A living creature
Green, brownish in colour
Giving a cool vibe to the atmosphere
Humans can’t live without me
I have roots that are stronger in soil
I have attachment issues
I can’t move
I wish sometimes
I was a bird or a moving creature
So that I can move and explore new things
I should be happy with the life I have
Maybe in next life
I wish to be a human
Even though I have given shade to many travellers daily.
Naked branches prick the sky
The sky is so blue,
The clouds become so shy
Today and yesterday were the same,
Locked in, cooked, Unallowed.
We wait, wait and wait
For the ground to cool, the flowers in bloom,
The sun to dissipate when gloom
Passing through one more cycle.
Until it reaches out to the moon
Waiting for the pansies and daffodils to grow,
Knowing it will happen soon
This leaves my mouth feeling numb.
The leaves on the ground a dry brownish mush
But soon.
Soon.
We wait.
A young man stabbed, runs for police,
but his attacker was a Sikh,
who claimed ‘racism,’ and these cops
cuffed the poor victim as he dropped,
much more concerned with brownish skin
than murder, the quite worst of sins,
more fearful of the word ‘racist’
than life which no longer exists,
and then try to hide their disgrace,
let killers walk just to save face,
stopped only by a loud outcry,
not the fact they let a man die,
as leftist filth fear ‘the backlash,’
when the die is already cast.
The same scum who excused rape gangs,
their own daughters in vile hands,
ravaged by cruel Mohammedans…
rapists should swing from the tree limbs.
Another attack in Belfast,
we all know it won’t be the last,
the leftists despise their own kind,
think foreigners can’t be malign,
think they can bring in failed cultures,
and from them somehow be inured,
wrapped in their lazy, Marxist faith,
that only teaches to self-hate,
arrest folks for having wrong thoughts,
a tyranny wrapped up in rot,
all loyalty to you they spurned…
perhaps it’s right to make it burn.
The crease of his lips,
The focus on his eyes,
The way his eyebrows rise,
When he smiles.
The way his acne,
Float, like waves on his cheeks,
The way his lips,
Oh, how soft they feel.
The way his ears get red,
And form that little blush,
The way he'll look away,
When he's flushed.
His eyes, another world,
Brownish spheres,
Blinded from love.
His messy hair, and tanned skin,
The way his neck fold under his jaw,
The shape of his nose, a soft slide,
I don't see any flaws.
The way his hair forms patterns on his skin,
The way he'll sing,
A soft rhythm, a flute to be played,
Truly an ethereal being.
To him who thinks he's not pretty,
I noticed all these things about you.
To me, you're the most beautiful person,
Because,
I love you.
At 3
At 3 a
haughty handful of
mist helped continue to
grow in
density the
relationships among my
neurons (my neurons are
brownish-yellow).
the back of my hands are spotted
with brownish red splotches and dashes
they are as wrinkly as a Chinese dog
blue veins are popping up in ugliness
so this is why old women wear gloves!
the same reason they wear scarves around their turkey necks
I was never prepared to get this old
did not realize it was a possibility
until I began wearing my grandmother’s hands
Like cherry blossoms in the spring
the leaves of autumn loosely cling
upon the drab, dark brownish bark
creating contrasts, stunning, stark.
As autumn leaves descend in droves
upon the earth like manna loaves
they blanket her with a patchwork quilt
like muddy waters settle silt.
The autumn leaves of various hues
oh, how they, our senses schmooze.
The yellow, brown, orange, and red
delight our sight before they’re shed.
Who would believe that dying leaves
could such enchanting magic cleave.
What a parable! Beauty in death,
'Tis how God views His saints’ last breath.
I am a beer taster it's an odd job
Beers are like nuts, they're tasty, nuts do soothe the hops
I drink a lot of beers , I drink them with cheer
My skills i learned with glee at many workshops.
I smell them note thier quality I love beer.
I taste the feel . These shops do have the chops
An oatmeal stout and, ales of cream are the top
A Lambic ale is fruity Drink them with peers
An oatmeal stout,dark, tastes of cocoa I state,
An oatmeal stout does taste like coffee, it's great .
You like cream that's whipped ?Cream ale a dream.
I do love brown fruity tasting wheat ale .
This ale is light it tastes like whip cream
A ale of fruity wheat on tap will never fail.
And many tastes this brownish ale's theme
I check out findings raptly for each beer,
I taste the ales and beers ,my job my career
white and brownish-red
so beautiful two tone! what
a great afternoon!!
bug
spookie
innocent
brownish creature
today in bathroom
whimsically fun
wandering
water
bug
Walking downstairs; I see particles of light,
Shimmering in my dark brown long hair.
The light of stars is so bright that it
Envelopes all the darkness into light.
Sauntering there; I am made aware,
By the crispy clear voice of my dad saying,
“Come over there!” I stare looking at his short
Grey hair illuminating a silhouette of bright light.
Dressed all in white, standing.
A long wooden dining table is next to him.
That’s where my aunt and uncle are seated side by side.
My father then extends his tan brownish colored hand,
Offering me a golden colored round Ladoo.
I take it and eat the Ladoo with fervor.
Chomping away nothing flavorful and salivating,
As my surroundings change to pitch black with holding
Nothing but air.
A skin, bit rough, and brownish fair;
A rounded face and short black hair;
Fine vignettes on a wide forehead
that seems to think the ways ahead.
Cherry red lips, thick and pouty;
Two big ears, a nose that's humpy;
Big black eyes with flickery wink
seem to fathom the way you think.
Self portrait poetry contest
7th place
A purplish black dark sky night
Brushed the reddish moon with white
The sun has painted the sky with orangish hues
And tinted the stars of clarity with greenish blues
The yellowish new sun just minutes old
Has gild the moon a silverish gold
When all the brownish leaves turned gray
It rose a beautiful pinkish day
Looking at the stars, I think about you…
Remembering ur charms, that made me feel ululu..
Your those brownish tangled hair…
Whom I always want to stare…
Your those ocean deep eyes..
Where my whole world lies..
Your that straight, lil red nose..
From where the anger always blows
Your those slight rough pair of lips…
From where the marvelous words slips..
Your that sharp & attractive jawline..
attracting me like its my lifeline..
In short, your that beautiful, gorgeous face…
Which always makes my heartbeat race…
And your that not so famous smile…
Oh god!! It always succeed to run my heart mile..
Oh!! I forgot to mention your amazing humor…
Which increases the beauty of ur glamour
The softer kin of winter
Brownish leaves crippled beneath my feet
Sing baby birds, sing
The harsh winter is near
Sweet kinder winds blowing through my hair
The softer kin of winter
campfires and laughter filled the crispy nights
The unpleasant kin is near
The slightly kissed of the sun
Whispers of the pumpkins king, "No more pies please"
The softer kin of winter
Wrap your body tight the other kin is almost here
Dancing in the crispy air
Such memories to make and to make and to make
We don't speak of that other kin only
The softer kin of winter
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