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red door and lemon tree; breathe for me
my heart of gold is quite a
currency; can’t you see?
he was no dragon
flames sweep my icy mane but his hand felt the whip grow
oh-so-hot; I know that smell
keratin-laden lemons part the sand,
give you life till they’re
hollow, then we’ll go;
he was no dragon but a waking fiend,
growing ill; I’m
seventeen and searing still;
by day, I’m their lilac-eyed abolitionist, their metallic metonym,
their mother, and we all ache for redolent citrus;
red door and lemon tree; set us free
by night, all doors are black and my
tears crater the sand;
one day you'll
carry me home
dany's a mess sometimes but I love her so far.

I do not intend to add anything to the GoT universe. This piece was merely an analysis of Dany's story arc in the form of poetry.
All places and characters described belong to George R.R. Martin
talkshows and the yellow press
get excited in excess
over his shenanigans
that delight his faithful fans

rumors of these *** affairs
strong words for all macho players
     in the game of social thrones
texts with threatening undertones
     for minorities and women
     treating immigrants like demons

neither fans nor his opponents 
seem to notice the components
of the white house strategy

     throw them bones
     fodder for the yellow press

and while  they fight
clandestinely out of sight
works the Trumpian policy
 
money laundering   blatant lies
scolding allies   breaking ties
adoring foes   praising those
     usurpers of democracies
     experts in atrocities
slowly yet persistently
     undermine  civility  
     with foul language 

court the aristocracies 
         of oil sheikdoms in the East
praising communist dictators
who have helped him build his towers

step by step he‘s leading US
from the groups of international powers
to an isolation desert
at the margins of the world
slogans we have rarely heard
over decades  
      now re-nourished
twittered with presidential flourish
make America small again

warning voices call in vain

no wonder the statue of liberty
is hiding her face in misery (*)
(*) This at the moment still is 'fake news' - but I would not be surprised if she did...!
sara May 2014
the words we softly whispered
in a language of our own
as we silently ruled our kingdom
from our pillow thrones

i'm cradled in your arms
and the room is dimly lit
as my soldiers lay down their arms
and i begin to let you in

novels of dreams and childhood years
tales of sleepless nights
reports of all my irrational fears
which i confessed by dim candlelight

thoughts that my mind had never before heard
tumbled from my mouth- i was choking
on the brutality of all my honest words
and the ideas which you were provoking

like birds in a cage,
my feelings trapped for too long
and the dust on this page
had been there all along

the first time i was hurt
i swore it was my last
but i begin to revert
with my red wine filled glass

as we slowly drift off into our peaceful slumber
both enveloped by the night
i did, in fact, begin to wonder
if i should confess love by dim candlelight
inspired by and loosely based on lamplight by bombay bicycle club
A Sep 2018
Run, run as fast as you can
Love will break you
as I understand

She set you on fire
Turned your world upside down
Now I lay on your throne
but she still wears your crown
November 29, 2016
By the hand of blood,
Life is taken,
For the sake of humanity,
A bond is broken.
Jon Snow took Kahleesi's life. Epic.
Chris Saitta Aug 2
When I was too young to stand against the world,
I ambled its sempiternal floors and overheard clear minds
Blustery through the stark decor of man’s marbled winter.
I was too young to huddle in banners for warmth,
to follow festive the dizzy denizens to their
lightheaded classicisms, their sandal-freedoms upon desolation.
I was left word by regency, word alone.
I was a child at the base of dark thrones.
And too often sneaking looks to steal a seat,
Sneaking seats though no one was to come.

I am a child in a place of dark thrones,
Too restless to settle when no one will come.
Lying just to lie across the worldly floors,
As my clear mind blows the torches to sputter,
And the hallways, one by one,
Are wordless and long-heard.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine
September  2013
At it's very teary end,
The game takes a grip,
Of those jostling for thrones,
The dead have their final say.
In the crypts of Winterfel,
Lay the bones of men that fell,
A rich harvest for Whitewalkers,
Day of doom for living talkers.
Naptural Mermaid Feb 2017
How beautiful you are to me
With your varieties of colors and such
I look at you with great awe
Your beauty is my inspiration

No thrones and hooks
Just smooth skin and good looks
Not to big and not too skinny
Some how you managed
To be a perfect balance

You stand tall with pride
You stand in unity with your family
With your chest facing toward the sun
Ahh your beauty is something  
i want to become

As time grows old
My admiration for you dies
You lose your beauty
Your face turn into nothing but old bones
Black as the night
As if you hold dark secrets
Like you've been through a rough life
A story untold
We’ve been slowly sinking
Into our own thrones –
Permitting an unwitting
“Thinking” alone.

