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John F McCullagh Jan 2014
There are guys who wed girls
There are straight folks and gays.
There are those who like single life too.
A fellow in England once wed his T.V.
I’ve known women in love with their shoes.
But the strangest relationship
I ever heard tell
Was the woman who married herself.
She’d waited for years
For “Mister Right” to appear
and was tired up there on the shelf.
So she strolled down the Aisle
With a confident smile
(There was no need to give her away)
She composed her own vows
which drew much raves and wows.
While Justin Timberlake’s “Mirrors” song played.
She thought” who needs a spouse,
They just mess up your house.
So she bought a ******* instead
She vacationed in France
Where no one looks askance
And took “Battery Bob’ to her bed”

Love is Love. I have heard
But this bond is absurd.
You know very well how this ends.
An expensive divorce in a year I forecast
But the Bride and the “Groom” will stay friends.
A poem based on the story of the woman recently interviewed by Anderson Cooper.
( Well he wasn't going to marry her)
JoJo Nguyen Jul 2015
Though we vacationed in a castle, though I
rode you hard one morning to the hum
of bees that buggered lavender, and later
<quote />
It reminds me of riding in trains, in Europe, in Italy, in love.
Read the rest of this lovely poem @//poets dot org//
Use their search bar to find the two poems by Beth.
Francesca Dec 2012
The world we created together is gone.
The world of civil wars and his and hers.
The world we created together with the spark of kiss and the endless night.
We were freer than the birds and as tall as the lions,
But we both knew the vacation could only last for so long…
Stories of lost shoes and parking lots,
train tracks and beaches,
now fall on silent ears,
Absorb into the grassy hills and frothy shores of our failed relationship.
Songs were never sung and maps became useless
Without explorers to search them.
I packed my bags, you bought your ticket and we both kissed our world goodbye.
You locked the gates
I barred the windows,
And we both began the long journey home.
We left our world to become a ghost town, forever harboring the secrets of the summer we spent there.
I grew up and you moved on, while meanwhile the world we loved worsened.
What once was thriving and vibrant,
Is now abandoned completely,
Left to rot away and fall apart.
Never to be vacationed to again.
We will never again explore its shores or lie in its fields.
We will never rest in its shade or swim with the tide.
I won’t enjoy its childish dreams or take comfort from its moon.
You’ll forget how those yellow fireflies and red tents transformed you into a little boy,
And the colorful soft streams demanded your love.
Grace Jordan Apr 2017
I was born under the earth in the eye of a blizzard, stormy from the first.
I took my first step off the edge of a rabbit hole and my next underwater.
I spoke first in melodies, finding the average tongue a little too heavy.
I breathed through flower petals, filtering the toxins of being human.
I made friends with the firelight that kept me and the shadows awake.
I watched soft skin of beating hearts hide under layers of organs, lonely.
I saved my fingerprints each time they fell off, to collect the marks of me.
I climbed pebbles to help them hope they could one day be mountains.
I screamed at the sky to see if it ever let itself be free to scream back.
I toppled ice cream sodas for their reign need make way for push-pops.
I slept in tide pools, giving my luminescent skin as a starfish nightlight.
I danced in the darkness of caves, making friends with bats over men.
I soared through bedrock, so the lava monsters had an ally with eyes.
I feared every twitch of life before me, but observed in stoic fascination.
I turned into a humming black bird to meet the leaves giraffes eat.
I wished on shooting satellites, because stars had enough burdens.
I dreamed of otherwheres, of thistle branches with tiger lily eyes.
I vacationed with fireflies when the moonlight asked me to care for them.
I wandered the world as a written ghost, hiding behind trees until I say:
I am.
R A Sanders Jan 2013
My fingers brush over the piano keys,
Over the top,
Along the side,
I breathe,
Looking around the room,
I can't help but think:
*I know this place,
I know this feeling,
I know this house,
This is home.
That little back bedroom used to be a fortress,
The prince always came right to the door,
My barbies vacationed in that bathroom down the hall,
My sister and I used to play until the water went cold in the tub,
My mom cooked many Christmas dinners in that kitchen,
I used to watch her all the time.
I don't know when it happened,
My siblings got older,
My parents divorced,
Everyone left,
And I..
I just want to go home.
Georgia Curtis Jun 2015
Every once in a while I get this feeling in my gut
so vile that it throws me down
in a rut because I don't know why my body still cries about it
When you were the monster that dragged me down to suicide,
my "selfish crime",
the **** I just wanted someone to understand,
but all I got was "friends" throwing hands
and kicking me out,
coughing up sand,
I couldn't hydrate in that drought,
so I escaped and went south..
vacationed for a while by putting things in my mouth,
the one part of my body you don't linger on anymore,
guess "when it rains it pours"
cause I can't seem to recover from this storm
Don't know if I should talk to you,
tired of thinking "maybe he misses me too"
Zukiswa Mvunguse Nov 2018
When I was little
The township we called home was the centre of my world
Our mud and zinc house was a Palace
My father it’s King
And we were his little princesses
My mother was just my mother
She wasn’t regal enough to be a queen

