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CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Vexren4000 Jul 2018
A trapdoor placed,
Underfoot in the brush,
A hunter waiting with baited breath,
For some prey to fall into snare,
For a simple campsite meal,
For one.

©BAS
Khoi-San Feb 13
Cloaked wings fuel feeds

Tongue loaded flint locked bullets

Eve stuck to her leaf
Stick to your instincts you probably right
ryn Nov 2014
In solitude...
There's constant talk of the moon
And incessant wishes upon stars
Each word is cast unto paper
Unsure if they'd stretch that far

In solitude...
I embody pelts of droplets from the sky
As thunder mark the seconds that would elapse
Stagnant puddles of liquid dreams
Ever flowing in endless traps

In solitude...*
I feel the urge to lose all balance
Aloneness beckons like a long lost friend
Always strange but familiar
To see and be at the bitter end
Jack Jenkins Nov 2018
I woke up heavy
a thousand blank pages on my mind
a million words buried in stunted overgrowth

I woke up heavy
with all the voices in my ear
driving daggers through my heart

My eyelids were steel traps
and between dream and reality
my nightmares were in the shadows

I woke up heavy
My lungs filled with smoke
My stomach was full of red fire

I woke up heavy
and for another day
I wish I hadn't
//On anxiety//
Nothing can go wrong and yet you wake up depressed one day.
Francie Lynch Sep 2018
I've used them on my windows
To see the clear outside,
If I read the Op-eds,
I shudder, shuttered and hide.

I've spread them 'neath my plates and cups,
My shelves all neat and tidy;
But the headlines made it clear to me
My glass is more half empty.

They had a place in the litter box
For **** to scratch and squat;
I laid them round my garden plants,
They made fine insect traps.
Rolled and twirled they'd start a fire,
I could fold them into hats.
They cleaned the grease from BBQs,
And they're safe to pick up glass.
Crumple them for packaging,
They work as school book covers;
Add water and some flour,
To shape papier mache lovers.
Fold seeds in them to germinate,
Then use them for compost;
There's many ways to employ
Your Times and local Post.

But I won't subscribe to Dailies
For the felling of our trees;
And yet I miss my papers,
And the ways they worked for me.
But when enthroned,
You'll hear me grouse,
There's no **** paper in this ****-house.

My cell works well to scroll and swipe,
But it's only good for a virtual wipe.
Mara W Kayh Jan 21
My life is a virtual battlefield
complete with hidden traps,
layered atop cowardly assaults

between highly guarded spans of peace,
Inside my house
chairs and walls
are coarsely blown to bits
by verbal bombs,
and stark fists of shrapnel.

Behind that simple smile,
semblance of solid love
so easily shaken,
lies a ripened mine field

I tread on tiptoes
yet it erupts under
calloused feet unprovoked,
blasting glory to grey
as sacred sanctuary
falls to scarred terrain.

Spears lodged inside ribs
I peel myself from the ground,
shake off soot,
wait for dust to settle
before I march forward, again.

yes I lose the battles
But I will win this war.
Reminded me of the song by Pat Benatar, "love is a battlefield"
But again, hate seeps in as well.
shamamama May 27
Pull the weeds, plant the seeds
this is what the garden said

choose what stays
choose what goes

be mindful when you do

the silver oaks darken the sun in the mind
trim the trunks, so light may you find

the bindweed traps the heart
clip the vine, free the art

the poison oak stings your delicate hand
let the goats eat these weeds right off the land

the pompous grass clouds the soul in your eyes
pluck these weeds before they set and rise

the deadweed piles darken your spirit
compost the weeds, lighten your merit

plant the seeds of love, hope and color
water with nourishment, fertilize with wonder
and you will warm the heart of another

and then,

begin again,

pull the weeds
plant the seeds
I feel like my garden has been talking to my soul and I want to share the conversation.
Atlas Jul 7
Society is a prison.
It traps you in
And steals your freedoms.
Makes you conform.
Until you are normal.

So why don't we escape?

Because we are afraid.
Afraid of being alone.
Loneliness rots the mind
It steels the heart.

