Scratch my Heart-Drawn Car; Welts I duly fill.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Sara Kellie Sep 2018
I can't believe I bought them.
Is this the top scoop?
I've entered a raffle for
pea & ham soup.
I can't even eat it,
I'm vegetarian you see.
Won't you just change it to
tomato for me?

I don't mind the peas,
It's the ham that's no good.
They slaughter those piggies
screaming, covered in blood.
Eyes bulging, their throats cut.
It's really not nice.
There's so much more to choose from,
not just cakes made of rice.

Have you seen how they nugget,
crispy goujons and breast?
They've found faeces and gristle
in a food safety test.
So don't think that these people
have your interests at best.
Look it up, do your research
and I'll give it a rest!

Poetry by Kaydee.
Stop eating animals!
Laine Viv Oct 2014
There are silent screams running through my veins
with heavy sighs trying to break my bones;

We let out cold whispers and icy breaths
as we tried to look for reasons

to keep our words,
to save us from slicing our own throats

but memories of shrieking and shattering glass
still linger inside me; and I realized things can’t be unseen

I don’t know which is worse—
I tried to abolish the thoughts

but your bloodstained hands still haunt me.
zebra Mar 9
vampiric ***** house
a fearful symmetry
of cleavers for something to love

***** addicted
pearly satin's copulate
a continent of curves
ovoid rectums and raw mouths
in a ritual of sadistic etiquette
drenching phallus tongued spit
like gales of flames
at a masochists invitation
for foot blooded kisses
and heated lopped breast

eager haunches thunder
in a malignant lust
******* utopias **** cyclops
spreading winkling's dribbling
night operas
in a red cathedral of flicker hives
squealing euphoria's hemic arcade
with greased ******* that break backs

fluting throats ***** chromatic fizz
and shrilling wombs flutter like bat wings pandemonium
in the museum of the moon
Inspired by Minna Loy
Emily Aug 15
Everyone says "your family is perfect"
Everyone thinks we get along.
Everyone hears us speaking words of care
Everyone sees us hugging.
But listen to my words, look a little closer.
Behind that closed door, you'll find out.

Behind that door.
Screams and tears and fits.

Behind that door.
Bangs and yells and thumps.

Behind that door.
Sighs and yells and slams.

Behind that door.
Hums and tears slide down.

Behind my door.
Sleepless nights and blades.
Behind my door.
Cuts and tears and blood.
Behind my door.
I break and fade away.

Behind the front door.
Fights when cracks make breaks.
People fading away.
People losing faith.

Behind our doors.
Overdose on Tylenol
Overdose on tears.
Losing voices. Red eyes.

"Your family is perfect"
"You guys have it all"
"You are such a great family"

We tear at each other's throats.
We scream till our voices break.
I cry cause can't feel pain anymore.
We tell till our lungs give way.
We fight until our legs give out.

That's behind our doors.

My family is kinda loud... And a pain... And we fight a lot.
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