I still remember events when I was two,
The scent of milk, the color blue—
A pulse beneath my skull that never dies,
Whispers from the Gland of what is true.
Tiny furnace in the darkened brain,
You balance hunger, thirst, and ache,
You dream while wide awake,
You script the joy and orchestrate my pain.
Sunlight touches neural seas,
Old sparks ignite along their veins,
Each synapse hums with coded lines,
Translating warmth to memories quiet.
You are the clock, the flame, the heart—
Where time begins, yet never parts,
This gland that lets the soul recall—
How even at two, I remembered it all.
And the 0.07 volts that runs our brain.
Doctor to hail for my not being down,
Close to thirty years for my breakdown:
My biggest catch through a brother mate,
Whose only word for him is first rate...
Now exchanging blows with Prostrate Gland:
A cancer of the treatable brand.
He says he'll live - Doctor Retired:
Wages unpaid had got him tired...
Great hopes New Government will this do.
I dared try to this notion pooh-pooh
Should this not be a race against time?
If my voice should sag now real big crime.
For him in Medicine would stick out neck
And this step translate into no wreck!
When day’s chores are tucked away,
I imagine you ‘that’ way.
My heart pounds within my chest.
I’m disarrayed and distressed.
The walls are too close, I feel
each corner is closer still.
My throat tight, I cannot breathe.
My fever I need to sheathe.
When you come into my view
I feel my panic renew.
My blood pressure does arise
as I gaze into your eyes.
Your touch is a soft caress
that thrills yet adds to my stress.
How can love be stricken blind -
something that just blows my mind!
My pale face is flashing flush
as my blood pumps at a rush.
Hot shivers running their course
task my shaking knees to force.
A physical reaction
to emotive attraction
will draw nonsense of it all
when in love you simply fall.
With all the symptoms of ill,
I’m glad to say that this chill
is not an infected gland.
But for all that, ain’t love grand?
Jueju-Qijue format: aabb 7777
why means i lie really wellest
yeah i hid inside a Brian
where God wouldn't
look i really just wrote this ta
da
to introduce you to the birth of Thrypdi
bye know
yes i now
its nothing i something do
Something is
wrong with
the butterfly
sitting below
her Adam’s
apple.
Hormones
destroy the
metabolism
of her life.
Anger-waves
cause cracks
in relationship;
epicenter is
in her neck.
Her black hairs
fall unusually.
Anxiety spreads
before her
vanity table.
Love dries in
depression. Their
bed becomes a
parched garden.
Her unlicensed
words hit his
heart. A death
rattle echoes in
the throat of
their family life.
A physician and
pharmacist derive
pleasure from her
butterfly gland.
Fabiyas M V
All natural flavorings good
Especially added to teas, food
Beaver's castor gland
Is source of such a flavoring
Used in candy unwavering
Now starved after
Sponsor:Black Eyed Susan
Contest: Tail Rhyme Time
We settled into the bay and,
Like lovers kicking the sheets down,
We grabbed and furled, grabbed and furled,
Unveiling a red vista.
You never told me you loved me,
And I never had the guts to speak.
So we threw cherry bombs at each other
From the safe side of a mountain
That was made from our imaginations.
Listening to little pirate angels,
We play out our misadventures,
Swooping in to rescue each other.
We tie off the boat using
The knuckled floor of the cerebellum.
What to do, oh, what to do
With such bedlam?
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