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Bee Sep 2017
this
sweet-eyed
breathtaking
catastrophe
of mine

hoarding
clutter to the
ceiling fan,
filling void
somewhat
while
trying to
understand

how involuntarily
she crumples
like paper
littered
on the sidewalk
of my brain,
riddled with
scribbles
and nonsense
words,
her ink
blotted
voice like
feathers
under pressure
being
pressed against
whatever

white knuckles
her neck
and
hot talk
from
cold chests.
ingenious
security

boarded up doors
and
one-way glass
windows
to
watch
from inside.

for a moment
she calls
out to me from the
woodwork.
she almost
reaches
for the lock,

she almost becomes more than just paper
for you.
From whence we tip to toast the Cocktail new
Too pricey for a Sip, if you ask me
Still, those Pubbers demand your Freshest Brew
Either for Show or Truest Cheers that be
Now who composed the Price which I complain
May rob my Wages on half-month's budget?
You have Defense, though: Is that my Domain
To liver that Sign out of my Pocket?
I suppose either way Purchased or not
Those Senses concerned will take no Notice
With Baskets fare, Bread and Butter forgot
Mix the Lager still Best Friends acquiesce.
The Currant still topped, which to Celebrate
Ignore the Side-Bugs; Light the Good Debate.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
We watched the world end.

Lying there on the floor of the highest-level with her,
Basking in the surrealism of that night.
The open-topped roof of a multistory car-park awash
with wayward radiance from orange streetlights;
Their fading glare trapped by the city's cloud-cover,
The soft glow dimly illuminated our bodies.
Precipitation gracefully descending
in a fine drizzle, seemingly endless;
The falling mist causing an apparent bloom
as sodium-vapor lamplight spread through and through.
This strange photon blossom,
Intangible and awesome.

My mind intoned one silent word:
Renew.

We saw urban torches expel their artificial light
and give way to the skyglow of streetlamps in bloom.
We lay back and watched the city breathe
as the floating masses of water swooned.
And I felt the sky collapse around us
as surreality became our coupled theme.
Romantic ******'s American dream.
Breaching surreality.
laura Oct 2018
Lazy sundays with the sad glow
there’s nothing to be sad about
except that it is all over
of course, my one day off vanished

outside blowing meager paychecks
emerald hillsides topped with leaves
abutting, climbing the city
plunged into histories soon gone

like the cold, gold sun gleaming off
the ribbon of the tarmacked road
we returned to from our escape
peering back through the car’s windshields
okay that last one was too pretentious and came off way wrong, so i deleted it. it’s dead now
Angelina Dec 2016
It's true, I must admit
He caught my eye, doubt I caught his
Drenched lips and maneuvering gestures
Lost in lust perhaps, wandering in bliss
Shimmering stars above reflecting
The sparkle in his eyes as he nodded
Lucid dreaming every day
Will he realize or will he not

Now I stand alluringly
Beside him, gazing
Fingers tangled
Hearts mingled, souls stringed
Sinews intrigued
My thoughts had topped all odds, I suppose
Nonetheless, it's true, I must admit, he caught my eye
And indeed I caught his
KiraLili Aug 2016
Winery patio on an August afternoon
The air is motionless and heat thick
The grapes on the vine over the rail bulge
You can smell the musk of pungent soil
The floral bouquet of chilled white hangs on my pallete
Sipping last years Chardonay as she walks in
Her raven hair shines against her tan
Looking through my wine glass I see her
The only sound over the murmur is her black heels
As the glass fills wine legs cling longingly to the side
Her dark skin criss crossed by tan line straps glistens in the sun
My glass at the same moment as she approaches is topped up
She is poured through my glass into a little blue dress
Afternoon at a Winery
Justin Dec 2014
And the ironic part is that i knew from the start,
that the whole thing was futile, yet i still played my part.

you wiggle and hissed, and lets be quite blunt,
when the hand set you down, you set out to hunt.

well you two faced *****, i'll tell you it straight,
your stuffed fulled of malice, and topped off with hate.

as for that dumb hand, i now see it as true,
that the hand that once fed me, is a ******* snake too.
Kara Jean Jul 2016
Her long symbolic hair caressing her body
Her torn jeans representing her dignity
Sentimental to the teen rotted inside a lifetime ago
Tears making her smile
Her pink apple suit case was confiding
Hiding in a storm, where rocks were thrown
Bruises and scars across her knees
Killing the young girl
No longer innocent eyed
She's a a straggler
Structure tried
She runs away searching
Fresh start is an opportunity topped off with profanity
Odds pushing her down
A constant, as the sun raises its eyebrows
Her cards she never questioned there quality
As he touched her fingers
She has one chance
Contemplative perseverance
Old write fixed up a bit
Lucius Furius Aug 2017
Garden Parkway YMCA
Dallas, Texas
22 November 1963

Darling Sophie,

Could it be only two months since I let your fingers slip from my hand as that train departed Voronezh station? I fear that this trip was a great mistake. . . .

