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Old man

Silently he sat in darkness, flinching at the sight of light.
Which created a glow reflecting on his balding head.
His cold glare did not help my nerves, 
so I simply stood there observing his silence.

His philosopher beard's tendrils seem to crawl forever,
some hidden behind his buckled knuckle hands.
Wizened victims of one too many a fist fight.
When you looked closer, they exposed branded tattoos, 
a timeless reminder from his perturbed past.

He was a man whose ship had never sailed, 
maybe too afraid to sink within uncharted waters.
Yet this pilgrim had walked many a path for several decades.
Burning many bridges along the way, until his feet became weary.
To many, he was an 'old dog' that should have been put down
a long time ago - yet he had never requested to live this long.
He didn't seem like a religious man, but he eagerly anticipated death.

An emphatic glance into his lackadaisical drowsy eyes,
revealed hidden sorrows built up through the generations.
Every wrinkle on his sullen face seemed to be an emblem of pain.
He looked tired, worn down by life and defeated by humanity.
A fighter who had fought and fallen many times, 
but always returned to the ring. Begging to be punished.

His body had now become slender and emaciated, 
it seemed a strong gust could blow it away.
It was evident he enjoyed to pretend, but I knew his game.
Especially when his idle facial impressions struggled with 
the sound of bones creaking in sluggish movement.

He started to whistle a tune, it was familiar, 
but I couldn't put a name to it.
As he rubbed his eyes, his cheeks crumpled.
A wry smile, crippled by decaying teeth appeared,
as his lethargic lips spoke with a burdened tone.

“Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once.  Someone once said that boy! But, let me tell you, no matter how many times you toss that coin, it will never land on the same side."

A sardonic expression appeared on his face. 
But, I could see he had a story to tell, 
but his tongue seemed to refuse to dance 
with the desires of his heart.
Silence was still my guide though, 
but unsure if it was due to tact or fear.
I wanted to know about the wounds engraved on his heart,
and the agony ingrained in his soul.

Following a deep sigh, he began to speak, but now in a subtle tone.

I can't tell you about smiles, 
but I sure can tell you about tears, boy.
They called me a coward, because I didn't go to war,
but I've been a prisoner of war all my life. 
And I've had more blood on my hands,
than any 'son of a gun,' solider, boy.
Its always been me against the world, 
to save myself I lived a life of manipulation,
but I never meant to hurt a soul,
unless they deserved it and too many did.

After a slight pause, his tone sounded more intense.

"I was born on a night when the heavens cried.
I've asked GOD, why did the angels hide when I arrived. 
Instead he sent the grim reaper to take my mother.
I didn't even have a chance to feel her skin.
I've never been able to call anyone mother."

He was now staring at me, I could see the rage in his eyes,
so intimidating, I turned my head towards the floor. 
His tone now fierce, I could feel his wrath.

"Life is full of second hand emotions, broken dreams,
forgotten promises and bleeding hearts!! Regretful memories,
of haunting ghosts, whose spirit voices torment my mind!!
And you want to hear something nostalgic, boy?
Try being beaten every day, for just existing!!
Try being seen as the cause of death!!

And then they wonder why..."

He wipes away intrinsic tears,
trembling, he lights up a cigarette.

"we done here boy"

and then the silence returned...

Walking away in somewhat of a daze,
instinctively I remembered the song;

 Old man look at me now....
Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things
that don't get lost.
Like a coin that won't get tossed
Rolling home to you.

Silent One
1 November 2017

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017

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Outback Shearing Shed

I'll bet this set of rusty shears have a story they could tell,
of the loneliness and broken backs in a land that's hot as hell,
where hopes and dreams mirrored lives that these shearers led,
here among the ruins of an outback-shearing shed.

I'll bet this set of rusty shears have a story often told,
in optimistic mirages where water is pure as gold,
and living quarters offered would barely shield the moon
in stifling heat of summer, or bitter cold in June.

All that's left is one wall teasing, the wind to blow it down.
Mustering yards are overgrown; mulga posts lie on the ground.
There's hand-made nails, broken rails, memories that are spread,
here among the ruins of an outback shearing shed.