We all decided
Being trapped together
Is better than to be free
Alone.
adi Apr 13
They say be scared of funerals
Because the wooden box traps beasts.
I say what is one funeral compared to the whole
Graveyard in my heart in which I so carefully lowered my memories,
Packed them like sardines, their skeletons grinding bones to dust,
Crunching sounds you can only hear
If you get close enough to smell the decay.
Danielle Suzanne Mar 2017
I exhale.
One exhalation added
To the collective sigh of the sad
A sort of meditation
A sign of letting go
A surrender to the feeling
To the moment

I contemplate.
Repeated contemplation
Of every unturned stone
The groove in the record deepens
And the needle traps itself
The invitation of
Darkness is irresistible
Hidden Sep 2018
me and my friend isolation
go on long romantic walks
through the deep chasms of my brain
and each repeated path we take
deepens that beaten matter beneath our feet

we stop at each mile marker
and she tells me all the reasons
i should doubt myself
and i believe her
and i stay

me and my honey isolation
send love letters through the mirrors
i lay my hand on the glass while she beams a smile
but she slithers her fingers
around my wrist and quickly pulls me through

she traps me in a place
that i find too much comfort in
she tells me i’m alone out there
and i believe her
and i stay

me and my lover isolation
hide behind a locked door
a somber light flutters inside of her eyes
it illuminates my hands
revealing their connection to the pencil

i draw a picture of my heart
that she rips to shreds
and tells me she loves me

and i believed her

and I stayed
MeanAileen Dec 2017
Oh how I hate
this time of year,
with the stupid songs
and holiday cheer...
Annoying bell ringers
outside the store,
and the tacky wreaths
hanging on the door.
Cardboard calendars
filled with waxy treats,
ice and snow making
death traps of streets.
Frazzled parents
spending more then they should
on ungrateful kids
who are far from good.
Fake smiles & wishes
in the "spirit" of it all,
the bloated prices-
the crowds at the mall.
The hour long line
to see Santa the phony
who falsely promises
an x-box or a pony.
Having to gather
with family who annoy,
gifting another cheap
Chinese-made toy.
Fire hazards
strung with tinsel and lights,
tensions leading
to fun Christmas fights!
Secret Santas-
holiday parties for work-
**** sweaters
making you look like a ****.
The stress of having
an enormous shopping list
and a tiny budget
just makes me ******!
No, nothing seems jolly
or merry or bright...
Oh how I can't wait
till post-Christmas night!
My ode to the holidays!!
And no, I'm not a TOTAL Grinch, I just play one in November and December!!
♋︎
Words you write here are intriguing
They stimulate me to know you
The imagination so powerful
A romantic encounter
A sad story
A struggle
It draws me in to your world
It traps me in to wanting more from you
I stand at the door
I wonder
Is the Dr. In
♋︎
curiosity of words might I find
Raindrop Jun 2017
When the day comes I get tired of dreaming about a stranger, maybe by then I can finally let go of my dearest and free myself from the love that consumed me.

Maybe by then, I can finally look at you without shedding any tears. And maybe I'll just laugh at the things I wrote about you; even this.

But right now, I can’t let you go―not today, not tomorrow or in the next few years―but someday, I will. And when that day comes and I remember you, maybe I’ll realize that I am far too young and naive now to know something about love, and that I only got swayed by the smaller traps of life. Just like how I found myself getting trapped by the love I have for you.

Someday, I will...
Marla May 14
Former trier turned friar
Storming rage behind fryers
World of potential in the inner mental
Work ethic impeccable
Work conditions unethical
Nine hours no lunch or break
Better pump the brakes and pull stake
Time to get a slice of thine own pie
Reach nirvana prime and let the soul fly
Soar above money traps and get the bag
Lest your future gets clicky clacked
And your happiness capped
Spinning poverty’s vicious cycle
Grinning sharks made me their disciple
Life is trifling when your blood leaves
Heat stifling as the done deed
Has you on your knees begging
Lord have mercy please
Escape away from hate
And let love into your heart
Then and only then will you start
To understand the holy ghost
That is you
And the apostles that are your friends
Ride or die to the end
This ain’t no game of let’s pretend
It’s real life
Your one shot to drip and ball
So don’t let it slip by
Or you’ll fall before you walk, y'all.
s Feb 18
cat scratches
in the green room
a back stage
more calm than the front.
I ask about the
maroon robe
and picnic-table-cloth choker,
home made.
making my way through
the Bombay Sapphire
highs and lows
Awkward hellos,
over salty popcorn
and Bonobo.

Mc Donald's veg burger
and soft serve updates
'I earn in dollars' she says
a fly in my fries plate.
Share my toothbrush
and my bed like old times
- let us pretend
that nothing has changed.

