“An Old PhotoOf You“.
I just found…. A photo of you,
The photo is old,
but my memories of you… are new.
These are the days.. that just fade away,
Never know what to say, or do.
I stay in bed all night and day,
Shots of whisky to make me…
but I’m just counting sheep
And lying here wide awake, … just.
Staring at that photo of you.
And.. the emptiness of life.
Haunted by an old photo of you.
And the sheep painted on your cute little red shoes.
Before that drunk driver……. killed you.
And.. the emptiness of life.
With just An old photo of you,
And the white sheep painted on your cute little red shoes.
© London F. BuSS
Walk on Water
I was a tear drop in your ocean
I was a ship wreck in your sea
And now you won't even…. talk to me
Now you're walking on water
just to walk away from me.
I'm holding a picture of you
and its slowly fading ….A…way,
I warned you about Katie and Pete
kissing yeah kissing!
Right In front of me!
So, you killed the messenger
And the mess..en..ger was me.
Now you're walking on water
just to walk away from me.
I was a tear drop in your ocean
Another shipwreck drowning in your sea.
I’m holding a picture of you its slowly fading from me.
I'm sitting here just dying
Dying all alone.
I'm painting a picture of you but
I can't remember the color of your eyes.
Are they green, hazel or blue.
So, in December I'm going for
A long walk in the mountain snow
And I'm never coming back to you.
I was a tear drop in your ocean
A shipwreck in the sea.
So you're still walking on water to walk away from me
(c) London F. BuSS. 2024
The Corvid
Who Sleeps with me at night?
My secret, but if you must
I’ll tell you: Fear sleeps with me
Just fear, which suddenly
Cradles me in the distance
Of darkness, loneliness, and silence
I the hunted, blind to the hunter
in my dreams he waits, waits, unseen
Pain speaks..
The crow, the corvid, the corvid,
She the Raven
circles close and low: screaming
her warning loudly
again and again.
She comes, She comes: it is her time:
Flaxen hair blowing in the wind,
to kill and be reborn again.
Her name is... she has... needs no name.
The wind calls softly to her,
wispering Pfeydra, Pfeydraa.
Gods call to her... but she doesnt come
They have stolen her rainbow,
so she doesnt come..
Pfeydra, Pfeydra
but she doesnt come.
This is my first poem, its
about being raped and
strangled when i was
nine years old.. and being
hunted by the rapist in
my dreams ever since..
(c) London F. BUSS march 2020.
He'll store your loot
he'll bank your money
hoard it
so when he goes
so it goes
so the story goes
15 by 7
under buss wheel's
the family goes
it wouldn't matter
a scary will when he goes
to the next Mein Kamph your money goes
Brother & Sister Groninger
Tom Wright
3/26/01
It wasn't,
by mere happenstance we met.
Or by odd chance,
our friendship grew.
But for selfish reasons did we huddle
as close as we dared get.
Gleaning pearls of wisdom
from the two.
We saw in them,
those things we cherished most;
And always with each calling
were made to feel at ease.
Not beheld as wayfarers,
nor they, as hostess and host;
Then always upon our exit, their hug,
her buss upon the cheek and "come again please".
If insignificant things were done,
oft as a task, they'd see.
Rarely, if ever, realizing,
that their giving was much more.
Adult education per se,
without books, tuition, or exams, but free.
From our two smiling friends,
each time our knuckles found their door.
Now alongside, again, they lie,
'mongst configurations of chiseled stone.
Spirits, since ushered to their reward,
as it will be for all one day.
But from their lives, "Snow Angels" were left,
not for family alone.
For God saw that we had need of these tracks,
as memories, to assist us in our way.
1. Title: Zeal
You always chide me,
Though I accept it as carol.
You have had always cider,
Though I enjoy in my havel.
It's my real life chic,
So, I remember your chuckle.
But you thought yourself as a 'Cinderella',
So, you play with flake.
But I came to know ,
You are other's chummy.
And my love for you
Just like a jestingly.
I had a wish to 'Buss'
Where as you described it as a Tu-Whit.
T-Would be ugh for me,
Because for you I've to pay some fee.