I feel like I'm intruding out here on the western plains,
standing here in a ghostly wind where it hardly ever rains,
imagining I lived the life that these shearers led,
in the ruins with the ghosts of an outback shearing shed.

All that's left is one wall teasing, the wind to blow it down.
Mustering yards are overgrown; mulga posts lie on the ground.
Oil tins and sharpening stone, broken glass is widely spread
here among the ruins of an outback shearing shed.

I'll bet this set of rusty shears have a story they could tell,
of the loneliness and broken backs in a land that's hot as hell,
where hopes and dreams preceded lives that these shearers led,
here among the ruins of an outback-shearing shed.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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Adult Content : Then I Do It

This recently happened to me. I didn’t recover very well from it. I just sat there naked, embarrassed, while while my partner got dressed and walked out on me. She was shaking her head in disbelief on the way out. Here is what happened. We are in the throes of mad passionate love making. I am twisted up like a pretzel with my tongue here, my fingers there, really excited, in fact my you know what was harder than Chinese mathematics. I mean my tongue is doing a Spanish Tango my fingers the Watusi my center an African Tribal Dance and when I say African Tribal Dance I mean my *** is shaking like a belly dancer with a vibrator up her ***. I could hear that sharp female voice yelling like a soprano in an Italian Opera and she’s yelling too but with that deep voice of hers like a banshee out of hell. Oh no, oh no, oh yes oh yes, oh oh oh oh... then suddenly like fireworks on the fourth of July boom...boom, boom, boom, boom... she goes. Then I do it at the peak of ****** I do it. I really blow it. No pun intended. Instead of... I mean we've all done it... instead of saying her name At the peak of ****** I yell out my own name! 09~11~2014 Knuckle Head Yvonne

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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Would You Dance This Last Dance with Me

Darling—Would you dance this last dance with me?
I thought of this question so intently as I gazed at
You afar tonight across the busy dance floor and
Your very smile and presence shined for all to see.
It would take courage for me to ask for that dance!

Looking at you first glance captivated my very emotions,
And I thought, “How could this be?” “I’ve not met you!”
Yet, I also saw your most magical and most warm smile,
And roared inside of myself each time I heard your
Funny, wonderful, and most exciting laughter so sweet!

And so, I decided to move closer and closer to you while
Passionately thinking and trying my best to conceal my
Shyness and fear of looking foolish when I spoke to you.
I knew that I had this one chance and didn’t want to blow it,
And so I downed some fine alcohol to free up all my words!

All this seemed like an eternity, but finally—there you were,
And my inner voice cheering me on cried, “It’s Now or Never!”
With that, our eyes met and locked at once, and I said, “Oh Gee!”
You then smiled so warmly and laughed and touched my hand,
And I knew then and there that you were the ONE in my life!

At first, not talking, but looking at each other I noticed at once
Your most beautiful blue eyes, radiant hair, and luscious red lips.
Your touch, your scent, your smile, and your warmness captured
My heart entire, and then I knew our meeting would entail much
More than just a dance—it could be a dance for the rest of our life!

And so, I thought: “Romeo, it’s time to talk, starting charming her!”
But she spoke first, both gently and laughing, putting me at ease,
And I was enchanted at once by her—and her voice had a melodic,
Smooth tone that bewitched me as her eyes mesmerized me entire.
We touched further, embraced, and kissed with so much delight!

As we stood there as ONE locked deeply in our embrace and emotions, 
Time for us stood still as the sensual stirred the spiritual, further
Enriching this splendid moment that we wanted to go on and on and on.
After which we talked, walked hand-in-hand, never leaving each other.
The evening grew later and the music was dying down now—it’s time!

With this cue, I gently cupped her hand in mine and kissed her once 
More so very warmly while gazing lovingly and deeply into her eyes,
And then my question finally surfaced and erupted with much delight—
Darling—Would you dance this last dance with me tonight? We did,
And it started a long romance-filled dance for the rest of our life! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, 
Germany (November 8, 2014) (Narrative poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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Defender of the Wastes

What makes a speech out of words,
I have just washed the tombs of lords.
Oh, what’s my knot?
What’s my knot?