When I was little
We vacationed at centre of the universe
Nevermind that my grandparents farm lacked running water or electricity
And stood at the bottom of the valley
Surrounded on all sides by majestic hills
In comparison, it was just a stepping stone to the heavens
Even so, it was my heaven

When I was little
I looked to the heavens and I saw God
He wore a threadbare, leathery moonless night sky for skin
And had a cloudy facade with fallen stars for eyes
But when My God smiled
Sunlight shone through the cracks
And we all wanted to busk in his radiance

When I was little
My grandfather seemed a God
On cold winter nights, huddled around the fireplace
Stories of youthful escapades and adventures in the big city Spilled from his ambrosia loosened lips
Mesmerised by this linguistic wizardry
We hung onto every word as he switched from English to Afrikaans to Sesotho to Xhosa and back

When I was little
I was happiest lying in the sun
But than I grew up and the shadows were more inviting
Kingdoms fell and Gods became mere mortals
When I was little
The women in my family were merely extras to their male leads
But as I grew up they evolved into pillars
Holding up the roof their male counterparts have left to disrepair
I had to write an essay for English class about my childhood, but ended up with this. My grandfather died 2 years ago and I was emotionless at the time, so this suprised me.
susan May 2015
i need new boots
these are just too worn out
   scuffed up
      the sole is cracked
   the leather beaten...
but ****
  i love these boots
we've been through a lot...
i've worked in 'em
    partied in 'em
        vacationed with 'em
       kicked off and
******* with 'em
i'll hold onto 'em for awhile
these babies carry way more
than my feet.
Ashly Kocher Oct 2018
Ever wonder...
Where you would be in life if:
You made a different choice
Made different friends
Chose a different path
Been somewhere else at a different time
Involved in a different activity
Lived somewhere different
Loved someone different
Made different decisions
Had a different passion
Vacationed different places
The list could go on and on...
No matter what the “what if’s” in life you have
Always remember “everything happens for a reason “
Your meant to be where you are, who you are, and where your meant to be in life....
poetryaccident Mar 2019
I met two Gods on the road
each was the same by their book
right down to the sandalled gear
shared across two thousand years
penned by men with intent
good and bad with in-between
to describe who I had met
the middle one was not there

perhaps they took a holiday
that middle-person of the three
vacationed in a different place
while the others showed their face
sadly this was not the case
to be lukewarm was taboo
there was this pair in the end
present in the sun’s hot glare

one bowed their head in response
with full knowledge of who I was
a courtesy I’ll not deny
given the trespass in my life
the whole of my desires
identity mixed into the same
mattered less than who I was
respectfulness for due grace

the other spit upon my feet
railed against imagined sins
with a story already set
lurid words seeing red
a cardboard cut-out became my role
as I stepped to one side
already knowing I was not the one
the target of tirade’s harm

each God of Heaven had their say
before they continued on their way
one with a nod to who I was
another sneered without love
I’m left to wonder who was there
lived beyond the scribbler's pen
the answer lays in human choice
deciding which to present.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190324.
The poem “Two Gods” was inspired by the contrast between how I am treated by individual Christians and how the more strident remarks of religious organizations.  I have only complimentary things to say of my Christian friends, especially those who I’ve met through social dancing.  These people are at least somewhat aware of who I am.  They put aside the cookie-cutter condemnations.  I am treated with a degree of respect and compassion.  I can’t ask for much more than this.  The “why” of this social dance scene response is interesting, perhaps tied into the cooperative nature of dance, but that’s fodder for another poem.

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