I always remember your preety face,
Though you left my hand in race.
Regain to you isn't possible,
It's my error to remove tears fall.
Your love becomes hard to get,
But i only scold to my fate.
Now, nothing stays to say you,
Except a syllble I love you.
I pray with almighty,
Your life may full of happiness and baunty.
All it took was that soft caress
your breath on my neck.
I was taken
shook to my core.
Like the sun in the cyan sky
my skin was kissed with fire.
The rapture was impenetrable.
Temporary, I thought.
Many moons have passed
And still,
I long for your graze
Rouse my flesh with your buss.
- Caroline Youngless
05/06/2021
Perhaps our sight is soon to fade,
Still we know love and how it's made -
A soulmate vibe to scorch the sun,
Conjoined perfection from day one.
My absinthe gaze still loves to see
Your eyelids close while kissing me,
Yet while that buss still coaxes sighs ...
I'm slayed to kiss ... and plunge your eyes!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Lay It On Me - 8 X 8" Poetry Contest, Charles Messina, Judge & Sponsor.
( Syllables = 8 X 8, counted at HowManySyllables.com )
we had tried and then
lied about lousy bus ride
that should be denied
Jim Horn
[starboard port]
the ocean—an onyx plate predawn—
somnambulant ships preen with a swag of
warning lights
massive hulls: cargo ships, flotillas, tankers,
passenger liners loll; red lights buss
the somber slate of sky—spangled strings of
bawdy bulbs on the riggings—pole dance
beside the quay—ridged, behemoth smokestacks
toy with the flames of gold and white
[cabin’s lav—occupied]
waiting, my mind trundles to funeral pyres
Viking ships, then returns to marvel at
on-coming airport pot lights which
upstage the walled gasps
[very occupied]
the exodus to Singapore crescendos
we land—manned the plane performs
a ritual slide—ash and steam spew from
stacks of the other perpendicular
members
Touch down.
[the door opens]
First Published by Shooter Literary Magazine Spring of 2017
Writ of the wall
It’s not hard— reading writings on wall,
And I too read them well as can all,
And assumed, just like all:
Not for me, not at all;
Right call, right time, and still a miss-call!
____________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek| 13.02.2017 |
Poet's note: The writing on wall, we all know what happens. We read the letters, not the writing, and never its writ, and then miss the buss.
Elusive dawn of gray-white sky
And bedroom dim with haggard light
While we survive beneath our sheet
This dismal morn of winter’s plight;
Yes, leaves are fallen, nights veil soon,
We share our warmth as lovers do
‘Neath blankets piled, lush breast to chest,
We snuggle, buss, share “I love you”
As minutes pass through chilly air:
Rise not, sweet Love, until warm spring,
Let’s cuddle, cling, unite our souls
‘Til skies wash blue and robins sing.
Risky untidy thoughts, racing my mind
holding hands softly, palms splendidly clutch
feed off your energy, your laugh shined
around the diner, several souls touch
Temptation itches, my frail spirit craving
picture my desire, buss my magic lips
oblivious sin, I’m misbehaving
torn apart, soar far from relationships
ruthless sin, reminiscing shady plans
revive God’s rules on adultery
asking sin to flee soon, stretching my hands
resisting attraction, strength bravery
She tempted me one vernal day—
All the Great Plains melting away:
Cotton-white clouds, sky’s blazing sun,
She coyly suggested we find some fun.
Thus did we drive to that placid lake,
Some man in me beginning to wake
To bikini cups swelled with pert bust,
A sight I savored, flush with lust—
Skittish, we sat, arm round her waist,
My glance ‘tween thighs, where she was chaste;
She blushed at that but peered in my eyes,
Though I was too young to recognize
The intimate moment befallen us:
I should have leaned in, sweet lips to buss
But remained too shy,
I’ll never know why,
Yet, always I’ll drift and reminisce
On that lakefront day I missed my first kiss.
That's make it two of us, loving ancient text and stuff
To osculate to give a buss, an intensive thinking to find out
A deep meaning of that truss! To read to see to get plus.
A fellow not a cuss, to meet what you have been looking for
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