You can judge the theme not.
Words, trickle of the destructed thoughts
Shaped in a dim light.
No matter what you say, I am right.

Denouement, is that what you’re looking for
Or the numb world of an alienated whore?!
Are you still seizing the time?
Or I am just trying to impose the rhyme?
Is music the tool for beauty?
Or you want to distort the confusion for purity?
Have you read the book “Thus Spoke Zarathustra”?
Oh…that’s really a great one!
But it’s just the business of the dumb!

Oh Masters of the waste land
Are you still counting the seasons?

Circulation, is that the word
You are searching to play?

Or a good reason for pastorals
To make a pile of hay?

Listen to the land and say:
“When the sunshines and things are done
I find myself alone and my mistress is gone!”
It might be the nauseous feeling of an outcast,
Or the graveyard style in mourning the time past,

I have no aim, are we determined?
Or pessimistically trying to blow it through the wind?

From deform and artificial essence
I am not that much interested hence,
Why being entrapped in metamorphosis?!
Whoever dares to have zeal for catharsis?!

Oh my wing, my wing
My straw-like string 
I am writing to you and sing
The notes of nonsense fling

In the world of the posts
When all the ways are done utmost
All the forms, all those repetitious gross,
Everything seems notorious

Still do I obey the stupid legends of the olds
In defending and dressing the stupid codes…
Who is the postal outsider?
The one within the theme when it comes
Or the mere watcher outside?!

Theme is crumpled.
Oh…someone has just blown his nose in it.

Oh purity: Shall I compare thee to a green stuff
Or the unreadable inky words?

Conscious or unconscious
No matter where the stream goes
The concept is coming!
Oh wing, why don’t you say ever a word?

Oh…I have forgotten,
You have been disillusioned!

I want to ask:
Can’t you come when you are disillusioned?
Wing: “Yes, why not…!”

It seems I am rejecting myself
Who am I defending so!?

Rhyme is fading
May be it has just experienced the climax,
So it comes through the tempo again
Don’t worry…

They say the word never dies
Wing, you are an invisible character
How the hell you take part
Without even one word from your mouth?

Oh I have forgotten you are
Rejecting some rules.
That should be postsomethingsim.
To what extent shall I sing
These false lines?

Copyright © Mehdi Hajizadeh | Year Posted 2006

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Die Another Day

“Die Another Day”

“Your mission, should you so deem it,
Is to infiltrate ALL Fluff Clusters in K.A.O.S. Headquarters
And bloody well steam it!”

“The Place is a hazardous mess of a trap
Over run with Double Agents, ulterior motives
Amorous Nuns-on-the-Run drooling ardent dreams 
of swimming naked
in buckets of Blood Red Roses
69’ers come 96’ers with rapturous missives
Requiring decoding – 
And their artillery compares to none other in this world -
Containing the most dangerous pensive locked-up emotions!
Written superfluously with more than likely Nootropics, 
Toadstools (sic) Toad stools and 
viperous inebriated poisonous frog posing lotions.

The place itself dear girl, is infested with Love Potions and
Lust boats rocking furiously on Saga-full 
swelling erotic and  Sensual oceans. 
The place needs fumigating, too many damn birds!
They breed lice! Not to mention the droppings 
Full of ‘sweet nectar’ brings in all the 
Rats and the mice!
You are required to go in there dear Agent Petrova
And blow it apart with your Vixenish explosives and coat it
In mind numbing black and white Zebra striped run away train words 
in subterranean doses.”

M barked in clipped soft tone staccato and contradictory whisper
Eyes like a Hawk watching the shadows while tickling her cactussing 
hormonal whiskers -
A viperish Tongue that could lash and deliver one such hell burning blisters
To recalcitrant Frenchmen Stinking Frogs and 
Germans, dismissive.

“This should be fun!” S.A.P. processed the new Dossier nonchalantly,
Clicking her sharp stillettos down endless corridor mazes with glee.
Dress-ups, disguises, nom de plumes - this thought She, was 
definitely SHE.