At evil, we’re winking
Without any Eyes –
Unshrinking, no blinking,  
We see not the guise.

.
zebra Jul 2018
i see her empty heart
stand against the sky
and hear angels weeping
like sounds of beasts in terror
long-limbed beasts upon thrones of fear
in dormitories of white brides and crucifixes
daughters of cimmerian  gloom
whose eyes are fallen night
vailed portraits of desire
like endless winter sky

and her naked breast sweetens
his mouth
in a shivering mist
as he falls upon her
like starving flames
love and pain
Penmann Jun 16
Don't name the baby Arya.
It's such a lie to do that now.
Name her after pornstars.
Name your daughter Stoya.
That's named after a real influencer
Named after a somebody
Glittered name of shiny bodies
Named after the highest view count online and off.
A muse name, someone everybody wants.

Let us not let **** names die.
It's ok to breed a Rocco
A name that wears a jive
Keeps art of namegiving alive

Just dont name them after politicians
Prostitutes and Liars
Dont name your kid after journalists
Drug dealers or musicians.

Let's stop those names popping up
George, Michael, Paul.
Quit the whole Beatles charade
Never were someone to look up to afterall.

Stop this rain of assh**e names
Like Boris, Donald, David, Ian.
Give the kids a wider range.
jcl Oct 2018
Our first date at Rise
Holding your hand at the Firehouse Theater
Eating bagels you brought back from Montreal
Having lunch at Salata
Going to the Arboretum
The way you peeked out children’s house
Cuddling on the couch
Watching Game of Thrones
When you fell asleep in my arms
Drinking Amaretto Sours
When you would be silly
The sound of your voice
The maraschino cherry stem  you tied with your tongue
The Forget Me Not Flower Kit you gave me
Exchanging texts
The sound of incoming WhatsApp messages
Diner at Howard Wangs
You wearing bunny ears during Easter
36-28-41
When you posed for me
Your blues eyes looking up at me
Seeing your smile
Touching your lips
The way you smell
The secrets you would tell
Showing how you care
Hugging me tight
Letting me take care of you
When you cook Arepas
The gluten free Clafouti
The time you had the flu
Wearing Calvin Klein underwater
Your dainty feet  
Your goddess like figure
Your cute accent
Typing in the door bell code
Hearing you answer
The emoji of puppy heart kitten

Knowing you are my Bijou
Calling you Minou
jul Jun 2018
4b
i continue writing your scripture along my fragile skin hoping that you’ll understand the words that I devote to you.
in the hopes of forgetting you, i’ve desperately tried to erase the idioms that i’ve created with the images and ideas that are engraved into my mind,
but i’m stuck staring at the shavings that you’ve left behind.
my hands tire from the constant motion of trying to erase even the smallest mark left on the stained paper.
its stained with memories of you.
of us.
my fingers tremble and lead drips down my face onto the castles i've made out of paragraphs.
my breath rushes from the bottom of my lungs and overflows the tiny broken down, brick walls.
i've built thrones which sit unused.

i know that you look upon me with disgust while my hands are covered in dust and graphite but i cannot help write poems about us.
i've used this pencil down to the very tip foolishly believing that my words affect you.
i know that this poem is a mess but it is what i became.
because of you.

because while you obliviously sit
i knowingly, absurdly, continue writing with a pencil in my hand and shavings dispersed across my lap,
creating fantasies.
Chloë Fuller Feb 2016
Day 1. I was in complete denial, but I thought about dying.
Day 2. I cleaned my room and it didn't make me feel any better.
Day 3. I cried so ******* the phone with my dad. And it was his birthday.
Day 4. I knew you replaced me.
Day 5. I started thinking about other people.
Day 6. I went out by myself for the first time in my entire life.
Day 7. You asked me out, and I was terrified you were going to leave me again.
Day 8. I heard a song that made me think of you.
Day 9. I saw you at our bar, and it ruined my night.
Day 10. I went home and snuggled with my mom, and she told me that I'm not allowed to say your name anymore.
Day 11. I stayed up for over 24 hours because I didn't want to see you in my dreams.
Day 12. I spent the night with a man who makes me feel like a queen.
Day 13. I watched a black and white movie and the main character looked like you and I didn't cry.
Day 14. I didn't check your facebook.
Day 15. A man gave me $300 just to spend the night with him after we drank scotch.
Day 16. My anger has turned to nothing. I feel nothing about you.
Day 17. I saw you on the street and slowed my stride so I wouldn't cross paths with you.
Day 18. I'm okay. And you're horrible. But I wish you the best.
Day 19. I hate you. What is Valentine's Day without you?
Day 20. I miss you. But I never want to be with you again.
Day 21. Who will I watch Game of Thrones with?
Day 22. The man I've been seeing is so much better at *** than you.
Day 23. I'm so bitter that you replaced me.
Day 24. I can't listen to Alt-J anymore because it makes me cry over you.
Day 25. I wish you would've just stayed and came to Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Day 26. You're welcome for buying you "Life is Strange".
Day 27. It makes me so sad that I won't be able to quote South Park with you anymore.
Day 28. I love you, but I hate you.
Day 29. I fed you popcorn when we saw Star Wars and it felt like we were back together.
Day 30. You've made me feel grief more than any family member has passed.
Katie Jul 16
Expectations subverted

