Grate Poems - Poems about Grate

The name Scot denoting a man, combined with terra. Translated; Scotland.! a masculine descriptive will it be Banned.? By the idiocracy; with a non-descriptive..? Dystopian' most bland..The most disconnect could be Planned? To remove the (hate word) we know as Scotland' Police of unknown place unsaid..' Consider it reported!! Let the originator dread.' un-justified lawfare should be now Unleashed, upon this most...

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to the revy grain when you looked M t E --------------------------h --------------------------r --------------------------o --------------------------u --------------------------g --------------------------h and walked ---------------over me i lived in the spaces so tightly squeezed Where we the ird are never Scene end....

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Life without airliners return to a less traveled past A mere delusion no more Life without social media unthinkable? No idle chimera in cyber-war But I would never betray you! Winston Smith found ~ That no man's true-blue...

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when growing up getting to stay up the tv's day ended an on screen flag waved as the anthem played and then white noise which soothed me always sounding like an ocean then a time came to pass that that wasn't enough they not we wanted more the waves no longer hit the shore just hate added with more negativity deplorably we cleansed the house by burning sage the day the garbage...

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stagnant and muffled voices are stirring like a music box wound up not stop refuge sought from a whirling daunted world of which smoke of disgrace hovers over tongues lashing out at one another like school children must not do in the playground however these are our leaders at work pointing fingers and name calling. we learn young to be...

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Before the Inauguration the man must divest himself of his stocks and bonds close every hotel he owns lay off hundreds of employees so they have time to hitch a ride to Washington and sell red caps for his inauguration to make America grate again. Donal Mahoney...

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When eye was eating my serial this mourning Aye red the hole rules four the contest Eye sore it inn black and white It was plane for all two sea The sponsor said wee CAN make miss steaks Butt too me this practise isn’t write, Nun are aloud, they are usually band Yule have guest its throne me off coarse Ewe awl...

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up through the sewer into the street nice little window could see what i missed the bustle of shoed feet a purposeful din as they kicked about the puddles pretty ladies in sequin dresses constricted by a velvet shawl at the heel of a good man a rich one he kicked me a drink that was the finest day of my life...

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Sitting and waiting for the whistle to blow again twice in just one day, I sat and watched the various signs, the returning spring across fields, In a copse there was a wood lark singing also in the copse a sniper waiting, Tom **** hung off a house that stood in ruins as shells fly so will they. A...

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this is such a plus in my life....all these talented new friends..where souls are bared, and laughter shared....and you've all cared.....how I dared....my mind compared, to someone who sweared, that he was fared amongst those who blared, their trumpets snared, in time now squared. Ya didn't expect it ta' make sense, now, did ya?...

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