Elegant, eloquent, Walk-the-Talk, machine gun ‘em down 
Special Agent Petrova 
Very Special S.A.P.
Is in town!
Not loose, never for free
Spray the room with her intoxicating perfume and 
her Che Guevara 

Pursuing (sic) perusing
the mission with loaded quill in her hand 
She'd stroke and smoke out the big guns
Morphing her guises, transfiguring 
Speaking in tongues
Pinning their tales all over her 
“favourite” walls
All agents on the run, what a Fluff Cluster Spree...
Captivating Foreign and Homeland
Corral only the best
Capture them all 
Arrest and divest

Subterfuge forays were her forte
This she thought was apt
Analysing the Attache
She had it down pat.

To hell with all Pernod Swilling French Men 
Run amok and astray…
To hell with the Toads in their Dark Green sordid sortie

She was on with the mission 


1. :)




"There are some agents who don't end their sentences with a proposition"/Jan Morrow.

Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018

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Spicy Adults only

It was a nightmare of a boat trip
I almost choked to death on an orange pip
They did not strain the juice well
And from a small pip, I gasped for air and started to swell
If it weren’t for a crewmember named William Patel
I stayed in bed for a spell

The captain apologised
Which was wise
He said “ the rest of the trip is free.”
So I was extravagant and splashed out on the person I called “Me.”

While sitting on deck, by the pool, sipping me tea
I was captivated by a well-formed female in a translucent bikini
She rolled her eyes flirtingly at me
So being the gentleman I am, I rolled them back you see

We were mesmerised with each other for a while
As we secretly exchanged a naughty smile
I placed hers in me left butt cheek pocket
As I felt me Viagra stick raising like a rocket

This was the beginning of a sensual relationship
Thanks to that bloody orange pip
Anyway, we went below deck
Where it was dark and gave each other a peck

Then we were at it like hammer and tongs
Moaning and groaning the seductive songs
Who needs Viagra, it was me
Only me, all me me me
Take some advise, find a place where you might get caught and you’ll see
It will magnify the enjoyment of your OOOh!, uhhh!, oohweee!

We stood in a narrow doorway
And began entertaining each other with a bit of, you know, foreplay
Then she turned her back to me and oooh! What can I say
Pressing against each other and pushing against the door arch was… heaven all the 

Then, yep, we were caught, and guess what happen next
It was the captain and she was his wife who would suspect?
The big mother was rather vexed
I tried to tell him not to blow it out of context
But… the bugger wouldn’t stop strangling me with his mount Everest pecs

Give me the orange pip any day
But the situation I was in, hell no way

Copyright © Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Year Posted 2011

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The ninth wonder of the world is in your eyes

Candle, candle burning bright,
Blow it out, without you there is no sight.
The Moon,Moon glowing white
I see it in your face pure bright as skylight
I am a witness of this amazing thing

The smile in your eyes is....the look of Love
Little angel, oh rare piece of art
Sweet love,gentle soul you've stolen my heart
your love cuts through my heart like a dart
Treasure inside me, i will forever hold

Such pleasure it is to gaze upon you
Tenderness in your eyes..the look of love
This love makes the heart wants to sing
About the beauty of life with you in it
My diamond in landmine, sweet love

Your brown eyes ignites my desires
I desire you as the desert desires the rain
Your voice echos in my heart, my favorite melody
A loving voice that melts the winters chill
Your love takes me away to places yet unknown

At the end of the day, when i close my brown eyes
Your love entices my spirit to take flight on shimmering wings
Dancing through the skies, celebrating our love,
`Oh I love you like a panda bear loves bamboo`
Forever growing, never ending.

