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Penelopejayde Apr 2015
The upbringing of a person could lead to a frivolous publican.
A brother and sister are both witnessing the featherbrained fool.
This world we live in is a bit bamboozle

Escaping to a state of ecstasy with your purple kaleidoscope why don't we shape the future and use cinnamon soap.

With your undercoats it's an antidote for a hurtful situation
It's like we are burning in ice.
Your a magician but you can't stop stupid.

Adolescents knowing the need to finish yet they are taking over to much to cope.
So now they are discovering, considering, cinnamon soap.
My first poem
Sam Temple Dec 2016
~


days expanding beyond mere hours
the long dark of winter sweeps the land
              wide brush strokes lay snow across canyons
                    famished mammals push thick undercoats
                            to the limits of temperature control

red chapped cheeks carry scarf string
holey mittens and thin thermals
           barely sway the frigid breath
                icicles stretch and grab
                            clawing at beanies

strollers set in the drifts
playground toys like sticks pushing the odd
                     single bar into the sky
                            one lone sled waits by the hill
                                   hard red plastic shell and yellow rope handles
                                             as isolated as an Antarctic station

my words fall as fog
spilling to the frozen ground below
               my thoughts held in the tundra
                       await the spring thaw
                             so that they might finally express
                                 the ‘buuurrrrrr’ that no one heard   /
sandra wyllie Apr 2019
They cry inside their dressing rooms
Inside the long-withered spoons
Inside their undercoats hide pins
Inside their eyes weather-vanes spin
in all directions

They make us laugh
with their foibles and fumbles
stupor and rumbles
and side way winks
as they blink back the tears
Yes, my child
it’s OK to cry
All Clowns cry
Sigh
ceara Apr 2011
an old soldier with
orange lifejackets fishfingered in a row
some still in packets,
rust blossoms on nuts and bolts
while other flakey patches reveal
diseased undercoats.

— The End —