Groggy Sunday morning
of Chilas
and Break-uppers, half way.
Mustard bed-sheet - full size -
and a nehru jacket for bae.
Peanuts in all flavours for lunch
- a craving for guava -
and always room for
frozen tender coconut.

Payment apps
and gym subscriptions
compared on the way
- a stitch fix for clothes -
monthly and bespoke.
A game of bulls
and cows,
and a reason to drink
before curfews.
quick goodbyes
with hugs to go
and a waiting black scorpio.

Hot engines,
stretchy hair caps,
dodge the lasers,
catch the light traps.
a gun called Marco
and the stench of childhoods
that are hard to let go.
pink bowling *****
and green nylon socks.
arcades smell like
sweat, ****** ale
and fries gone stale.
A catch up cigarette,
recording racing tins
before  midnight votes,
on who is to move in.
Anecandu Sep 2014
I'm a prisoner of love, in this unguarded cell,
The warden whistles my name you'd think it hell,
but she knows my case all too well,

Her piercing eyes as resolute as the Bastille,
Dodging Cupids arrows at will,
Across this broom is forever, I'm gone for a life long spell,

With Joy as my bars and happiness the rubber shower mats,
Blissful ecstasy is its escape deterrent traps,
I pass the time a whittling hearts and sharpening this rap.

See those chalk lines on the wall of my heart?
They record the memories of my days since the start,
Her smiles are more prized than jailhouse art.

At inspection and roll call in the morning,
The smirk under the cap then a whispering,
Keep careful watch on our "Prisoner Prince Charming",
Shades On Oct 2013
Stepping on a rusty nail
Showing the baby sitter the back yard
Went straight through my Ninja Turtle Flip-Flops
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
Walking out back to the tree with the vines
Dogs barkin' and mesquitos bite
Don't tell mom if I fall
I looked up at the sky last night
I Think I saw a woman
Walking down the street to the church
Meeting up with Zach for a smoke
Got it stashed in a lock box behind
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a women
Life is funny ,well peculiar I guess
You think I got it all figured out
Then why am I such a ******* wreck
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
An abandoned mine shaft
On the top of  a blown up mountain
Throwing myself into traps
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
jonni inferno Mar 2017
waited
for your calle todaye
when it did not come
i kurst'
this cold and
krewel daye

oft played
are the games
of love and lyfe
skillfullye laide
are the snares
and traps
we playe the hunter
we are the baite
be it known to alle
we are the prey

and i
knowinge the price
of painfulle lessons learned
forsooke that knowledge
which thru livinge
alle mustte earne
and thought
to safely
lure you in
withe
mine open hearte

yes
i kurse
this bryghte and sunnye daye
shoulde not the skye
be fulle of kloudse an' fey ?

'twoulde match my moode...

.
.
Pic Poem
http://oi65.tinypic.com/dq2i48.jpg
.
.
added link to the pic/poem
Traveler Dec 2018
Collaboration
Cen' and Traveler Tim

Traveler:
This is not about ***
There will be no
******* *****
Any flesh
That you read
Shall not be nibbled
On by me
Any mentions
Of flower traps
Petals filled with
Sweet cream sap
Curves or crevasses
Such lustful lines
I refuse to burn
By your design
You **** thing
Such beauty I seek
But I won't
Be made
Into a freak!!

Cné:
A poem of ***
But not in this text
I just used those words to see
~
If you would come
Looking for fun
And read this poem by me
~
You will not find
Words of that kind
No moaning passionate steam
~
Two of the night
Not in this write
All of these verses are clean
~
Lips locking soft
Hearts now aloft
Maybe what you did expect
~
Candlelight flame
Screaming a name
Glistening skin, beads of sweat
~
Sensual sighs
Quivering thighs
****** moments to trace
~
Euphoric throes
Fingers and toes
Sorry you’re in the wrong place
~
None of that here
Let’s make it clear
Nary a stanza reflects
~
Words that you see
Written by me
Not a Poem of ***

Traveler:
I'm sure these words
Cleverly crafted
Would never lead astray
A moaning voice
Breathing heavy
With a wanting to get laid

No words of touching
Self out loud
No fleshly fluid rhymes
I'm sure your words
Would never stir
My lustful hunger mind!!
Traveler Tim
And
Cen'
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