Copyright © sidali kebah | Year Posted 2017

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3n1 Soup Special

                             (((All things must pass
                                      Circling back one day 
     What will be no one can truly say ~ from the silence of the grave)))

  (((I want you to want me 
           I need you to feel me
               I want to hear your whispers pleading I love you

See you sigh of surrender ~ in an afterglow pleasure ~ our bodies aching for review)))

                       (((There's a bald spot on top my head
                                A last brave standing hair
                                 Rough winds will blow it
                                 A drop of rain will soak it
                           It's the warrior of the spirit bear))) 

Copyright © Arturo Michael | Year Posted 2018

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"You Lied To Me"

Liar, run, run
Falling, burn, burn
Discomfort, i did't told you to live
Spit on my face, i want you dead
Reduce to ashes, you better blow it all away
Chained down to hell, set me free
Gone to sleep, just shoot in my head
Pull the trigger, pull the trigger
You coward
You've gone too far
Bless me god, i can take you down now
Hate me forever, eternity will not save you
Liar, i want you dead
Hater, your gonna hate me more
Lying to me, better spit on my face
Candles, are place in line for your welcome

So long i waited
So far has gone
I know i made the mistake to let you live one more night
Still i breath
Not long before dead
Wait one more
One more night of survival

Long distant screams
Can you hear it?
Is you child's mercy
I don't care how much i do
Is my last line
I will slice my blade on him
Blood splatters the wall
The wall my name is placed on
Mercy for dead i may not ever have
Eyes of god have seen worst these days
Don't tell me im dead
I fell more alive killing your creation
Jail's broke loose
I can see you suffer deep inside
This streets will never tell how to survive
You exposed the child to my hands
Run, run away
No were to hide anyways

So long i waited
So far has gone
I know i made the mistake to let you live one more night
Still i breath
Not long before dead
Wait one more
One more night of survival

I can feel your hate
To me and will always be me
Because i took the step no one else did before
Crushing you dream's with axe and hammer
Your mind is weak
I took down your defenses
No were to hide and no were to run
Run, run
There's no were to hide
Hide, hide
There's no were to run
Twist it sideways
Still the same story
Make me cry
You wont ever see me sad

So long i waited
So far has gone
I know i made the mistake to let you live one more night
Still i breath
Not long before dead
Wait one more
One more night of survival
The more we wait
The better will be
For me indeed
I can see you smile
The day we married
The pact we made
Real forever
And dead tonight...

Copyright © Derek Ortiz | Year Posted 2010

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Ballad of the Bomb

Megalomaniacs, from any era,
all have the killer extinct gene
A beastly desire to bring everything
to the brink of nothing
Oh, how some would love to channel 
their inner Nero
To make civilization come crashing down
in a smouldering pile 
of rubble, ashes and smoke
They love playing the villain role,
being the anti-hero
Mad fiddling amidst the burning fumes
of cobalt, sulfur and flesh
Maniacal laughter bursting into an apocalyptic torch tune — 
a melting pot melody of humanity doomed:

Blow it all up,
burn it all down
Let every wail be covered in dust

Empty the vials,
overflow the cup
Drink the nectar of nuclear lust 

Feel the cannibal zeal of madness,
taste the consuming mushroom fear
Every breathing soul getting naked snuffed

Blow it all up,
burn it all down
Let every cry be smothered by dust

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018

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Winter Blues

The broken wings of the lonely bird, painfully curled
Fold inside the malleable bruised mind
Can’t fly in the chill of the winter wind
Nestles within me, nobody cares to find
Heart’s fervent warmth touches no one, freezes unwanted
Feeble voice of despair nobody listens, wanes unheeded
The bird within cries alone without care
I can’t stop the flow of the hidden tears.

Colored passion of living craving to paint a picture
Impresses no one, finds no receptive canvas
Fades out unexpressed, disappears unmarked
In the gloomy darkness of the winter nights
Dormant emotions flicker like meek candle flame
Lights no mind, the winds of neglect blow it out
The hurt bird suffers within muted in cold distress
The throbbing pain of the heart I can’t express.

The desire to span the sky sinks dead in the sad eyes
The feelings fail to touch remote hearts drifting away
At the end of my time what you would remember of me
A captive bird with broken wings, uncared it couldn’t fly.

January 3, 2018.

Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy | Year Posted 2018

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Don't Blow It

       DON'T BLOW IT.
Slow down; life is not so real
Break down; 
love is all you can feel.
What little time you have to be, 
don't blow it,
children know how love should be, 
just show it.
Don't blow it.

Fine line; 
life is just sureal,
make time, 
there's no time you can steal;
what little love that you may find, 
surround it

Don't blow it.

if you have a dream, 
be glad you've found it
Surround it.