Narrative deserted

8 years of waiting

Wasn't worth it
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
I'll be alright
And so will you

Because this time
It was real.

There was no idolising.
You were not the reason
Black made peace with white,
Your music taste was terrible
And you were the worst drunk
That ever lived.

But you were you.
That was enough.

I was skeptical at first
And my dusty head held no delusions

But whether it was that feeling
Of your cool feet against my back at night
The time you held your knees to your chest
Pretending to force conception
Without telling me you were on the pill
Or that you were just the best ****
In all of the seven kingdoms
My opened mind had no confusion.

I said I loved you
Because it was impossible to call it anything else.
I'd have called you my sun and stars
If only the sun and stars were hot enough.

But it didn't last
Like the movies said it would.
You had your dreams
And I had mine
At least until
Some other time.

And maybe one day
One more time.
You can make me laugh until my throat catches fire

One more time
We can argue like a pair of dictionaries vomiting on each other
As we eat each other's brains for dinner

One more time
We can watch Game of Thrones
And chant the theme tune together like we did
For every episode.
Oh, yes.
Every.
Episode.

Maybe
You can hold my hand
On the day I die.

But if not,
That's okay.
I'll be alright
And so will you.
Compound theories appear in the sky
We are awakened to the sound of lullabies
Alibis drift into our skylines
We are mindful of a decline
Lions roar underneath the covers
We are uncovered in our clutter
Punctual demigods sit on their thrones
While other people suffer
We just wander all alone
Phone calls on Sundays
You return them all collect
Yet the edges of discovery
Are sometimes harder to suspect
Akira Chinen May 2016
Have you stopped to listen to the sound of poetry before the hands of women or man
The silent words spoken before our bodies crawled from the muck and the ooze
The songs that fluttered in the wind long before our hands held quill or pen
Poetry has always been and will always be
Before the first star twinkled in the void
Before the sky knew the color blue
Before the ocean had its depth
There in the silence before the hands of time had ticked
Poetry lived and danced and breathed and sang
Before the leaves knew the breeze
Before the pollen and the stem
Before the stinger and the wing
There in the solitude before life and death
Poetry wept and smiled and loved
Before heaven had wars with hell
Before demons had horns and tails
Before angels had cloud and flight
There in the absence of earth and women and man
Poetry beat in the heart of love
And should mankind become eternaly extinct
Murdered by by his own hate and war and greed
Talking god and heaven in his ****** hands with him unto death
And should hell and devils crumble into grief and fade
Poetry will still live and dance and sing and weep and smile  and love
Will birth stars to fill the sky and sing the void sweet lullabies
Will dream stories to tell the sky its blue or grey with storms
Will fill the ocean with tales of lovers drowning in its depths
Poetry will wind the wheels and springs behind the face of time
Will forever kiss the leaf with the breeze
Bring the pollen to the stem
Attach the stinger to the wing
Marry life to death
Give demons flight
And angels horns
Rebuild heavens
Give gods new names
Place new crowns and thrones in hell
Poetry has always been and will always be
And would only flourish
By the death of man
And forever live and beat in the
Heart of love
SassyJ Sep 2018
The myriads of symbolic rhythms
sway along the narrow highway
as the speed of each engine races
whilst my heart traces in lost decades
worn out and torn in unjust voids
Yet the summer trails brought an adventure
crucified to a verge of eventual twists
pasted inside pain as never before
upon the thrones of the sacrifice
at the cross of want that never returns
where veins are palpitated and bled
and the volcano boils without a limit
at the heart of where a stormy story formed
by the alleyway where lavenders diffused
and the bees fed from pollen to pollen
upon the mouth of the energy giving nectar
where the summer fruits craved for that ray of light
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