The boat sailed from Sevastopol as scheduled. Just two days and we were through the Bosporus/Dardanelles and into the incredibly blue Aegean and the Mediterranean. On September 27 we passed Gibraltar and started the long haul across the Atlantic. The work was not demanding though the ship was quite ***** and not really very pleasant.

We docked at Houston in the state of Texas on October 9. Defecting was surprisingly easy. There was supposed to be work in Dallas so I walked/hitch-hiked here last month. But I have not been able to find any work.

The people here, though friendly, are coarse and brash. The stores overflow with televisions, record players, mink coats, but there are many very poor people here too...

The great American leader, Kennedy, was shot and killed today, driving in his open-topped car along the streets of this very city.

My money is gone; my strength, exhausted. How blithely I left you and Russia behind! I feel my lips brushing the tiny hairs on the back of your neck, your ******* swelling. . . . Sophie! May you know great happiness and love! I only ask that in the spring when you visit Krymskaya Pond, that you remember how we knelt there, how I whispered in your ear there, when the air is filled with the scent of its cherry trees that you remember what we felt there. . . .

  Yours, always,    Nickolay
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_055_sophie.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
My heart
has
sprawling roots
topped with
a rad crest
  on a
   thorny stem
But
     her
      palms
     are        
sheltered         
with
a
natural
           disliking
  for
wildflowers
Rich Hues Feb 8
Gobbing and thrashing
       To Jello Biafra,
Before your damascene conversion into
        Something from Kafka,
The feminist utopia -
        A left wing theocracy,
You should have read Forster's
   Two Cheers for Democracy,
With red dead Cortez
      In her little white coat,
Where only lunatics and women
     Bother to vote.
The boys get a mantra
    A three syllable jingle,
The reason he topped himself?
    The reason you're single?
The grass yellow topped wet Winter
Separates forming trodden pathway
Between overhanging bare branches
A child might squeeze cautious now
The damp hangs like crystal pearls
Through we peep.

Love Mary ***
Jen Dec 2018
Egg
You give me simple pleasure,
As I bite into your inner layer.
I love you in the morning
In between a bagel,
Sometimes with bacon.

In the afternoon,
By a salad’s side you sit,
With my favorite edibles-
Arugula, red peppers, fresh peas,
Black and green olives,
Topped with chicken, cheese,
Sesame vinaigrette, and,
A few croutons for crunch.

You are an Egg, but so much more.

The texture and depth of your yolk,
Sublime and sumptuous;
Your outside solid, yet undefined;
Balancing textures with what’s inside.

Egg,
You are truly
Divine.
TheRhymeRenegade Feb 2018
A heart so plagued and finally pacified
Some time has passed and I still can't look you in the eye
I search for hints of you in everyone I meet
but the conclusion that I'm left with is you can't be beat

Something about you can't seem to be topped
rationality screams desperately for me to stop
but for once the good seems to outweigh the bad
It's not typical for a girl like me to not be sad

and I find myself drowning in the undertow
I soothe my shakes and tremors thanks to Marlboro
I've been burned so much before that I come to expect it
my self-worth is crumpled where I left it

A hurt so hollow, rejection swallowed to my gut
Fading footprints I find and follow left right back and front
You may leave, but you always make your way back
In ways you don't even know that you have

Sleep disturbed, the darkest nightmares haunting me
I wake up gasping but you're still right here next to me
perhaps all of it is just irrational
but my track record is nothing short of laughable

So I refuse to let down my guard, stubbornly
read between the lines, and coax my heart, lovingly
I may not say it near as much as I should
but if I could open up all the way I would

A conversation had about intention
Will you be something lasting or a lesson?
I can't seem to find it in me to ask that question
for what its worth, I consider it a blessing
uncertainty in a new lover.
Evan Stephens Apr 13
A gray rain
is slinking down
the sunken crown
of alley lane.
Green-topped church,
I bid goodbye
to your broad thigh,
a mourning perch.
I'll miss the stone
that frames this view
of moon, a bitten scone
against night's broken brew -
you were a hardy bone
that braked my raving blues.
Cassia Aug 2018
Look up toward the sky
Through whistling winds
See past the raindrops
For then something begins!

Something is started
That cannot be stopped
It's exciting and chilling
And it cannot be topped

Don't you see it, my dear?
At the top, past the shroud
A castle resides
Hidden only by clouds

It's concealed by the darkness
That remains in our minds
Pluck it out, cast it far
Be never so blind

For bright is the sun
When you look past the rain
And light are the clouds
When you live happy days
What can rival the storm?  If you couldn't tell, this poem goes side by side with Shadows. Two poems, complete opposites.
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