Don't blow it.
Don't blow it.
Don't blow it.

© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

June 10 2016  have no music for this, and am welcoming anyone who wants to give it a try, I am just too busy right now. so give it a try, then send what you come up with to See how many versions we can come up with. Good luck.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2016

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Get up and Dance

Candle, candle burning bright,
Blow it out, he wasn’t your white knight.
A new love is waiting if you give it a chance,
But you have to be willing to get up and dance.

Contest No 211 Any Form-Any Theme Max of 14 Lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Awarded 8th Place

Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2016

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Hear the lonesome whistle blow, it echoes across the vast
Continental divide, connecting the Pacific and Atlantic
Coastal shores, by the steel rails iron horse.
It raged in blazing thunder, leaving a storm cloud of white
Smoke in it's wake.
Lightning's hell speed, drives this devil's steed, with flames
Fire, feeding it's belly, by coal and sinews muscled sweat.
The wrought iron beast emerges, from the black pitch of night,
It's sharpen wheels of harden metal, cut, slicing through the
Raw flesh of mother earth, leaving her bleeding crimson red.
Bound and shackled, is this monstrous man-made beast,
Held captive, by the leg irons of progress.
Men covered in soot and ash, tend to the heart and hearth,
Of this demon bringing forth greed's prosperity.
Greased and oiled, pistons push gears, driving this seemingly
Living creation, of mechanical engineering, lit are it's eyes of
Fire, burning through the blackness of night.
The engineer holding the throttle to the floor,
Praying to God, he'll see the sun's dawning
Once more.
Tribal chieftains stand tall on a grassy knoll,
Observing the iron horse below, as the eagle
Soars above, shedding it's feathers in mid airs flight.
As the weeping woman cries, for her people,
For she alone, realizes what is it come.
The mighty buffalo, roam freedoms open
Tundra, as a herd of millions, soon to be
Nothing but dust shadows, phantom ghosts
Legendary beasts hunted by the native braves.
Around the sacred camp fires of old these
Ancient story's of the courageous hunters, shall
Be retold to generation to come.
The mighty Buffalo are brought to the brink of
Extinction by the long rifles of the white mans gun.
Yet these white devils still come, like a tidal wave,
Washing the prairies beauty away.
Hear the lonesome whistle blow, it
Echoes across the vast continental divides,
Connecting the Atlantic and Pacific coastal
Shores, by the steel rails iron horse.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

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My Man TS Eliot

Doth it not thrill thee, Poet, Dead and dust though thy art, To feel how I press thy singing Close to my heart? Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, my poems recite my plight. As two souls mix heart stashes, inspired of mastery might. A precept building ahead of time, TS Eliot dubbed the dark poet. Poems compare the heart and mind, T. was fearful human concepts blow it. Listen, I recite God’s prophet poet, the waste land be the human mind. Eliot recites death as concepts sow it. Valley shadows death, human kind. Branches, the parasites of human rubbish, as Eliot compares God’s precept dovish. Sorrow and blood slaughter is unleashed, as humans seek beasts’ minds for publish The human shall not cease of beast, mind-wilderness concept abominations, until he return to origin of flourish east. Hear wisdom of T’s dark connotations “TS near quotes Of roots that clutch of which branches grow, of its stony rubbish is only concepts of man. Broken images of rubbish, cannot flow, for of the red rock is the precept grand. “TS near quotes The blood drained of the eternal red stone. Fear is but a handful of flesh-turned dust. Death shadow dust is swallowed of throne, as the red stone shall bud of evergreen thrust. For Dear Heart And Contest The Passionate Reader Welcome back Dear Heart

Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2011

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- The BIG Bet -

                                               I made a bet
                                           with my youngest
                                           grandchild Adrian
                                              No big money
                                       We bet for a penny each
                                   The result was that Adrian lost
                                        Huge loss for a little boy
                                        He tried to blow it away
                               His brother reminded him of the penny
                                      A thoughtful answer came:
                              "Grandma does not care about money"
                             ... "She can rather get four good huggs"

                                                  - True story

A-L  Andresen :)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2013

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Johnny was that Whitby boy,
Well tattooed with attitude 
Johnny used to play the blue guitar 
Lived off Prospect Hill, his family they live there still 
Used to play for drinks in the harbour bars.

