At the "Head Inn' Bar,
I sat with Death.
Drinking the fog,
With my poor-man's "Crown"
Earlyer, In mood,
I called him over, telling
"It can wait, grab a drink".
Quite in my superior,
For just saving thousands.
You see, Him and I have met.
First a teenage drive,
Acid with ambulance,
Flip-rolling, tripping a bad action.
But I saw him.
Then at mid-life, Buhhda-r-us.
Told to sit with him,
He didn't say much.
Death and I ordered again.
I gave him grief,
for ordering a Cran-metropoliton,
He shrugged me off, sipping,
Smiled his cared-for white mug.
Genuine tho, no hidden intent.
I could buzzed gather.
We Chatted the gambit,
Topics unbound,
He listened as if I had something to say.
It felt like a talk, with a laid back relative.
Glad to see, but good for the go.
Time whispered my leave.
Plus my spirts were many.
I slurred a passing joke-jab.
"were is your cycle, black robe,
Bone pointing finger "
He pierced me with a gaze,
like my dead father would,
Gentaly patting my back,
And by his smiling touch,
I sware, I sobered up.
Categories:
cran, birth,
Form: Free verse
SHE SHOWED HER HEART
RIGHT FROM THE START
AND HER DANCING MADE ME CRAZY
A VODKA CRAN AND I WAS HER MAN
SHE'S MY I GOT YOUR BACK BABY
WHEN THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG
AND I DON'T BELONG
IF EVERYTHING'S A MAYBE
IF IT TAKES ALL NIGHT
TO MAKE IT RIGHT
SHE'S MY I GOT YOUR BACK BABY
AND HERE'S THE THING
WHEN TROUBLES BRING
FEELINGS THAT ARE HAZY
SHE'LL KISS MY MOUTH
IF I'M HEADED SOUTH
AND SAY, I GOT YOUR BACK BABY
WHEN I'M AGAINST A WALL
AND ABOUT TO FALL
IF LIFE GET'S KINDA SHADY
AND I LOSE MY SONG
EVEN WHEN I'M WRONG
SHE'S MY I GOT YOUR BACK BABY
I GOT YOUR BACK BABY
THAT'S WHAT I DO
DON'T YOU WORRY WHEN I'M WITH YOU
AND IF YOU'RE EVER FEELING BLUE
I GOT YOUR BACK BABY
CAUSE I WANT YOU
I GOT YOUR BACK BABY
I GOT YOUR BACK BABY
THAT'S WHAT I DO
Categories:
cran, best friend, cute, dance,
Form: Lyric
I have walked without a map or plan
I have whispered names of people dead.
I have wandered further,longer than.
I have stumbled ,when the able ran.
I have longed for you but never said
I have walked without a map or plan
I have been through places men would ban
I have sung to birds and shared my bread
I have wandered further,longer than.
I have searched for you in nook or cran
I have felt my brain has turned to lead
I have walked without a map or plan
I have sauntered,wandered,I have run
I should have lain down in dry leaves instead
I have wandered further,longer than.
I remember when you shared my bed
I remember all the words we said
I have fallen without map or plan
I am drowning deeper,darker than.
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Categories:
cran, lost, lost love,
Form: Villanelle
Raven is a Flower
The floral women speak to chilly wind.
Calling out the ancient remnants penned in golden lace,
milked with cran-embroidered keys.
The grave stones plunge deep into their seats,
worthy by the black flower forest.
The Raven caws, crossing the crimson lake.
Sipping on the stone black tree petals.
Cotton shreds through the fine bedrock.
Ensuing treasured remorse, a winter long story.
The Raven’s cry springs out of the honey baked trees,
from the sun-faced rays.
A fibrous shadow turns inward,
touched by effervescent cran-burned bronze,
and copper covered ivory.
A pause, offering swords of sacrifice.
Tuning into a sight filled with glutted stride.
Categories:
cran, nature
Form: Blank verse
At the "Head Inn' Bar,
I sat with Death.
Drinking the fog,
With my poor-man's "Crown"
Earlyer, In mood,
I called him over, telling
"It can wait, grab a drink".
Quite in my superior,
For just saving thousands.
You see, Him and I have met.
First a teenage drive,
Acid with ambulance,
Flip-rolling, tripping a bad action.
But I saw him.
Then at mid-life, Buhhda-r-us.
Told to sit with him,
He didn't say much.
Death and I ordered again.
I gave him grief,
for ordering a Cran-metropoliton,
He shrugged me off, sipping,
Smiled his cared-for white mug.
Genuine tho, no hidden intent.
I could buzzed gather.
We Chatted the gambit,
Topics unbound,
He listened as if I had something to say.
It felt like a talk, with a laid back relative.
Glad to see, but good for the go.
Time whispered my leave.
Plus my spirts were many.
I slurred a passing joke-jab.
"were is your cycle, black robe,
Bone pointing finger "
He pierced me with a gaze,
like my dead father would,
Gentaly patting my back,
And by his smiling touch,
I sware, I sobered up.
Categories:
cran, fantasyme,
Form: Free verse