Go Johnny go, let me hear your rhythms flow 
You can take me down or raise me high 
Play Johnny play, come on play your blues today 
You can take me down or raise me high

Johnny started taking stuff,  
Dog rough, he couldn't get enough, 
No longer played the harbour bars 
His blue guitar just stands, longing for the magic hands 
Of the man whose mind went somewhere east of Mars. 

Go Johnny go, let me hear your rhythms flow 
You can take me down or raise me high.
Play Johnny play, come on lift my mood today 
You can take me down or raise me high. 

Tell me how can it be
Someone, talented as he, could go and blow it all  away
It's just insane to put that poison in your brain 
Then go and throw it all away  

Go Johnny go, let me hear your rhythms flow 
You can take me down or raise me high, 
Play Johnny play, come on play your blues today 
You can take me down or raise me high.... 

...Passed his gravestone yesterday 
And on it, the epitaph says
Johnny used to play the blue guitar. 
If he was here today, everybody here would say 
Come on Johnny play your blue guitar. 
Come on Johnny play your blue guitar. 

 YouTube. Louis Spence Blue Guitar. Thanks.

Copyright © Louis Spence | Year Posted 2015

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New Worlds

       New Worlds

Carry me please spaceship
Far from this wretched Earth
Let me face new hardship
Let me prove my worth

Leave behind the stun gun
The petty wars and strife
A new flag up my pole to run
Give me explorers life

Guide me to a distant star
Where I can build a home
 I will travel wide and far
The universe I’ll roam

I’ll wander with the alien
Who cares colour or shape
The humanoid reptilian
Or super-human ape

Let me leave this planet
As I left my mothers knee
Shoot me like a comet
Across the galaxy

Looking back past the moon
Where I live in my bliss
Knowing Earth, faces doom
And blow it one last kiss.

Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2014

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Dream Chasing

Having a dream can be so amazing.
But if you're not going to put the work in it, then why chase it.
To follow your dreams is a stepping stone of what you are made of.
Grasping the knowledge of what you're good at then just blow it up.
Believing in your in your dreams shows character, dedication and passion.
There will be a lot of people that will not like it.
Please don't let it stop your actions.
Chasing your dreams is a whole other level.
Its like graduating from being smart to intelligent, the work is a little harder.
And the rewards are much greater.
Never let the negative attitudes of others put you in danger.
Because living your dreams you will find complete happiness and find new places.
Its all about you and those dreams you're chasing.

Copyright © Umeikia Whiting | Year Posted 2016

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Please Say Something

Two hearts in an awesome communication but covered by bodies which are worshipers of denial. She adores him, he cherishes her but such feelings are molded into the formality of colleagues. Excitement, no matter how little, is suppressed, appreciation rendered from a falling heart but by casual lips; attraction, pressures the borders of the mind through its swell but yet restricted by the protective bunkers of pretense. When the time for absence to ease the saga comes, anticipation drafts out a time table for expectation to put every event on alarm in both souls which cling to the thoughts of the next reunion. Ego strips to perform a show on affectionate longing; he becomes the gold standard to her new lifestyle while she becomes the detergent to which his actions are washed. Time once again takes a shift from itself, internal body signals responding to a meeting, soon to occur. Face to face, the physical acquaintance is once more blessed but the corresponding fever has now began to snore, weakening the whiskers of attraction to stay down. Executive in the outside, voracious in the inside with longing spirits towards each other but confined by dramatized strictness. Static and fixed concentration but away from her from the guy with concrete rigidity lasting for long-long minutes. Expert carefulness and planned accuracy in body movements from the lady with continuous episodes of deep exhales coming out of tension’s internal burning sticks. Avoiding each other’s gazes with admiration’s lips tightly sealed epitomizing an atmosphere of two minds in one likeness, yet standing as agents of discomfort to each other. Heat has unnecessarily been added to a delicacy so spicy and nothing can blow it out unless someone says something.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016

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What I've Learned

The world I live in is a world of fear
Where you can lose anything you hold dear
So I ask you
What would you do if you had one day
Just one shot, what would you say
Would you make it worth it 
Or just blow it away
Into the wind
This is where we begin
Tell your story and tell it well
Tell of the people who gave you hell
Did you have someone to help you along
Even though they now may be dead and gone
But you still have a part of 'em in your heart
And you're carrying 'round that little part
Knowing we are made to be strong
Though we are weak
You've come this far
Don't give up now
Went from Zero to Hero 
Now you've done it kid
Turned around and put of a fight 
You stood up to protect your rights
This is what my mind has become
Because of the places I'm from
I'm not the best for what I've done
But in the end, the battle is won

Copyright © Austin Wilson | Year Posted 2014

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DEATH WISH HAIKU A Musical History of Cigarettes

 DEATH WISH HAIKU (AS Musical History of Cigarettes)
Snooky Lanson sang it clear
smoke in every ear.

From your Hit Parade,
Frank Sinatra blew the words one time
Didn't Fence Him In.

Dorothy Collin's voice
America there's only one to smoke
Lucky Strike's the one.

Drifting up her nose
pulling smoke into her lung
biting on her tongue

what is she doing?
coffins closing in with nails
death as slow as snails.

Do you want a Lucky?
More satisfaction pleasure
undertakers measure.

Camel smoke was nil
More Doctors smoked  Lucky Strikes
Than Mike Hammer smoked.

Nicotine all day
tie hers up in Christmas bows
blow it out her nose.

Free on Navy ships
Sailors never saw the light
Though the match was free.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2012

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Ladder of Dope

Its every person for himself, step on & step up kind of world.
That is what we are are taught, at the thought our lips become curled.
At first until it hurts, until we see that there is no remorse for the weak. 
The concept grows stronger with every lash on the cheek.
Burning through our veins as we feel it seep.
Silence is golden, like syrup bitter sweet.

Survival of the fittest its you or its me.These are the values we to begin to teach.
We throw our morals & standards so far beyond our reach.
No thank you my humanity and my sanity that goes along with all of it i would like to keep.
Climbing up the ladder, stepping on those i used to dream with, nah.... that price seems a little steep

No rest for the wicked, shutting your eyes the guilt begins to creep.
I would rather rest my head, gaily counting little baked sheep.
I will keep spreading the love , i shall reap what i have sown.
And then gladly smoke what i have grown.

Blowing your concepts up in smoke.
You try to explain but you choke.
On the things that you have done.
Just to be the one on the power end of the gun. 
It doesn't matter in the end you will be who you are , who you were that's it!
Not who you could have been or should have been. No! only who you are! No ****!

So even if you wanted to break free from the routined tendency.
Just try to stop or alter the cycle of destiny.
You couldn't, wouldn't step out of your pretentious power trip comfort zone.
No you wouldn't blaze it up and blow it out like a cyclone.

Double clutch over your shoulder.
Tell yourself its because you are a soldier.
Pfffftt okay! You carry on with the way it seems you do you these days.
We all know each game has its players and their set of ways.

So you carry on with your step on step up double standard.
I will just fluff the humble in my coat and shy away from slander.
Two sides of a coin, positive to negative its contemporary. 
We are who we are who we are ,meant to be! It is all part of the bigger picture, so puff puff pass its only temporary!

Copyright © Vintage Sparrow | Year Posted 2015

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A Christmas Whistle

If I had a Christmas Whistle.
I'd blow it in your face.
I'd make lots of noise.
Without no disgrace.

It's Christmas time darling.
And joy fills the air.
For Santa is calling.
His team of reindeer..

There's snow on the rooftop.
Firewood in the stove.
Warming up Santa.
From the bitter and cold.

On Dasher, On Prancer, On Vixson let's go.
For Santa is waiting.
To get on with the show.

So if I had a Christmas Whistle.
I'd blow it in your face.
I'd make lots of noise.
Without no disgrace..

It's Christmas time darling.
And joy fills the air.
For Santa is calling..
His team of reindeer...

Christmas Whistle Poetry By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2002,2014..ALL rights reserved..

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014